My head is still a little reeling from that whirlwind of a meeting. Doubt has been nagging me, but so has Kojirou's promises of money and power. I could use a little bit of both right now, if I'm to ever find Tohsaka.
Screeeeech. We take up seats in a dusty, dim luncheon. A round table. The walls are a flaky red. An old man and his wife serve us udon in steaming broth; fish and crustacean stewed inside. It's cozy and secluded, our party placed discreetly behind long black drapes, though a few others sit inside the private space as well. They look like Yakuza and given their disinterest in us, must be allies.
Typical of the times, there are karaoke rooms even here - and the thin walls do little to shield us from the pitched thrums of awful singing. I expect Kojirou, or at least one of the others, to get up and knock on one of the nearest doors in a typically intimidating Yakuza-like manner.
Nobody here fits that mold though. It's strange that we just sit here and mumble to each other, watching as the waitress sets down each bowl carefully. On the way here, nobody seemed to acknowledge our presence. We were just like a normal working class lunch crowd - I nearly bumped into several daydreaming businessmen. Kyoto is just so busy compared to Fuyuki, so maybe it's easy for the most dangerous of men to be lost in the swarming crowds.
Manaba-san walked far ahead of the four of us on the way, but finally he has taken his place beside me. It's possible to get a good look at him.
He's a lanky stranger with a cocky smile. Bags and crows feet nest under his eyes. He's let his dark sideburns grow out. On top of his sport jacket he has a worn leather jacket, aviators sticking out of his breast pocket. There is nothing unkempt about his dress, not a wrinkle or unseeming fade.
He eats hastily, finishing his food by tilting the bowl toward his lips and lifting it up. He leaves nothing left. The rest of us have barely begun to eat.
He sighs and says nothing, folding his hands in front of him. I can't gauge this guy at all, but then again, I've never been good at understanding people by first impressions.
Yoshimura dines at my other side, with Kojirou off to his left. Sajyou sits by herself at the very opposite end of the round table. She wears a wearied look.
"Have a little patience," Kojirou says as the bowl's feet tap the table.
"We have a job to do."
"Tonight. Not right this moment."
"Have a little sense. This isn't the time to-"
"Just relax. Time is something we have plenty of." Kojirou sinks into his seat and outstretches his hands behind him in a leisurely gesture.
Sajyou scoots her chair away from him, sitting a little closer to Manaba now.
"So we're going to lay the groundwork tonight as well? Why not, on the drive there - we'll just gloss over what everyone's doing and then waltz inside. What could we even possibly talk about? I mean, it's just a small like thing that-"
Kojirou wears a wicked smile, making Manaba's sarcasm wither.
"We need to discuss the team dynamics. I'm being serious here." Manaba-san insists, glaring at Kojirou's empty dark eyes. He leans over the table toward him while Kojirou's arms are behind him - his chopsticks sail smoothly toward the man's lunch and across me, carefully peeling thick udon noodles from the steaming soup, precisely pinching two out at once and into his hot slimy mouth without leaving a drop on the table, "And before that, the quantifiable objective: Do you know where this place is we're going to, Kojirou? Do you even know what constitutes a-"
"Why do you always do this?" he laughs, "Stop being a worrywart. We do, it's all clear." His hand swats Manaba-san away, no longer smiling, "And stay away from my lunch."
Manaba-san just sighs again, tapping his feet under the table as he sinks into a slouch, folding his arms over his breast in almost-defeat.
He complains, "This feels like suicide. A rookie and someone who's been flying solo for weeks - on the same team with us? Against who knows what."
"I'm right here, you know." Sajyou mumbles.
"I can handle myself." I say, forcing calm into my tone.
"Yeah, yourself - who said I cared about that? The mission. My wellbeing. Those things I care about. Really Kojirou - I think I want out-"
"Don't be an ass." Yoshimura jokes, "We have me."
"And you have such a glorious track record for being a one-man army."
He jabs Manaba-san with his elbow, "Stop being impolite to our new..friends." He adds, "Do I have to tell you again? Just as one man can beat ten, so a hundred men can beat a thousand, and a thousand can beat ten thousand." Manaba-san wears a deadpan expression as he listens, "One properly crafted man is the same as ten thousand lessers. So as long as you have me, have no fear." He flashes a smile.
Despite the pressure from either side of me, Manaba-san isn't ready to stop arguing.
I don't really care much for arguing myself and besides, I can't believe what I just heard. So I cut in before the argument can further unfold- "That's and exact quote from Go Rin No Sho." It's not even a question, I could never forget a phrase like that.
I don't know whether to roll my eyes are be actually impressed! He sounded so solemn saying it; actually, it's rather inspiring, the subtle passion that makes my skin tingle as I relive his words in my head. I feel the same, with Kanshou and Bakuya sometimes; I feel like I'm ten thousand, not one. Did he mean that genuinely? Or just as a jest? Well, he did quote the book quite seriously...
He smiles wide, "Oh? So you know of it."
"Of course! I, well, I don't read all that much, but I have read those kinds of books. It's hard not to, my first sword instructor, she was quite...passionate about Musashi's teachings. She believed more in efficacy than in beauty." It's more fair to say Taiga is so crazed she wields a cursed shinai of her own unintentional creation. She's taken some of Musashi's teachings - and the teachings of other famous samurai - to their most literal extreme.
"Please! Don't encourage him!" He stares at me with bulging eyes, glaring then at Yoshimura, "What he says is utter nonsense. It's as practical as the Dao or as consistent as the works of Sun-" but Manaba doesn't get to finish.
The Samurai nods, "Musashi's way is not the only one I follow, but it was he who advocated learning many styles, so perhaps the heart of my style is still his." He gestures to his wakizashi (which seem so natural on his person, not a soul seemed bothered by his carrying of it in public), "It's the second sword style that I ever learned - the two heavens as one." He concludes with a smile, his words thickly impassioned, "There are many ways to live, but the way of a warrior is a lonesome one."
Manaba sighs with a hiss, "When are you going to get a girlfriend."
Kojirou laughs, encouraging Yoshimura - who just drinks in a breath and speaks like Fuji-nee lectures, happily ignoring Manaba-san's dourness. "It's good to respect the gods, elegance, dance, farming, good drink - all those sorts of things; but do not rely on them." He says, "As a warrior, you can only rely on yourself. Support others you might, but you yourself are still paramount." He looks at me, "I have spent only a few moments with Shirou, but I can recognize he has the right idea. He is confident in himself and he may even have the heart of a warrior - We should believe in his confidence. Through such bonds, we will succeed."
Sajyou and Manaba share a glare of mutual disgust.
I realize I'm smiling - beaming actually. I shouldn't be, but it's hard not to, hearing such conviction from someone.
Unable to contain herself, Sajyou stands up. Manaba-san appraises her with a dry laugh. Her face reddens as everyone's eyes slide over to her, mine included.
"Leaving us?" Manaba says, "I suppose you don't care for this sort of conversation, hmm?"
"It's dreadful. I do not try to dress up what I do. We don't deal in just simple teamwork and we aren't noble vagabonds on some misbegotten quest for honor-"
"Sajyou-san, don't be so ashamed, w-"
Kojirou laughs as he places his hand on Yoshimura's lips, "Perhaps we should allow Miss Sajyou to steer the conversation for once? We shouldn't make her uncomfortable. We're all friends here."
"We aren't friends; We have absolutely nothing in common." Sajyou decides flatly, looking down at her hands, then meeting Yoshimura's eyes for only a flicker, "There is nothing to steer toward. It was a mistake agreeing to this."
"Is she always this sour, Kojirou? Why did you recruit a lady like this?" Yoshimura pulls his head away from that binding hand.
He then lowers his head to his lunch. slurping.
"She's talented. Glowing with talent, I assure you."
"No." Sajyou injects, "If I was truly `talented, I wouldn't be here. Kojirou-san, I'm going to decline this job. You know I prefer to work solo or just with correspondences."
"Oh?" Kojirou says, "I don't believe you. Sit down. You should feel privileged to be here."
"Would anyone work for you if they had the choice?"
"Missy, that stings." He sings with a smile, "Please, please. Why don't you sit down? You're going to make a scene. And, we're not ordinary thugs, you know-"
"All I know is, I'm here because I can get the job done. And this is the only job I seem to have a knack for. I know what I can do and I don't need to be-" She turns and pushes her seat out of the way, baring a blood-red face to Manaba, "Furthermore, I don't appreciate your doubt Manaba-san. If you can't trust me, then I'll decline this. Which I am." She takes a step back.
I reach out and snatch her hand before she can take another step. The speed - my reaction - it surprises me. But my bones resonate inside me. Sajyou's aura is so bleak, it makes me want to smile. She can't give up this quick. Something's stung her bad and it's making her heart pound so bad I can feel it in her hand. Manaba-san seems overly harsh, but he has good intentions. She needs to understand that. It's just like she says, probably none of us want be here - me included - but let's see this through as best we can. Our help has been asked for and we need to follow this through.
She can't return my feelings, her face scrunches up into a grimace even as I let her go.
I feel hot - realizing I just touched her without any regard. I try to apologize, but I can't seem to.
"Sajyou-san, please stay with us," is what I say instead.
"No thank you. I've stayed the polite amount."
I laugh out and point to her seat, "Please, you're the only sane person at this table. We need you."
She stares at me with narrow eyes - it's a good look for her in spite of those wrinkles. It reminds me of Rin's harsh gaze. This way, she looks less dispirited.
She takes a seat and I can't help but smile to myself. Sajyou doesn't feel like a stranger already. I seem to be in tune now with a faint melody of pain that seeps from her tone. She's someone worth helping; whatever is wrong with her, I haven't a clue yet though. If I had the right magical eyes, I'm sure I would see scars burnt into her flesh. But Sajyou's not got a blemish on her - all her wounds are underneath that. As a magus, it's probably not all that uncommon, but it doesn't make it any less pitiable to me.
I'm no social butterfly, I'm surprised I'm able to discern as much as I have. But, I have a vague idea on how to keep us together, "Regardless, tonight we all need to work together, for our own goals. Let's try to get to know each other, ne? What do you like to talk about?" I ask blindly, not really knowing much about girls. Fuji-nee, Rin, Saber and Sakura even after living with any of them for as long as I have - I'm still nowhere close to bridging the gap, "Magic, maybe? What did you use to defend yourself against me yesterday? It was really interesting."
And how do I connect with Manaba and Kojirou? Those two are just weird.
She doesn't look at me, "I don't really - Look it's not that I can't or I don't enjoy talking about it. I just don't really have the words to explain my feelings. Please understand." She bows her head.
Oh. Well, that's awkward. It was just a simple question and she took it so formally. It feels bad now. Even more so when she just sags and doesn't even attempt to say anything comforting or casual. Does she not like anything at all? Can't she humor me?
I stave off the stinging, "When I visited you in your room, I noticed - Are you an artist too? Or just your roommate?"
Her cheeks blossom, "P-please don't mention it like that Emiya-san." She glares at Manaba, who's wearing a curious smile, "You're giving them the wrong idea. And, I'm not really much of an artist." She mumbles, "But yes, I've done a little bit of that."
