Pre A/N: The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.


A desperate, but righteous attempt.

An excruciating battle for their goal, believing with all their hearts until the very last second.

A girl saved from death, and another from doom.

A witch vanquished. And a haunted soul put to peace.

Everything had been done the best possible way. And given the circumstances, the end result could hardly be called bad: it could have ended much worse, yet their course of action avoided it.

There had been no flaws, no mistakes on their part. There was no reason for guilt, nor anyone to attribute it to.

But then, why?

Why?

Why did hurt so fucking much?

Did any of that really matter, in the end? Honor? Righteousness? Unwavering faith?

Ideals are important, sure. Some people even stubbornly live by them, no matter what. But at the end of the day, no matter how much reassurance these arguments provided, the fact remained.

They had failed.

Sayaka was dead.

"I want that." His finger pointed a flask filled with a clear liquid, on the middle shelf in the wall in front of him.

Those thoughts… they were too painful for anyone to cope with. They