She goes silent again, so Manaba-san laughs quietly and Kojirou steps in to salvage the conversation, "Well, it's okay Miss Sajyou. We won't press you. Better to save your focus for today, at any rate - and not get too comfortable. A certain pugilist is right to an extent: We can relax once this night's over with." He thumps the table, gazing at the wiry Manaba, "But not to rain too hard on ya - I'm sure everything'll turn out fine. It's just going to be the four of you, but you can handle it. You can handle it, don't look at me like that. I would know. Of course... Just, you know, first time with Shirou here, so it's going to work a little differently."
"Your confidence is inspiring, chief."
He glares at Manaba, "There'll be a few rough spots, but you all can handle it. Should I say it a fourth time?" He rubs the back of his head, "Maybe I should have had the four of you meet impromptu-like? I didn't think you'd all get so awkward like a bunch of children about it."
"How about we go over that? What exactly are we doing." Manaba-san murmurs coldly, not taking the jab well, "They're from the Mainland, right? Or could they be from Taiwan? How do we know they aren't packing something really hot? These guys can't be that small, otherwise who would give a fuck. We're going to see heavy resistance, right?"
"You're right about some of that. But We don't know everything for certain just yet." Kojirou says, "Whoever they are, they have big connections; but taking them out right away will only create small waves. They haven't entrenched themselves, so what resistance you should expect - just typical stuff."
"I just don't want to be surprised by a sniper or a machine gun nest, or-"
"What kind of work have you been doing lately?" he shakes his head, "We know the risks, but We wouldn't send four people to deal with something like that." The way Kojirou keeps saying "We" seems to indicate a group other than ourselves... "Doing this right will benefit us and our friends. The risk is low, but we know to keep on our toes. People aren't accepting of change, especially surprising change. So there will be heat; they're definitely prepared for it." He smiles, "Which is why tonight's mission is simple: preserve the status quo. We just need to make them cease operations, it's about making a point... but not about thorough cleanup."
"You're being intentionally vague, Sensei." Manaba says sarcastically.
Yoshimura clasps his hands, closing his eyes in what appears to be prayer. Sajyou twists uncomfortably in her seat. Manaba cracks his knuckles over and over, giving Kojirou a stale look.
Eventually, Kojirou finally finishes his soup.
"So I've decided," he sighs, "Yoshimura, can you work with Shirou?"
"Yes."
"Manaba, will you be comfortable with Sajyou?"
They share a glance and affirm it.
"Good." He shakes his head, "Working as one unit is seemingly too much to expect in one day, but I'm sure two teams of two can work things out. I expect a lot of manual labor and only a little bit of creative thinking, but just in case...We will do a little auxiliary planning. You'll work as a team, just not as tightly as I'd initially been thinking."
"As long as we're on the same page, we can still support the others," Yoshimura agrees, "It is likely too large of a building for the four of us to cover as one. Am I correct?"
"Probably." He shrugs, "Honestly, as long as you find an effective means to send the message and read between the lines without creating additional problems for us, I'm fine with any approach."
"I know a spell." Sajyou says, "I mean, I've finally mastered it. It will make things easier for us."
"Hm?" Yoshimura says, "What kind?"
"Imagine a world where guns were never invented."
"It would be a more peaceful world, ne?" Kojirou says.
"Hardly." says Manaba.
"I can make that world a reality for tonight. Just a small space - but believe me, it works."
"That seems a little far-fetched, but it's a tempting offer. How does it work?" Yoshimura asks.
"Well, it's like I was saying-
"Lovely. Is there a way we could test this out, first?" Manaba says, "Not that I don't believe in hocus pocus or anything."
Sajyou sends dark waves to Manaba.
"I am a little inclined to agree." Yoshimura says gently, "It's a little too good to be true..."
"While Sajyou is generous with her suggestion, Manaba does have a point."
"Will you hold on a minute! I didn't even finish explaining myself! Honestly."
Yoshimura smiles at her, "It's good you're prepared to be enthusiastic about this, but I would rather-"
"You can try it out on me." I say, "How does it work? Is it an enchantment to our clothes to be protected from bullets?"
"Lower your voice a little Shirou. We're among friends here, but nevertheless." Kojirou hushes.
Sajyou stares at me - her face twisted disbelief and frustration, "There's no reason to test anything on anybody!" she fumes, glaring hotly at me, "Emiya-san, that would be putting you in pointless danger..if I really weren't qualified." Her voice crackles, "I'll give you all a demonstration outside, since you're all so anxious you won't even let me finish a single sentence." She steals an angry breath, "It takes some preparation for an area as large as a school or shopping mall, but for just a small space, it's only a few minutes of work. It's not like I was going to say I could do it without giving a little demonstration. Give me a little credit." She picks a clam shell out of her soup and flings it toward Manaba - the wet thing landing in his napkin, "It stops guns from working. So I should be able to satisfy you. Like I even want your trust at this point."
Ouch. That stings. "So it's a bounded field?" I venture to ask, but my question goes unheard.
"Thank you," Kojirou says.
"Yes, thank you Sajyou-san," Yoshimura chimes.
Kojirou says to Manaba, "See now? Miss Sajyou is very bright. You're in capable hands."
Kojirou pays for the meal and leaves a tip so magnanimous that it causes a small scene. We later adjoin in a crumbling parking garage, where Sajyou produces a small bounded field around a wall through a ritual which seems to only tax her slightly (requiring just a drop of her blood) and takes about a minute to perform. A silenced pistol is fired three times at it, but the bullets harmlessly drop to the ground upon nearing the wall, sounding like rain drops as they pitter patter to the cement ground. She wears a small smile.
It's there Kojirou acts more like a boss than a lounge lizard. We sit inside a white SUV and he passes hand-scratched notes to all of us, detailing the warehouse we'll be hitting tonight. My stomach scrunches up as he goes into grisly detail about the amount of traffic that has been going through the building as of late, with vans frequently departing full of cargo. "Suspicions men" have been seen patrolling the alleyways near it. He says that given the circumstances surrounding it, we should expect fully automatic weapons and at least fifty on-site personnel, even during "off-hours".
"Just figure out what they're doing and a few of them bleed. If you have time, put the place in a condition where they'll have to shut down operations there. That should be enough. If you can make them bleed a even little more, We would greatly appreciate it."
Manaba and Yoshimura are at ease in their seats, only asking a few minor questions before being set straight. Sajyou has nothing to say. I have a million inquiries myself, but I restrict my questions to just one.
"Are we expected to kill anyone?"
"The moment it becomes too difficult to cloak your presence," Kojirou looks straight ahead, "You should be prepared to make that decision. If you can't, you should back out now." He smiles in his seat, "It's quite hard to make people wary of you, if you don't crack a few skulls at least."
Later, Kojirou suggests we split up into our pairs. But Yoshimura says he has things to do and Manaba says he would rather not. So we agree on a time and place to meet and go our separate ways. But before Sajyou can slink off, I dart after her, cornering her outside the garage.
"Do you think you could answer my other question?"
"Huh? Oh. Right now?"
"Yes."
She sighs, "Yes, I suppose."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Let's just make this quick, I need to prepare for tonight and there isn't a lot of time."
We begin to walk in a direction she seems familiar with. The concrete walk winds down a few busy streets before ending up at a dewy apothecary. Herbal remedies are sold in glass tinctures and tightly fastened baggies. There's a bench along the wall near the entrance. We walk in and I sit down, breathing in a plethora of earthen scents that ruffle my senses. The air is light but potent with pollen and mold.
She sits next to me and angles herself slightly away, "What's your second question?"
"It's okay to talk about this here?"
"Yes."
I take her word for it.
So my words come with the pound of my heart, I nearly choke on them and say, "Do you know anyone by the name Tohsaka Rin."
Except, those aren't the words that come out of my mouth at all. Fear seizes my tongue and instead I ask her, "Why are you a magus?"
"Excuse me?"
"Sorry, what I meant to ask-" I didn't mean to say that at all, it's just- "What I meant was, Well..."
She lets out a monstrous sigh, "Please don't apologize. I don't mind..." she shifts uncomfortably, "It's just an unexpected question. I guess you're asking because you yourself had a choice in it?"
I flinch at her tone, "Well, I did. My old man, he didn't want me to become what I am... but I insisted."
I thought he was so cool. I wanted to be like him. It was as simple as that. To stand up and fight for what's right; to save others instead of oneself... I don't regret my choice, but I could see myself, in another universe, going along with his wishes. Maybe in a more peaceful world, maybe in a time and place where he doesn't die. Maybe it's more unlikely than that.
Sajyou wears a faraway look, then breaks me out of my reverie with a defeated whisper, "It's not an unfair question, Emiya-san. I'll indulge you, if it'll help you understand. You didn't have a normal upbringing, from what I can gather." Her hands wring together, "My older sister was the one who would have inherited my family's line. My father did not have the son he had wanted, but my sister was very strong..and beautiful. He was happy for her. And then there was an incident ten years ago - and she passed away. My father was deeply hurt. He had neglected my training and I hadn't wanted to be a magus anyway, so I wasn't really suited for it. However, he insisted on training me." She lets out a heavy breath, "I'm not really suited to being a magus. I could never live up to his desires. But I'm not doing it for anyone other than myself anymore. Even though I'm not as skilled as my sister, I guess I still have a little pride for it. It probably doesn't make any sense to you, but..."
"No, it's fine." I hesitate, then stand, looking down, "I appreciate you telling me."
My lips are dry. There goes my second question. I guess it's not a bad question to get answered, but it doesn't help my aims at all.
"No." She launches, "It's not a satisfactory answer, so how about I give you a more noble reason, maybe something a real magus would say." She cracks a tiny coiling of her pale lips, "I might as well tell you a story. Maybe it will explain things better." She stands and we walk over to a bookshelf. "I remember coming to this shop years ago. It hasn't changed at all." She drags her fingers across the books, "Here is a copy of it," she says, reaching out and taking a book out - it's not like all the others, which contain analyses of various herbs and roots. The book she pulls free is called, Translations and Annotations: Common Legends. "I have one of these at home," she explains, turning to a specific page, "You haven't read this before, have you?" She shows me the cover - it's a drab leather binding with gold leaf kanji, English cursive scrawling under it.
"No."
"Despite it being about common legends," she says, "I haven't run into many people who know or read about this type of thing." She buries her nose into the book and flips through the pages, going very still and then recounting with only a slight waver in her voice, "I can barely pronounced it, but it begins with, Her name was..Mahtiel. She was beautiful. She was the child of an angel." Does it really say that? "She had hair the color of night, her body beautifully proportioned. Her lips were like lotuses and she could most certainly walk on them too. She was modest and temperate. She was trained by her father, a doctor of the village in which they lived. She healed the sick and gave to the lame." Sajyou's eyes never lift up; I feel a little awkward being recited to like this... "But where she lived was a place of much strife! Terrible beasts came to her village and killed many. Frightened but emboldened, Mahtiel sought out aid from a hermit deep in the mountains against the many warnings of her people." Sajyou skips a few lines with her eyes, her tone sounding pleasantly jovial, "When she arrived, the witch refused to speak her name. She was old enough to be Mahtiel's grandmother. Her eyes were red with the blood she had taken and her skin was ashen like the thunderclouds that darkened the wintry mountains and like the many graveyards she had crossed to reach her. Beseeching her, Mahtiel asked the witch to aid her village. In her purity, she thought she would be given help out of compassion or shared benevolence, but the witch only understood the world in prices and exchanges. She wanted an apprentice to pass on her teachings to, but being outcast from society, she could find no one capable of inheriting her teachings. Mahtiel was impressed by the witch's facade of wisdom and power and she was tempted by her kind words to do what she thought was right. She had said to the witch, "I'll learn from you until I can find someone more suitable than me." And the witch had agreed with the humble girl. However, it would be too difficult for the witch to travel to the village, so instead she promised to teach Mahtiel all that she could in three days and three nights. Mahtiel would be the one to save her people, the witch had promised." Ayaka continues, "Mahtiel learned about the basics of magic from the old witch. She learned that there was no external force to call upon for magic, that it was something innate to everyone. Through akashic meditation taught to her by the witch, Mahtiel awakened an ancient understanding in prana and od. The witch helped her understand how to use her inner self to empower her body, mind and spirit. To change the external world through internal force. By the third night, Mahtiel could truly heal the sick and turn away beasts. She was very elated and returned to her people. She walked upon the earth like an angel reborn, banishing the foul spirits that had possessed the wildlife, going so far as to exile the silent demons that stalked her people during the night. The village was initially grateful to Mahtiel, whom they believed to be an angel. They celebrated her return and she became very admired. However, in time, her power made others become jealous or doubtful. Through the peace afforded to them through Mahtiel, many began to dwell on her in a dark way. They began to call her a witch. At the height of her sorrow, Mahtiel stayed within her home, helping those who would still come to her. Some continued to trust and supported her. She grew in confidence. She developed her skills with the intent of bringing benevolence to everyone. She began to use her powers to alter herself from without. She yearned to be loved by all, to end strife among her people. And so she enchanted herself to embody her notions of angelhood." Ayaka closes the book and puts it back on the shelf, "But Mahtiel was foolish. She succeeded in making herself beautiful, in perfecting her outward behaviors. But she lost the inward ways that had made her strong. There was one of those whose affection she desired. Even as everyone began to accept her once again, one whom she had cured of disease did not. Through his faith in his God, he saw through Mahtiel's guise. He did not trust Mahtiel, still believing her to be a witch. His name was Anyar. Mahtiel then coveted his reciprocation to the point of obsession, finding her growing magicks unable to tempt or tame the unyielding, prejudiced and hateful spirit inside him. Desiring his love, Mahtiel tried everything she could. Instead, Anyar struck her down. Her spirit broken, Mahtiel's enchantings then abated. Everyone now knew her true nature. Escaping nearly with her life from her village, she returned to the witch." Ayaka trails off, mumbling as I stare starkly at her, "And with her spirit broken, Mahtiel pleaded to the witch to help her once more, that beasts in the guise of men and with them strife had returned to her village and she did not have the power to handle them. To this, the witch smiled. She touched Mahtiel. In a deeper way this time. She passed on all she knew. For many weeks, Mahtiel studied, imbibing the witch's Old words. Depression let her be exploited. Her love was twisted into bitterness and revenge. The witch poisoned her with her sickened words. To complete her graduation, Mahtiel performed a rite. Laying her lips upon the witch, she pledged herself to Angra Mainyu, the witch's true name. It was at that point the witch took her. Those lotus lips became dark, her skin ashen pale, and her eyes scarlet. Mahtiel returned to her village and ended everyone there, except Anyar, whom she took as her warrior and slave."
When she stops and I don't say anything, she clears her throat.
"Oh, sorry." I say, meeting her gaze, "I'm just a little overwhelmed." I rub the back of my head, "You tell the story very well, but I don't really understand..."
She nods, wearing a thin look, "It's the best explanation I can give, without it getting too... personal." She looks away.
"Sorry, um, I don't follow. So are you saying you're the angel?"
Her eyes flicker back, "Or I'm the witch."
I laugh, "Well, your skin isn't ashen, and your eyes aren't red..."
"I guess not."
"But you feel that way?"
Now I really don't understand her. I look her up and down, examining her fragile, lithe frame. She's really nothing like Tohsaka, or Sakura... or anyone I've met. I can't even begin to bottle her up like I can Yoshimura or Manaba.
It's a shame people aren't like swords. I could grasp her troubles easily, then.
She nods, "I'm really a twisted person. I appreciate your concern, Emiya-san, but you shouldn't get too close to me. If you do, you'll begin to understand that I'm working for the people I do out of necessity, because I'm not suited for anything else..." she bites her lip, "You seem nice. So maybe you should disappear after tonight. I'm sure you could become someone's apprentice in Tenshu if you applied. And if you pick the right time, they'll just assume you were captured or killed..."
I let out a bewildered laugh, "Me? You don't know me that well yet."
"Maybe not." She begins to pick things off the shelves, her hands shaking as she gathers up jars into a basket. She calms them after a little while.
I can feel her discomfort, so I step away.
I grin, "Thanks Sajyou. I'm glad I found out you like telling stories." I don't know what I'm tanking her for, but I feel like I must, "I'll leave you to yourself. See you later tonight." I back up towards the door.
"See you again."
Later, I wind up in that ritzy place with the glamorous female hosts. It's not very far from where we had eaten. It's nearly dead but a comfortable kind of shady at this time of day; the foggy afternoon glow outside hidden behind walls of shadow. Now that I'm no longer forced to be here, I'm a little more at ease with myself; however, that disturbs me. This sort of place shouldn't put me at ease. Everyone is being fake again. I also feel out of place, wound up in overly casual jeans. Still, I'm seated without a comment. I don't see the hostess I spoke to the other day. I can't recall where I put her number either.
What do I expect to find here, I wonder? There are a few people swinging in the beat of an electric song; but I can't dance. I've just eaten, so I only order a small gyouza appetizer. There are a few businessmen relaxing with some dolled-up hostesses, but no one particularly troublesome is around. I eat in silence and chat with a young hostess who seats herself across from me. She doesn't linger very long when I don't have much interest in feeding her purse.
I waste time for a while and then leave. I feel a little more refreshed, but I can't be carefree. A lot weighs down on my mind. Along the way to the meeting spot, I recall Kojirou's words. Am I prepared to kill? Yes. I will kill anyone who deserves that. But death is not just; it's a last resort. Whom I'm working for may not be just... and if it's clear they're the kind of pushers I think they are, I may need to consider them my future enemies as well. Kyoto isn't my home, but I have a duty to protect it from those that would harm its innocents. Being in the red light district has shown me a different shade of person - but not everyone here is worthy of death. Yoshimura and Manaba have feelings, as does Kojirou. So too do their enemies. I should endeavor to save as many lives as possible, while condemning injustice. This situation isn't very difference from the Holy Grail War. I had been prepared to work with the smug likes of Lancer and Archer, for the greater good. Whether my current employer is comparable to the nefarious works of Caster or Gilgamesh or not, I'm not sure, but I can tolerate small evils for now, if it will let me gather a greater understanding of the big picture. I've decided to fight because it is something I can do; just like Sajyou, it is really the only thing I consider myself to be good at. I hope to avoid bloodshed, but I can't afford to hesitate in the coming battle. I owe it to my team to not hold back...
Even as I try to justify it, it stings my heart.
Prostitution, drugs, trafficking, mugging, murder, bribery, slander, and conspiracy - even the Japanese government is known for its widespread corruption. I can't stop all these things on my own, but if I can make even a slight difference - maybe I will be able to live up to my impossible ideals.
So I approach the SUV again, finding Yoshimura leaning lazily up against it. He is clad in his formal black suit. He still holds two well-aged but modern samurai blades. Manaba climbs up the slope of the garage next. He has gauze wrapped around his fists and a lot of weight underneath his leather jacket. Sajyou shows up next, mimicking the straight style - a pinstripe black suit freshly tucked against her skinny thighs and slight bosom. She has a plastic bento in a dangling white bag. Manaba holds up a radio when she arrives, explaining, "Kojirou called. He said he'll be giving us orders over the frequency on these radios." He passes Yoshimura, Ayaka and I small radios which can be clipped around our ears.
We flip them on and he comes in.
"Loud and clear," I say.
"Yes." Sajyou says.
"Great." Kojirou buzzes, "I've given Manaba directions. What sort of preparation remains for you folks?"
Sajyou looks at Manaba, "We'll need to drive within a kilometer of the building. I need to be somewhere high up while I conduct my ritual. I've brought enough supplies to ward off the whole building."
"Will it be taxing on you Miss?" Kojirou asks.
She shakes her head, "No, I should be fine."
"Don't overdo it." Is all he says.
So we drive to the neighborhood in tense silence. Many of the buildings we pass become increasingly worn down and broken. Impoverished gather in groups on the streets, contemplating the heavenly glows in their cigarette stubs.
We park at a dilapidated high-rise near a sunken bar. Climbing creaky iron steps up a perilous fire escape, we reach a balcony overlooking the factory. We don't sit around in plain sight, so it's safe for Ayaka to conduct her ritual. Everyone watches it in quiet curiosity as she places a white linen on the cracked brick overhang and opens up her carried bento, revealing it to be full of alchemical items - precisely arranged and isolated from one another.
She takes what she says to be twinned flesh-colored mandrake roots. She cuts them exactly and places them in the center of the linen. She then draws a circle of chalk around cloth. Out of the bento then comes a vial of crimson - congealed blood - and she carefully dribbles a ring of the sappy scarlet around the roots. The blood seeps into the cloth and blends into it, dying it pink. I can feel something off in the air as she breathes with wet quiet pants, holding her clasped hands above the seal she's created.
She begins to mutter, but none of us should be able to hear her. She's a soft voice and we're high up, hearing the winds scrape between the buildings, scattering her light voice. All I can catch is-
"Fish skin and ivory drawn to worlds of dark,
And Branwen means do miss their mark."
She makes a repetitive chant, holding her voice in a low hum as she sprinkles red and white petals with pinched fingers. Steam then rises from the ring of blood and in a flash the linen catches alight. The plumes of smoke die away as a soft fire ignites the linen - smokeless and scentless. It catches everything and burns away... leaving nothing; not even a trace of ash. Everything is consumed by the fire - it's daunting, the kind of fire I remember witnessing on my - the fire of my birth.
A little sweat is formed on Ayaka's brow as she stands up, closing her bento shut.
"It's done."
"Neat show." Yoshimura says.
"Thank you."
With that done, we wait until dusk.
I don't remember the passage of time. I just hone my swords; contemplating next steps.
Yoshimura is the first one in, ducking low under the raised metal loading door. I follow second, watching as he reaches back, smoothly unsheathing that curving blade of his. He holds it low and back away from him, motioning with his other hand to follow - Sajyou and Manaba to split off from us.
Inside it's just total darkness, towers of stacked crates and tightly packed shelves sealing off a little space from any light. With the night of day at our back, I can only see through a little beam provided by my slim tactical flashlight.
I hear Sajyou and Manaba slink away up the stairs, their footfalls light raindrops on the dingy metal. After that, tunnel vision takes over. I'm just following Yoshimura, the man taking graceful arches with his legs, making not the slightest sound.
I realize that I should arm myself when we stop suddenly. There's light just beyond Yoshimura's wingtips. We meet eyes and share a nod. My hands stretch open and Kanshou and Bakuya slip into existence silently, like they had never left my side.
Three
Two
One
Go!
We dash out, expecting to find someone slacking around - but there are dusty bags marked 'Fertilizer' all around the dusty mottled floor. Yoshimura steps over them and I follow, my eyes peeled wide. We peer around a shelving unit that stretches to the arched ceiling high above, watching quietly for several anxious breaths. A trace of the moon escapes through a small window in the ceiling straight above.
We circle around and stop cold.
Finally, we catch sight of two men dressed in dark, dodgy clothes. They're carrying tightly sealed crates in their arms under their chests. One of them has a flashlight stuck to their chest, casting a weak cone towards the floor as he shuffles.
"Follow." I think he says, but he couldn't have said anything, because they would have heard us. It must be my imagination, with the dark playing upon my senses.
Yoshimura darts down and I sink onto my knees, waddling from behind. We crawl under metal desks set up on the warehouse floor, following the sounds of the footsteps. The two make light chitchat in Mandarin, they voices undulating with amusement. Closer and closer we reach them, sounds now collecting into idle conversation. At least ten voices are ahead. Maybe more.
With them, the hum of vehicles.
Yoshimura and I size up underneath one of the tables, hearing as - watching as those footsteps flicker past us. A tablecloth hides us from view now, a heavy table shielding the excited grasps of our tense breathing.
I don't think either of us knows yet when to make a move, but it isn't our judgment to make. Then the worst and best thing happens and our precious moment is lost. In the distance, gunfire plays a wild melody. Someone shrieks. There's a massive clattering, then silence.
I hear Chinese - a panicked call echoing in desperation.
"Peng, Li, Chiou!" one barks gruffly, terse orders streaming out of his throat.
Yoshimura reaches up and presses his one hand flat against the table above. I feel his intent and clench my weapons tight, pressing my fists up against the table - and shove!
It goes flying, hurled off its feet into one of the startled men. The table is decently heavy, knocking him down with a painful crunch on his knees; pinning him in place. He's in total agony, prone on his back. His narrow eyes are wide with fear, staring straight at us.
Yoshimura runs up the overturned table and launches off it, lashing out with his blade. It severs a startled man's head clean, a bloody fountain gushing all over as it topples down.
The dusty men dressed in browns and grays have the presence of mind to gather themselves. Someone barks an order, but before that they instinctively reach into their pockets or along the belt, yanking out pistols and automatics. None of their weapons have any notable history - but I can grasp their hollow names. An Ingram MAC-10 is held by eight of them, a skinny snout on its end to silence the noisy muzzle. There is a burly man with a grungy black face mask over his bearded face - he has a JS 9mm, a less compact automatic rifle. Soviet style Tokarev TT-33 are the most common weapon, solid black handguns with chunky, heavy grips.
To see so many weapons pointed at me is startling, but I continue forward. I have faith in Sajyou, so I just charge. They open fire at us, sparks and dust exploding from all sides.
I know it doesn't do any good, but I shout, "Put down your weapons, or I'll kill you! Don't make me do this!"
It's hot words leaping out of my throat, but how can I say them with any conviction? We're the aggressors here. Still - this is the path I've chosen. I fly into a sprint at them, hearing the clicking and popping of their weapons and I just charge blindly. I must seem insane, recklessly assaulting an entire brigade of armed men. But I don't feel a thing as my hands move. Kanshou and Bakuya arc down and break the air like lightning strikes, cutting off two hands at the wrist. I turn and kick one of them that's off to my side, blood gushing from his friend's wound - he staggers back in shock.
I'm a little startled myself. They weren't prepared for that at all. And neither was I. That man's hands are now on the ground, a pistol still clenched tight in one.
They continue to fire, smoke and spark pouring out of their weapons. Comically, the bullets just roll out - their momentum robbed before they can even leave the chamber. The sounds of metal bullets dropping like nuts from a tree fill the warehouse - plink plink plink. The machine guns spray and spray, ejecting shell casings as they fire in total disbelief at us.
Yoshimura decapitates two men with a single twirling strike. He moves with fidelity and grace, the tip of his sword rising up along a third man, carving a lethal wound from his gut to his neck. I'm struck amazed by it - the amount of strength that requires - and his katana is so worn down, it could easily break if he tries that again!
I hear more gunfire in the distance. Fighting erupts above us. There's a lightshow coming straight above. I glance up as the men surrounding us begin to back away in panic. I see a cluster of men trying to snipe us on the catwalk, shooting at a slight angle away. Further away, more shots clatter. People are scrambling - dozens and dozens of people in this warehouse - all alerted to the cacophony of shouting and gunfire.
Kanshou and Bakuya come down on two arms, separating them at the shoulder on each side of me. That man had held a long serrated knife - but for some reason his attack was so slow and feeble. It was too easy to dodge and follow up with a severe blow. I cringe as blood splashes all over my arms, soaking into my clothes. It's hot. Disgusting. I step in between my enemies, attacking with simultaneous swipes - I frenzy, flaying the air with my attacks. We're both scared now. How could I go through with this?
At this point, men are throwing down their arms now. Some reach for knives, some of them swords - others back away, calling for help or outright fleeing. I kick one of the panicked yakuza in front of me, desperately keeping my back to the wall. Yoshimura doesn't let himself get stacked up against, aggressively lashing out with large slices, opening wide wounds in the throng of enemies.
I am the bone of my sword - but these people aren't like the monsters I've been fighting. They may be heartless murderers and thugs, but dispatching them - it doesn't require me to treat them like a butcher might a pig.
Now begins the counterattack. An adrenaline cocktail surges in their hearts - three move at once on me, not with the clumsy anti-coordination of a mob, but with the trained focus of a squad. Two men swing vertically, while one lunges, boxing me in, trapping my movement and leading their short blades with quick lashes. They're scared, but determined. I'm just one guy to them. And now they're forcing me to...
This is the only way.
I step into the middle blade, angling my body aside to sidestep the lunge. Kanshou comes down, severing just a finger, the long razor blade dropping with it. To my left Bakuya strikes out, a deep wound embedded now in the other attacker's bicep. I step back with fleeting feet in time to counter the third attacker again, the tip of Kanshou catching his thigh and rending open the outside of his dark skin-tight pants. I could have taken his life, but I hesitated.
I pay the price with a hiss. I twisted my wrist with that abandoned attack. I should have followed through, but then he would have died. Can't they see this is fruitless? I've fought Heroic spirits before - and this is nothing like that.
Yoshimura dances around his foes, displaying an advanced form of sword play. I catch moves in my periphery, my mind easily recalling them - as though his knowledge is being channeled through is blade and into me.
Fear and pain stall the trio long enough for me to grab myself against the pulsing pain in my wrist - I duck forward and step step cut step cut step cut cut step cut - leaving four symmetric wounds on each thigh, on each triceps. They stumble over, oozing blood - crippled beyond movement with their tendons severed. Agony wheezes out of their chests and I step around them, feeling power course through me. They might recover enough to live their lives, in time, but none of them will ever be fit to fight again.
Common men are nothing compared to Heroic spirits.
Their numbers are great, but once I adjust to their style of reliance, they can't come close.
Yoshimura ends the life of the Captain of this group here. Or, whatever title he may have held in their organization - it's apparent as I watch on. The experienced thug parries an overhead strike from Yoshimura - but the blade is drawn back like it's made of paper, smoothly sliding free from the submitting sword below. A second attack whips out before the man can even adjust his guard, cleaving off his ear and burying deep into his shoulder. Yoshimura kicks him in the groin and unstucks his blade, pushing the man over. He collapses into blood and terror-filled screams.
The remainder run - ducking out through an open door. They trample outside, screaming. It's not good that they escaped, but the clock started ticking as soon as our cover was blown anyway.
We overlook the carnage, noting the crates loaded into two white vans before us. The sound of gunfire continues to echo far off on the other end of the warehouse. Metal doors are yanked open with the sound of grinding chains and humming motors. Vans cough to life in the distance, horns bleeting as people shout.
"They're pulling out, Emiya." Yoshimura whips his blade around, cleaning it of blood, "Whatever it is they've been housing here, we need to stop as much of it from getting out as possible. That will prove the superiority of our employers and nip this conflict in the bud."
If you say so, Yoshimura-san... I just nod to him, feeling numb as I behold my bloodied hands. "I hear them to the east... why don't you get the opposite end?"
"My thoughts exactly. Let's meet up in the center."
"Understood."
And he dashes off, prompting me to wheel around and break into a run, rushing to the shudder of shattering wood.
So much for teamwork and planning. This place is just a madhouse now. This is an unmitigated disaster in the making.
When I leap over stack of crates, landing in a prone crouch, I'm greeted to the sight of hasty workmen slamming crates down into the open back ends of inconspicuous silver vans. Many twist their gaze toward me, communicating among each other in hasty Mandarin. I wish I could speak it, just so I could tell them to surrender now...
It feels wrong in my gut to attack these people. At the same time, I know many of them must be foul-hearted. It makes it a little easier, but my stomach is knotting from the carnage I just unleashed. And now I must begin all over again. I regretfully lay my blades on each side of me, calming my breath as I step closer.
"If you surrender, I promise none of you will be harmed..." I say once more - but it's fruitless, they don't seem to understand a word, eight ski-masked yakuza pulling out their weapons. I can feel the their smiles swagger as they stare me down. They must think I look like a joke, holding up Kanshou and Bakuya at them. They probably don't realize one of their teams is already downed and they don't stand a chance against me.
As soon as they begin to pull their triggers at me, my circuits surge to life. My muscles push harder than any Olympic athlete's, letting me throw myself into the first two with a staggering blow. I pound both pommels of my blades into each of their temples, both men's skulls banging painfully on the van doors behind them. I push off the van and turn as I hear plink after plink after plink - bullets dropping dead onto the cement.
A circling slice digs into one man's arm. It comes off. I swing down on another's forearm, nearly removing it. Kanshou and Bakuya gracefully release the flesh, cutting so clean that they don't get stuck. I feel Archer's memorized movements possess me, my attacks becoming like water. It's so scary, how efficient his movements were - how they perfectly guide my hands. I swipe as one man stumbles backwards, his eyes bulging at the twirl of my body. I leap and spin, Kanshou and Bakuya coiling like a cyclone around me. He trips back and falls onto his ass - my foot kicking away his downed gun. In the next moment, he loses three fingers and an eye. I shove my foot between his thighs and twist around, a man's arm ringed around my throat. I saw it reach around in my periphery, so I am already moving - Kanshou lodged in his stomach before he can even think to snap my neck. Bakuya joins her brother blade. They slide free with a gurgling squelch, thick blood spraying all over my back. I stomp on his foot, grinding my heel down his shin, and push hard. He collapses wetly.
One of the silver vans flies off, tires skidding with a shrill scream. Instantly I fling Kanshou, wanting to cut out a tire. My arm moves, embraced by the memory of a beautiful circular swing. The dark sword swirls in the air, rending right through the back left tire and wheel, severing it in half, before shattering apart.
Regret and indecisiveness fade away as I become a living, breathing sword. I follow the blade's arc with the projection of my mind. My hand opens immediately and then Kanshou returns to my opened hand; so easily like the prana just drips from my fingertips. The van skids and shrieks to a halt after spinning wildly out of control just outside.
I feel a man try to stab me from the side, bur I step back and swing. His arm lands on the ground behind me - and then Bakuya is embedded in his gut. I watch him as he crumples to his knees, a pitiable look in his eyes as he looks up at me, the life rapidly leaving him. He's too weak to even curse me.
Prana is like lightning in my body, enhancing my every sense, my every twitch becoming a blink. I have never fought like this - full tilt, causing collapse and calamity with each blow.
My breathing is wild, hot steam rolling out my throat. A man crawls away from me, leaking blood into a drain in the floor.
Footsteps lightly slink down stairs behind me. I turn to see a man descend from the catwalk above. He is watching me carefully, sizing me up like a hawk. Does he think I am prey?
"Hao jiu bu jian." He says, chuckling.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand you." I actually say that in English, hoping he might at least know a more common tongue. But he doesn't react.
This man is different, so I let him step off the stairs. He dresses in a pinstripe gray suit, matching gray slacks. A white collared shirt lies underneath, thick white cuffs cinching around his wrists. He has a lean face, a jagged scar along his jaw. Those of eyes of his are a cobalt blue, his dark hair feathered with curly bangs in the front. A distinct nose shaped like a dagger pierces between his slanted eyes.
The man's wrist flick out - I feel surge of panic in me - from somewhere concealed in his suit, two swords slip out. He attacks before I can think to move back, so I concentrate on defending. Kanshou comes up to block Bakuya and Bakuya reaches up just in time to deflect Bakuya.
He steps in and down, applying tremendous force as we lock eyes. His lithe frame and stiff suit hide his strength. I bend under him, turning out of a scissor attack.
He doesn't let up again me, following through with a careful whipping of Bakuya. My own Bakuya blocks it, but the force of the matching blows cracks my inferior blade.
Only now, does it fully register that this man is wielding my own weapons.
"Who are you?!" I lash out, but he simply dodges. Panic flares as the tip of Bakuya catches my arm - I narrowly avoid it, but it manages to flay open my right sleeve, exposing unblemished flesh.
It's too late, I'm already dead. Distracted by the near cut I fail to follow up against his next assault. One strike comes for my groin so I parry it, but it makes me lean down and forward and his Kanshou is too far from my Bakuya and I can't possibly deflect it in time-
Lucky. So much desperate prana floods me - my muscles clench and cramp and I actually slip back, my body bending awkwardly to the right. I stumble back as his attack misses narrowly. I feel the brush of death slip just past my throat. He rushes in and attacks once more - one, two - three horizontal slices - my body is so suddenly overclocked that I don't realize what I'm doing. I'm just backtracking, stumbling over debris, narrowly evading. This man simply cannot be human. He is too fast. I hurl Kanshou and Bakuya and to my surprise he does the same. Our whirling boomerangs batter each other - his returning with a whirring wobble, mine shattering into pieces of starlight.
While this man's blades are better than mine - I have an infinite supply. Another pair gradually fill the air. I steal a boiling breath.
My tunnel vision breaks apart and the world goes into focus once more - I hear the roar of an engine, one of the silver vans kicking up soot as it roars. Those smoldering tires peel off.
The man chuckles, lowering his blades.
"Zai jian." He murmurs, his voice almost electronic - vanishing without a trace, his body just flickering out. I don't feel his presence any longer, so I lower my guard.
My heart continues to pound in my chest. I'm less worried about that man and what he represents, more worried about the images that flood me. A little more guilt creeps into my hands. There's a lot of blood splatter all over me. I realize I'm not thinking straight - I almost died. I need to focus. Why did I agree to separate from Yoshimura? That was stupid. We need to group back up. I can't handle this alone - I'm just a rookie, even if I'm more than skilled enough to handle these thugs.
As I begin to move toward the stairs that stranger came down, my eyes darting all over to ensure he's not going to sneak up on me - doubt again seeps into my mind. I have killed, or at least permanently crippled, many people here. I step over their body parts or their blood and hear again the echoes of sick clenches, my blades cutting away their flesh. Did they deserve it?
Maybe.
Maybe this is the justice I've craved to carry out since I was a kid? But this feels wrong. Yet with my skills, it's not possible for me to protect my enemies from their own foolishness. I don't have any option but to be a sword right now.
"I need to get stronger," I realize now - that I am nowhere near my peak. Archer had said I wasn't even worthy of a percent of his total strength; and this clearly proves it. Archer could have dealt with these guys without slaughtering them.
I steel myself, pushing my doubt down and resolve myself to do better. I can't be forgiven for what I've done, but maybe I am helping the sovereign people here by weeding out this foreign intrusion. Maybe it's not quite as bad as I feel.
I hear fighting in the distance, but it's impossible to know from where. The tall shelves cause sound to reverberate or be muffled. The darkness makes navigating difficult too, only specific paths are brightly lit, tall obstructions cast long shadows. I am seeing things that aren't really there, strong glares or dull flashes in the dark. Only the moonlight above through the many small, foggy windows in the ceiling give me any bearing.
I dash toward the stairs to the second level catwalk, stopping only for a moment before one of the loaded, driverless vans. Dead men lie slumped over. Blood pools in thick puddles. One man is standing up, clutching his oozing stump. When he sees me, he flees with a shriek into the night.
I approach the van and strike one of the wooden crates inside with a pommel. The wood is hard and sturdy, so I cleave it open. What I'm expecting is a powdery substance, or bags of money, or maybe even gold bars. What I see instead is bizarre - paintings. This box is stacked with six Western oil paintings, their dimensions similar, about as tall and wide as my forearm. I put one knee inside the van and open another crate, finding a soft marble bust. I don't recognize the face, but it looks like a sculpture of some monetary value. I can't very easily grasp their histories because they all seem very old. I would need more time to even hope to get a faint understanding of them.
I don't really have the luxury of that time, so I just back off. My allies may need help, but I've completed an important objective by noting what they're transporting. These people are thieves or smugglers, maybe of fine art. Peculiar.
So I hop up the nearby stairs two at a time. Kanshou and Bakuya are in my hands. A little fatigue makes me feel the weight of each step.
Upon the walk, everything is easier to see. Lights are attached to the metal grated walkway underneath my feet, projecting dim cones that aren't very useful below on the ground, but illuminate the walk way in a useful manner. I follow one man fleeing for his life through one aisle below, another three trying to scout out the opposition while they stay perched under some desks. They're carrying assault rifles in their arms and trench knives on their belts. I hurl Kanshou and Bakuya together, those sharp swords whirling through an ancient, warped wooden shelf - it causes a cascading chain reaction of destruction. Heavy boxes come down upon overburdened shelves. The trio turn around in time to behold an avalanche of bulky supplies that buries them with a crashing topple. It shakes the whole building.
I start running again.
But then I break my stride once more and project again as someone bleeds into focus; a man ahead of me holds a radio, his eyes overlooking a battle in the distance. His pallid face turns toward me as he hears my loud thumping steps. He shouts something hurriedly and starts running away. I think he is unarmed.
I could probably kill him, but if he is unarmed, do I have any right to? I give chase down the walk, but my eyes catch sight of Sajyou and Manaba in the distance. Sajyou is keeping a comfortable distance from her enemies, chanting with a deep look of focus in her gaze. Her outstretched palms generate small arcs of lightning - they spark down metal rails and through conducting puddles of blood. Glowing lights spark and fizz, spraying shards of light all over. I really have no idea what kind of magic that is - but it's at least very effective at freaking out the yakuza that surround her. They cower behind wooden boxes, prone. Their arms are discarded, only a few still holding onto metal knifes and katana.
It looks like they can handle themselves, with Manaba-san throwing his lanky legs around, fluid kicks piercing into the guts and flanks of his enemies. A solid punch to the jaw makes a horrible cracking sound I can even hear over all the hollering.
I stop and look at the person I was chasing. He's realized I'm not chasing him anymore. I'm just beholding the battle. He must think I'm crazy, leaving an enemy to his own whims for quite a while. I feel quite removed from the action up here and maybe the adrenaline is not helping me think straight...
The Chinese man in a cheap dark suit and ski mask wears a wrenched expression. He looks so spent, frustration and panic preventing reason.
"Ni shi shei?! Ni shi shei?!" he shouts at me, over and over, his voice finally cracking into a sob.
I feel sorry for the distressed man, even if he is my enemy. Should I? He would probably say such an attitude is weak and has probably hurt countless others. I can just imagine his cruelty to others. But, I don't want to lose this part of me.
"I'm sorry," I say in English - prana pumps into my thighs and I dash forward, smacking the frightened man as hard as I can with the flats of Kanshou and Bakuya. The attacks aren't quite effective, slapping across his face with two bony twangs. A dazzled look fills his glassy eyes, so I shove a pommel into his skull. I wince as I hear a popping sound, the yakuza dropping his radio and falling backwards.
Well, he's not dead at least. I step over him and descend a long flight of stairs, readying to flush out the enemies that have pinned Sajyou and Manaba in place...
Below, I come upon them all. My heart is pumping hard as I shout to them.
"Lay down your weapons! This is your last warning!" I really don't want to do this, but at least I get their attention. Flanking them from behind, they realize they're cornered. And maybe it's fear, or just the resolve to finally make their stand, they come out of hiding, half of them moving towards me, while the others try to swarm Manaba between the towering crates of cargo.
This is it. I can feel it in my bones. We'll clear this group, I'll tell Manaba-san what I've found, we'll rescue Yoshimura above, and then- then we can get the hell out of here. I'll need to dwell on the mysterious person who attacked me and what he's connected to.
I step forward, wearing a dead look on my face. I stare down my first opponents, they're just a stone's throw away. I ready my body to break into a spirit, to intercept them-
But before the battle can even unfold for us, there's a sound of heavy shattering and cracking from above. Part of the ceiling gives way and spears through shelves along the cornering wall.
Every one of us looks up. What's going on? Is someone on the roof? I jump back as debris smashes into the spot where I'd been standing. Something up heaves shingles which rain down on us. The yakuza aim their flashlight-mounted weapons up, illuminating something- something disturbing. It takes steps which echo like a solid bell and a horrible edifice emerges from the night sky above. Fists come down, battering apart glass and chunks wood. From between the shards of the foggy glass in the ceiling, a gargantuan beast looms, the full light of a brilliant moon against its jagged back. More glass shatters as it floats inside, a massive shadow now hovering upon the ring of concrete beneath our feet.
The clawed wings of a bat unfurled let the intruder slowly sail down to the ground from the bleak sky. I gaze on in disbelief as misshaped feet that look like they are made entirely of coarse orthoclase impact the floor with two simultaneous dull thuds. With the small amount of clearing available, the creature from above lands with a powerful grace. Hunched forward, an impervious spine straightens, letting the apex of a nude, muscled chest the complexion of dark clay crackle to life. Stone grinds against stone as cold muscles clamp tight, clawed hands underneath the joints of those wide wings rolling into heavy fists.
A granite maw howls, "I will smash you! Crush you! Tear the flesh from all your bones!"
Glowing eyes of gold stare me straight down, paralyzing me. The creature's mouth sitting with a hideous underbite, jagged fangs of rock sticking straight up, it smiles a grim smile.
A powerful, unsettling aura becomes us. It seeps into my bones. Were I not already acquainted with the likes of Heroic spirits, I would be trembling so bad I wouldn't be able to think. Flight would overcome my thoughts and I would be cowering in some forgotten crawlspace somewhere here!
All around us, the remaining vagrants freak out. Some have stumbled backwards onto their hinds, while others are creeping back, rubbing their eyes or already in the throes of panicked shrieking. Some turn and run away towards the vans, but the winged beast throws itself high into the air with a powerful lunge. It swings through the air with powerful flaps of its paradoxical wings. I hear a terrible crunching sound as it slams down on someone just beyond my sight; a gleeful war-cry exploding in my ears. It stomps forward, disappearing completely behind tall metal crates and parked mobile trailers.
"I am the bone of my sword..." My aria strengthens my resolve, banishing the creeping of fear along my spine.
My eyes snap to my team. Ayaka is far, far back. That's good. I think she's safe. She's hiding behind stacked wooden pallets, her vibrant eyes bugging out of her skull. Sword-san is on the upper level, pushing back a katana-wielding thug on the creaking metal walkway. He's sweating bad, exhausted from the fighting, but he looks like he's still in a dominant position, but he's on the brink of freaking out, inexplicable fear gnawing at him suddenly. At least his opponent seems to fair the same fate.
Manaba-san is nowhere to be seen. Where did he go, I just-
I'm snapped back into action when the creature soars up high again, swooping down to scoop up two unarmed men in clawfuls of flesh. They holler as their ribs are compressed, snapping with vicious embrace. Gurgling crimson, they're dropped like useless dolls to the ground.
"Cowards! You dare flee from glorious battle?" the creature's voice calls out in English, his voice beckoning through metal and wood, resonating with the very earth.
I look over to Ayaka, totally lost. I shout as loud as I can at her. Does she see me? Does she have any idea what this thing is?!
"Ayaka! What the hell is that thing?!"
She shrieks at me in panic, so I climb up top boxes, running toward her. I gather up beside her.
"Shirou!" she shrieks, moving behind the pallets, "W-We need to- get out of here! Right now!"
I grab her shoulders and stare into her eyes, "Get a hold of yourself!" I shake her.
It doesn't really help, but she swallows, "Shi-Emiya- I think - Is it a gargoyle?"
A gargoyle? What the hell would a gargoyle be doing here? I don't even know what that is.
She bites her lip, mumbling so softly in the heat of the moment I can barely hear, "But what would something like that be doing here!"
The stone soles of its long feet strike the ground once more, snapping somebody's spine in the dark distance, behind the tall metal trailers. I hear the sweep of a fist flying out, slamming a man with a wet squelch into the sliding metal overhang doors just ahead. They bend like tissue paper.
Is this beast on our side? But why weren't we told? It's safer to assume it's hostile, especially since Ayaka is frightened. We would have been told about this, I think.
"Sajyou-san," I'm now witnessing it, keeping my eyes pinned on the cusp of the beast's visage over the blocking crates and trailers beyond, "I think you're right," I remember the calm of those nights with Tohsaka or Saber, gathering the strength to lead, "We do need to pull back. We didn't anticipate something like this. Where is Manaba-san? Yoshimura - he's above."
She pushes my hands off her shoulders, her strength returning to her "I don't know!"
She doesn't sound confident. Does she want to keep fighting? But why. She said we should run, just a second ago.
"He's somewhere down there. I just saw him." She murmurs, her voice filled with shock, "But he might be hurt now."
"Then we can't leave. We need to look for him."
If this thing isn't on our side, it's suicidal. I can hear the weight of that thing's power. We have no idea what it's capable of or who it's working for. We were told not to start a war here, but the operation has turned south too fast. We can't just keep going, innocents might get involved. At the very least, this is proof we don't know the nature of our enemy at all. I can only hope this is a sudden ally - does the Yakuza I'm with make deals with monsters of myth?
I shiver at the sound of someone pleading for mercy, a pitiful incomprehensible gibbering silenced by a heavy pounding. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. And then it dies out.
Scum, maybe, but nobody deserves to die like that.
The creature's quaking steps echo louder and louder as it maneuvers slowly toward our direction. I'm keenly aware of the hushed sounds - my team are the only humans around, besides maybe some on the upper levels of the facility. I realize what I need to do now.
"Sajyou, look for Manaba. I'll stall for time."
I only manage to take a step before its hulking frame steps into view from between two metal cylinders.
"I appreciate you waiting for your turn," it grumbles, standing tall with a mighty expression.
He steps closer and closer and I feel the chill in my bones as I near it too; letting me behold that blood-stained visage in full. Spines of white point outward from its terse jaw, a nail reversed on the tip of its chin - imitating a stout goatee of stone. Chipped ivory rings pierce its nose and earlobes. A ridge crawls up along the top of its skull from the base of its spine, small spires striking off its slope and along the mantle of each brow.
Titanic shoulders house the beast's strength, rotating with the sounds of crushing gravel as it swings its thickly muscled arms. Stone scales throb like varicose veins on the tops of its fingers.
Without prelude the beast suddenly rips opens its relaxed wings, climbing up high. It twirls around and crouches on the ceiling, its feet grasping a beam. We lock eyes just as he pushes off with tremendous force, flying down like a meteor or a swooping bat.
Any normal human or magus might have died right there. There is no spell I know of that could be casted in enough time that would stall such exploding force. All I know to do is to roll forward. Purely on instinct, I roll and roll and roll, just nearly escaping ground zero. The gargoyle crashes with a shuddering breakage, the resulting shockwave knocking over bottles off shelves. Clattering fills my ears.
When the dust settles, I'm standing again on the other side of the narrow arena. The gargoyle stands up unscathed, turning towards me with the slowness of a confident predator.
I contain my voice tight in my chest.
"What are you? Are you a gargoyle?"
"I am."
He reaches down, fingers beautifully blending with the unfinished concrete floor - scooping up flowing chunks of stone into his hand like it was putty. His arm hurls forward, trying to lob the thick bolts of stone shrapnel at me - but the stone immediately plunks to the floor.
"What is this sorcery? Argh!" he swoops up high again, rolling in the air and crouching on the ceiling once more. His huge wings outstretched, he throws himself down at me again.
I need to think of a better plan. Instead of rolling, I throw myself into a crack between the metal containers. Squeezing my body through the crack just as he collides with a wrenching earth shatter, I pop out the other side and move as swiftly as I can around his sight.
The ground under me shakes.
"Coward! Do you think you can hide from me? I can hear the voices of any castle you dare to hide in!"
I nearly trip over Ayaka, who has since moved from where she was. I clamp my hand over her mouth and whisper harshly, "What the hell do we do?" a beat, "Did you find Manaba yet?"
She doesn't even get a chance to respond. I realize exactly what's wrong before she can only register what's going to happen. I throw us to the floor just as a stone body drives right through a metal shelf. Right where we had been crouching, everything gives and collapses around the beast. His body continues onward, slamming into another set of metal shelves which crumple under the wrecking force, sending heavy boxes raining - thankfully missing us.
I scoop up Ayaka and stumble ahead, my words drowned out by supreme fury.
"Fight me cowards!"
I duck out of sight and drop her, just in time for a breathless whisper to reach my ears, "Gargoyles are immune to magic! And- I have no idea what they're weak to. Legends might say sunlight, but-"
"-the sun isn't rising any time soon. Are you sure Sajyou? Just - try to think of something, I'll stall him."
"W-We need to get Manaba-san and Yoshimura-"
"Just stay back!" I push her away and turn - Kanshou and Bakuya come to my call. Prana floods my arms and I step into a grounded punch, slamming both crossed blades on that bulky wrist. With my sweeping attack, I brush his stony spearing punch aside - all of its wild force concentrated within the desire to shatter me.
I back away, just in time for Sajyou to shout, "You need to pierce his armor some how!"
Pierce his armor? I just swung two blades at almost the exact same point - it didn't even leave a scratch on that concrete hide.
"Heaven or Earth, I have you bested mortal!" I feel the ground shake as he flies up into the sky, twirling around onto the ceiling once more. He's like a giant spider or bat, finding me within seconds up there. He locks onto me and hurtles through the air. I just barely manage to roll away, cringing at the way metal and brick bow and meld under him.
Fire fills my lungs as I lift my knees high, putting as much space as I can between us!
"Why are you doing this?!"
He immediately soars up straight, perched on the ceiling again.
"I fight because I must. Because there is no choice. Because I must not leave a single soul alive, no matter how cravenly they fight!"
Another one who must fight because he must? Why do those words ring so hollow, coming from another?
I keep running.
"So you're saying someone is making you fight?!"
He watches me from above, "Perhaps. Why are you fighting, boy?! Who makes you fight? Perhaps it is the same for me!" he drums his chest with the pumps of his fists, "Cause or no cause, fighting for its own sake - isn't that enough?"
His words strike me as true, at first. Why am I fighting? Haven't I used similar words to justify it to myself? But for some reason, I understand better this time. In battle, my head just seems to run clearer. The answer comes clean, despite the people I'm currently working for, it's so obvious!
"I am fighting for my ideals!"
Why do I ever doubt myself? That's all I've ever fought for. Even when my ideals come into question, I'm still fighting for them.
He laughs between each breath, "You? You and every other misguided magus! All Fools! All Liars! And Tricksters! And Schemers! All of you, more senseless than a worm!"
I stop and press up behind a sturdy mobile trailer that's parked along near a sealed overhang door; catching my frantic breath. This thing is much more manageable when it talks.
"Tell me, who are you working for?!"
"Why should you care? It makes little difference! You will all die here anyway!"
I hear him push off and slice the air like a missile. Knowing exactly where he's headed, I just break into another desperate sprint with prana and od blending together in my veins. I jump head first into a roll, just barely avoiding the entire destruction of that trailer. The gargoyle just crunches through it, his stony wings spread wide to slow his descent and widen his impact. His clawed hands are fully bloomed, sheering metal like it's paper. He's stopped by a metal container against a wall, imprinting his huge frame into the steel. I turn around and feel my back press into a wall, stealing my breath as he immediately breaks into a sprint this time. Not at all impeded by his crash, he takes off and hops, carrying all his weight with a tall glide, feet hovering just centimeters off the ground.
He swings his claw forward and I respond in kind. Howling with a rage inside my heart that I channel it all into my arms. Prana pumps and surges through excited circuits.
The claw is caught in both my readied blades, the solid X of metal holding fast again the creature's immense power. My arms are fully reinforced, throbbing with all the prana I have to muster.
We lock eyes.
I grind back into the wall behind me, feeling my feet, thighs and arms ache with the force carried against the floor. But I keep my arms locked - imprisoned in struggle of strength.
"You're wrong! It makes all the difference! I will win - because I am not a slave!"
He snarls, blowing molten steam in my face.
My bones are singing, ready to give. This kind of full-out attack rivals the sturdy blow of a Heroic spirit's. But my words dent the armor of the beast, I can feel his doubt. It gives me just enough room to struggle.
I throw his attack aside and tumble forward through his legs, rolling and rolling. I feel like I could just collapse but I somehow pick up into a run - my body somehow remembering what it was like to fight like this again. This body, which was not my own until recently, somehow recalls exactly how to cope. It's like I've always been a natural at this. Or maybe, maybe this body has gone through the same?
I sprint around the corner, hearing the beast pant and grunt in shameful fury.
"You are wrong!" He shrieks.
I nearly collide into Sajyou again. We meet eyes. She's speechless for some reason. But desperation grasps her.
"Emiya- Shirou- I just- his wings- there's just no way - do you realize we can't get away from him if he can still fly! The only reason we're not dead is because he can't fly to his fullest in here! We definitely can't leave, not until he's crippled! As soon as we're outside he'll-"
What is she still doing here? Doesn't she get it? This is the worst place for her to be!
"Okay! But what do you suppose we do?"
"Don't you know anything other than how to swing a sword?! We need to break through that armor!" she pleads, "The best magic I can do, it's not even a help here!"
"You said to pierce his armor, but I can't just do that."
"You have to try!"
My danger sense spikes. Without looking my swords vanish and I grab Sajyou and hurl us aside, narrowly avoiding a perfectly vertical descent. His feet dig a knee-deep trench into the concrete, stone shrapnel spit all over us.
I'm prone and forced to get up. Sajyou is dazed at my side, but scarcely alright.
I yank her up hard.
"Just get out of here!" I push her away and swing my hands, Kanshou and Bakuya flickering back just in-time to parry a hasty swipe that comes from straight in front. Following through the parry, I try my best to swing as hard as I can possibly manage, striking Kanshou against the anvil of the gargoyle's forearm. There's hardy clank - the slightest bit of stone armor chafing off. Kanshou cracks on the pivot of its edge and the recoil of the strike makes me stumble back.
I somehow dodge the next attack. I feel a gush of air swipe at me. A millimeter closer and I likely would be dead. Even a clipped attack could shatter something internally. I'm only able to deflect or stay an attack by flooding my muscles with prana - but my natural body unprepared would just crumple.
"You are like a mouse! Vermin, just die already!"
Hot sticky saliva erupts from my mouth. I attack blindly, swinging Bakuya in a smooth arc, swiping at the demon's eyes. His arms fly up reflexively and guard his face - letting me throw myself back and skid into a desperate run.
"Stop running!"
I break out of his sight but I hear him ascend with a sonic swoop, taking to the ceiling once more. I'm getting worn out, running around in circles like this. I need - Sajyou is right - I need to do something else. Maybe Excalibur or some mighty sword could pierce that stone flesh, but with the prana I have remaining (and even if I was fresh, I doubt I could do that and live), I don't feel like I could manage that. Excalibur or Gae Bolg are within the realm of my skill to project, but would they be stable enough to land a winning blow? Would I even survive their miscreation? Rin had warned me more than once not to attempt something desperate like that. I also know from experience that if a blade is not formed perfectly, it will suffer more than a single rank decrease in attack power and even sap me of my strength. Not to mention, there's no guarantee I could damage this kind of enemy even if I could perfectly project such a phantasm. Sajyou said he's immune to magic - which could mean he's as resilient as Saber.
Was there a sword I had that could cleave solid stone? No.
But maybe there's a point, an arrow, which could chip it. A piercing strike can concentrate all the energy into a single blow, while a slash is better for making a broader wound.
It's worth a shot.
A beautiful bow dances to life in my fingers. I saw this bow projected first by Archer. Its origins did not become apparent to me until I truly began to grasp its history much later.
It is made of yew, dyed black with his sorrow. It's a weapon he had made at first while stranded in the wild. Through the years he refined it, adding runes with a carving knife. The last time he had modified it, it was to help guide heavier arrows - one he had needed to land to protect Sakura from a great enemy.
Next, I project an arrow. It comes slowly to life, not quite as natural as forging a sword from my mind. I need an arrow which can pierce stone - the closest I can think of is something narrow, but sturdy. Aerodynamic tips on its end will help it soar, its length weighted to keep it flying straight; the head is smooth steel, the tip coarsely chipped diamond. It doesn't have an accumulated history - it's a poor fake, even for an arrow. But I need to try something different! The diamond tip - it's not fully formed, and its strength is diluted by my imperfect forming.
I can't afford to doubt myself, so I'll give it my all anyway. This might just work.
The gargoyle makes a challenging gaze with his glazed eyes, watching as I slowly smith the magical arrow before him.
"Do you think I will fall from that? You are a fool magi even among those fools."
I don't heed him. Instead I slip into an old pose.
I remind my inner self as I begin to move:
No target is erected.
No bow is drawn.
And when the arrow leaves the string.
It may not hit,
But it cannot miss.
So, I follow:
1. Placing the footing.
I step onto the line where the arrow will be shot.
2. Facing the enemy.
I turn so that the left side of my body aligns with my target.
3. Seeing the target.
I look straight down the sights of my arm through my knuckles.
I aim carefully at the center of his left wing.
4. Forming the footing
My feet slide halfway apart.
My feet angle so that they form a V.
5. Forming the body
I find the center and seize a breath.
Parallel shoulders to parallel hips to parallel feet.
6. Readying the bow
I grip the string with my right hand.
The left hand grabs tight the bow.
The eyes of mine stare out and I see through him into the wall past it into the night sky outdoors there are bright stars beyond even that and even another world beyond that and even more infinite empty space beyond even that
7. The bow is raised.
My muscles creak as I flood them - the bow is so tense, requiring inhuman strength to bend. But it's possible by alighting even more precious circuitry inside my nerves.
8. Drawing apart the space between both hands pull slow and spread apart the arms
The bow yawns apart.
9. A full draw exists for not even a single breath.
It will not miss.
10. Release
I feel something release only to be snapped back to reality. I'm so used to being able to follow the arrow's projection with my mind that when my hand lets go and the bow snaps forward - the euphoria of release that would normally follow is not there. I draw in a sharp breath as I feel it - everything just robbed in a moment. The arrow just drops uselessly to the ground and it all just stops.
My brain is stuck.
How could that have just happened?
What would Mitsuzu-
My mind is so winded I barely react in time. The gargoyle is laughing like a jackal in his descent. I stumble out of the way watching as his claws tauntingly scratch sparks along the floor, shredding concrete with just the tips of her digits.
My feet pound forward and I realize I'm running again. The weakness of defeat grips my heart and I'm only shaken out of my zombified run by Sajyou-
I duck behind a crate and bump head-first with Sajyou. My world spins for a moment and we both rub our heads.
"Emiya! That shot- what kind of pathetic attempt was that?!" she whispers ecstatically.
"H-Hey!" Anger bubbles in me, "I don't understand it either! It's like something stole my attack of everything I put into it!"
She stills, "W-wait, maybe my spell affected it?"
"I thought you said it would stop bullets!"
"Well, I said it's meant to stop the concept of a bullet. It also includes over things, like grenades, but it's not like I've had a chance to test it against everything!"
"The concept of a bullet?"
Sajyou huffs, "Yes- it's- Something like- There's no time to discuss it right now Emiya!"
But, the concept of a bullet. Maybe she means the concept of all projectiles? That would explain it. Or maybe not. I had been able to hurl Kanshou and Bakuya... Wait.
"Sajyou, do you think a sword - do you think the concept of a sword is stronger than the concept of a projectile?"
"What are you talking about? I don't understand what you're sayin-" our conversation is interrupted by the gargoyle's rapid ascent again.
He looks supremely ticked off.
"This is it! I'm tired of these games! You're done for!" Sickly green runes glow on the gargoyle's chest, arms, and wings. He tenses and shudders on the ceiling, his muscles readying to snap-
Sajyou tries to stay calm - she raises her hands and fires a flurry of weak Grandr shots, but they peter out rapidly, sparking against the ground.
"Dammit! My own spell is - even my best magic is just a hindrance!"
"It's okay, Sajyou-san." Calmness steals me. The bow still loosely held in my hand again - I hold it up once more; there's no time for a better position. "We have one more shot at this." I look at her, "You should back away in-case it doesn't work."
Never before have I ever done this. I've not the slightest idea how He managed it. Archer - the very concept of shooting a sword? Ridiculous. Only I could have come up with an idea at a time like this.
Sajyou doesn't listen to me, she just stands at me with peril unbidden in her eyes. I tune her out and gaze up at the demon above, watching as the milliseconds tick by. I'm gathering the last of my strength bit by bit, flowing naturally into the mindset - mushin. The same mindset that let me battle with my double.
What is a sword which can act as an almighty arrow? I want a sword whose nature as a sword is unquestioned. But, a blade that can fly.
"I am the bone of my sword." Those words beckon from my lips-
A bejeweled blade slips into focus slowly. I can feel its weight upon my mind. Its history is so powerful, so ancient, that I had kept it shielded in my mind since I had laid eyes upon it. Vajra, the lightning sword of unyielding destruction - the fleeting power of a lighting strike. Power unrestrained that it destroys even itself. Explosive energy so wild it is said that once used, the sword would be lost to the user until they reclaimed each unleashed shard or fragment. It is the kind of sword meant to be held as a priceless, unwieldy treasure. The very type of thing Gilgamesh would carelessly hurl from his ancient gate.
This sword touched divine fingertips, once. It is now threaded between my hands. The draw of its creation is so taxing that I nearly lose grip on it. A golden spiral unwinds with a yawn, a horrible fanged tip aimed straight up. It's not as hard to pull forth as Gae Bolg or Excalibur would be, but its power is still potent. It might be enough...
The gargoyle is unflinching, gathering his power with a haughty smile. He's enjoying this, enjoying my struggle. And with all the stored power inside him now, his wings open wide. A golden aura surges around him as he now pushes off, a typhoon of energy cresting behind him as he soars down to kill us.
I don't want to take any chances, so I target the easiest thing. His left wing again - I have seen it move and know its pattern. It is thin. Even if this beast possesses high magical resistance and strength, it will not be able to block this. Blocking this blade is not even a concept - lightning flows to strike its target, it is not something that can be avoided or impeded. Once it has formed a connection, it will strike true.
First, Placing the footing.
Next, Facing the enemy.
Then, Seeing the target.
Second, Forming the footing
Third, Forming the body
Fourth, Readying the bow
Fifth, The bow is raised.
Sixth, Drawing apart the space between
Seventh, Peel open the center
Eight, Release
The sword flies true. It is a sword. The very concept of a sword is anathemic to that of a projectile. It yearns to meet head on, Vajra the Indestructible Diamond Pounder, shatters as it is swung by my bow.
Ninth, Be the Shot, See Through Its Completion
It crackles to life, bleeding into a blue thunderbolt, a clap of power shattering the buzzing air.
I see it going, meeting that cold breeze. It is nothing, tossed aside by the storm. It strikes through, continuing, flying faster and faster into the sky beyond.
Fearsome lightning tears asunder a gaping hole in the wing. The magical force is dispelled behind the beast's flight. It flies off course, journey collapsing with a resounding bang - its solid head crackling against a catwalk. The metal railing collapses and gives way, the gargoyle tumbling down a story, landing onto its back with a gurgle.
I lower my bow, feeling it disintegrate. My hands are numb and electric currents sizzle along my fingertips. Prana dances in my body, exhaustion creeping - making the edges of my vision darken. I bite my tongue and steady myself and fall on one knee - I'm panting. Blood drips from my nose. I wipe it. It keeps dribbling. I swallow copper and someone shrieks, trying to steady me. I push them away - I don't need their help. I can do this.
I stand up. I push my aching body upright. Something doesn't feel right. I hear it breathing. I realize now it was a mistake - a mistake to waste that attack on a wing. I could have killed it with that, perhaps.
A massive groan fills the air. The gargoyle rolls over off a crushed metal thing. The ground shakes as he lands on his back. But, with a groan, it manages - climbing to its feet right in front of us.
I stand there because it is beyond comprehension for me. Or maybe I'm just - I'm still in Zanshin. Or just mushin? The mind outside the body - the mind of the empty heart. I am too focused to be shocked, or maybe I am too shocked to be focused.
He stands now with one wing collapsed, brittle stone fragments flaking off as it hangs down - it continues to crumble away, large pieces dropping off and shattering from the giant hole. The gargoyle's chest contracts rapidly, exhaustion finally revealing itself.
"For a... a human to best me, what an... what a feat... this is shameful," he wipes his brow, speckles of dust going airborne as he wrings his hand up and down, "I- it cannot end like this."
"Tell me who you serve." My voice is gruff, I swallow thick copper. A hand tugs at mine but I push it away and step forward.
His face twists, wrenching into a gnarled grimace, "I. Serve. No. One!"
Sajyou is earnestly tugging on my arm now.
"Shirou, just give up on it. We need to get out of here."
It's a sound idea, but it's too risky. I think? I can't think straight. But it doesn't sound right to me. Even with the gargoyle's wing clipped, he moves so fast on his arms and legs, barreling with the force of a Shinkansen train car. Even like this, we are no match. The factory offers cover in the form of numerous obstacles, but if we can even get outside, we will still be sitting ducks out there. This isn't a foe anyone can take lightly.
I can't think clearly, but I need to try, "Sajyou, you said - you said he's probably under someone's control. But even if he isn't - isn't a gargoyle just someone's spell?"
"Emiya- I don't know! What's that got to do with anything?" I shake my head, "I don't know what you mean." She pleads quietly.
"What I mean is- a contract! Is there a contract involved?" I struggle to form those words, my consciousness is failing, only staying awake from my will.
"Shirou, I really don't know!" She keeps tugging. It's not helping. We can't run, Ayaka. There are times when you have to run, but I know in my gut it isn't just yet.
But in a situation like this, when your best hand is already dealt, and it's just not enough? What's there left to do? I do have just one more card to play, but I can't draw it here, not with others watching. I could maybe reach into my inner world - call out my reality marble, but am I even in the presence of mind to even do that? And how could I follow through, trapping Sajyou and everybody else inside it as well? Even if it afforded me an advantage here, I can't resort to using that with them around.
Maybe if they retreated though? But would they tolerate leaving me behind? I don't think so, not like this. Everyone is running high. I can understand why Sajyou sounds so frantic. She's never been in a situation like this. I was just like that too, when I first bumped into Illya on that fateful night. Hell, Lancer before that had killed me like it was nothing.
I'm sorry Rin. I need to be selfish again.
There's no hope of what I'm going to do to work, but I just have no other choice now. In a worst case scenario, at least some of the others will get away. This path - it has the best chance of letting the most live on. I really have no idea if this is going to work, but I can't produce a weapon strong enough to break through this gargoyle's armor again.
What I need to win now is something that is not quite a sword, something subtler. Something...
"I have a plan! Just head back Sajyou-san."
Sajyou keeps tugging. And to my surprise, someone else steps down from a rusty stairwell, joining us.
Samurai-man- rather, Yoshimura my hobbled mind reminds- holds a broken shoulder, agonizing over me, "Emiya you idiot! Don't be stupid, listen to her! We need to get out of here!"
But it's too late. They just don't get it. I throw off Sajyou's hand and bolt ahead with stamina I know I don't possess, seeing nothing but red - hearing only the clatter of my footsteps. I'm already sprinting toward the stone beast - the titan's bulging lips breaking wide in a howl of delighted rage.
"Yes! You finally understand! It's your end now. Fight me and realize your death! I so crave to smear your kind upon the earth! Die with glory at last, you warrior fool!"
Kanshou and Bakuya, two great, enduring blades, materialize in my hands as I grind to a halt. I push myself to my limits, forcing prana into my hands to make them as strong as my resolve. I wind up and hurl myself forward, throwing both swords at the exact same moment. I break back into a mad dash, watching as they swerve and spiral through the air ahead of me, each one clipping the gargoyle's shoulders with a metal twang. He howls in laughter, bringing his mighty fists up at me as I close the gap. But I keep myself flowing like water, the breeze of my strikes and the bend of my body coming right in between the crushing swings of his sledging hands, getting so close that I can feel his volcanic breath explode through his stony nostrils. He howls in hatred, bringing his backhand toward me in a hasty swipe. I manage to jump back just in time-
"Steel is my body and fire is my blood."
I feel a stab of pain in my heart as she finally emerges, stepping from the wisps of darkness in my mind. A sad smile conquers the cruelness in her empty words. A woman fated to be great, betrayed. Passion corrupted, her ultimate desire yet remains...
Rule Breaker steps in from ethereal darkness, coaxing into my right hand. In my left, Kanshou waxes again. The beast makes a second swipe at me - and only through instinct do I tuck and roll down underneath it. It's a pitiful roll, but the gargoyle's movements are just a little more sluggish than before. It's enough time for
tumbling down and
coming up
out of the roll,
I make a single strike.
I spin around and around, whirling as the gargoyle tumbles on its feet to follow my dire blow, turning to pulverize me with his outstretched grasp. I roll again and again just because I've lost control, barely stumbling onto my feet. I twist and fling Kanshou at him; letting Rule Breaker slip away. I slam into something hard and my world spins. I've lost all sense of balance and realize I've wound up on the floor.
I feel cold sweat like a deathgrip on my skin. I try but I can't stand straight after that. I know I can't stop moving now - if I stop, that will be the end of it. I will not move any more. I force myself onto my knees and crawl, crawling into a run.
I keep running from the crash, feeling blood drip down my forehead; letting him chase me into a corner, far away from the others. He stalks me with less intent now, feeling my strength bereft? Or giving me a fighting chance? For a moment I feel a spark of hope, thinking he's given up on me. I have no idea what to expect now. Is he crumbling away, the magic unbound? Did I accomplish nothing with that desperate gamble? I'd assumed that...
"Why do you run now? Cornered are you now, human! Your just demise is so undoubtedly certain."
His hulking feet march forward.
"Wait! We don't have to do this." I slow to a crawl... I'm on my hands and knees. I twist toward him and scoot away until my back is up against something.
"Why do you continue to talk? We will fight - this cannot change!"
Leaning on a wall with my hand just trying desperately to prop me up again. I can't control my breathing any longer. This just isn't a fight anymore, and only now have I realized it.
The fact the beast is still standing gives me some clue as to what it really is, though maybe I'm just totally wrong about this. Regardless of my newfound insight, I'm at my end now.
"But," I wheeze, "Why fight me? I am not your enemy." You just suddenly crashed in here - killing everything in sight. What are you? Why are you doing this? So many unanswered questions...
"You are my Master's enemy, so you are indeed mine."
Using all my strength to stay straight; dropping my other arm, I'm upright against the thing propping me up. I bend my knees in another attempt to stand, "But you have no master now! Don't you realize? I've freed you!"
He howls, "Lies! Do you think me a fool? Do you think I can be tricked by your schemes! Magi are all manipulators, all deceivers!"
"Don't be stupid!" my voice is weak, "Think for yourself! Try it - just try it! Do you feel anyone binding you anymore? I swear it's gone. It has to be..."
"Don't hurt me with your lies!"
I'm so hoarse, it's difficult to keep shouting at it. I wipe my brow and drink the dryness that thickens my throat.
"I'm not lying! Try me! Tell me - who was your master? Who was it? Whoever it was - they just can't be anymore!"
"My master...?" he snarls, slamming his fists into the ground, causing it to crackle and split, "Curse him! Curse you all! Damn you, Tian Shin!"
I stare him down, feeling cooler than I should. My heart is still beating so fast, sweat pouring down my hands - my nerves throbbing with the force of that last desperate display. Even that last block still rings in my bones. There is no way my arms could take that much strain again. This gargoyle has the strength of Berserker, just thankfully not his agility. Each of his attacks is preceded by a greedy windup, without the immediate snap of that Hero's diligence.
"...hate them all above your kind, I do. Secrecy and sorcery, betrayal and blood magic, pacts and promises, conspiracies and charlatans!" he lowers his gold-jade eyes to me, "Make no mistake, I trust none of your kind. Yet," he breathes, "I feel strange. Lighter. It is as though you have spoken some truth, I do not feel compelled to end you, to strangle you, to dissolve your flesh into pulp. I cannot feel Him, the tug of His infernal suggestion..."
"You're free now. I broke whatever contract you had with your Master."
"My former Master." He snarls, "Worse than any Yama King, he is as cruel as he is devious! I owe you, foolish little boy, for freeing me from his manipulations."
I wipe my face with my sweaty hand, just spreading sticky sweat everywhere.
"You don't owe me anything, if you'll agree to tell me more about your former Master and to let us go."
He thinks hard, his face hardening into a grimace.
"No! No! It will not be so! I will not let you go so easily human - you have bested me in battle, you have liberated me from lies. I will tell you about my treacherous Master. And then, I will help you kill Him."
Kill him? I'm not sure I can commit to such a thing - never mind can I conceive of agreeing to working with such a ridiculous creature!
"Wait! I don't really know- I can't promise something like that. Is that really wise? I mean-" My body demands rest and my words cut out.
"You claim yourself a warrior of ideals! Yet you fear just another magus made of lies?"
"No! It's just - I don't know anything! Can't we talk this over?" Maybe when I'm not about to drop dead?
"Talk! Talk is trite! The Word is worthless! But very well, puny human. My former Master, Lord Tian Shin, is a man of less reason than a rat, fewer mores than a mongrel, bereft of every beatitude! He is dead! Dead and alive! He contradicts that which should be sacred! The living dead, a thing that Craves more control, Yearns unyielding power. He cannot be satisfied. He is a Beast! A B-"
I'm surprised when I hear voices on the other side of the gargoyle, he turns slightly, acknowledging them with a disinterested glance, "Who dares interrupt me?!"
"Excuse me," Manaba-san says calmly, stepping under the large stone arm, approaching me with a stern glare. His aviators are lifted up over his bloodshot eyes. He looks like he wants to strangle me.
"Shirou!" Ayaka shouts out, her frame visible in the distance, "Shirou! Oh, you're okay!"
Yoshimura surveys the battlefield with a calm gaze. Both of his blades are sheathed, but I can sense they have snapped on the inside, deep cracks running through them.
"Uh, hold on, I'm having a talk with the big guy over here." I try hard to not to chafe under Manaba-san's dark look, "He was just beginning to tell me about his Ma-"
My world goes dark for a moment.
Did I black out?
Manaba-san's fist impacted my right temple. It was a smooth roundhouse. I didn't even have the chance to anticipate it. I don't understand, I thought I was dying. Why did he think it was okay to hit me?
My vision swims and Yoshimura's jovial murmurs reverberate like a distant wind chime, "Excuse us, gargoyle-san, but we really must be going, we've overstayed our welcome."
"Wait maybe we should- let me try talking to him-"
"No Sajyou-san, it's too dangerous. As it is, we're out of time. We must leave immediately."
"I see," the rocky voice grumbles, "Very well. I will find you later, perhaps under the cover of next nightfall." He gathers himself and shuffles off loudly through the warehouse, disappearing somewhere beyond my field of comprehension - just like that. The monster is gone.
My voice creaks, I'm too tired to do anything; now realizing that I'm being dragged by the wrist, Manaba-san's firm fingers clamped tight around them. My visions swims again, blurring into focus.
"Yoshi, clear a path for us."
A voice breaks in through over the radio. It's Kojirou.
"Heh sorry for the lack of communication. If there's still anyone on the other end of this line, you may want to chill out. We've having some difficulties back at HQ. Don't worry, they're being dealt with, but uh, no ETA just yet on that." He chuckles - and then there's the sound of raining gunfire, "Yeah, it may be just a little while."
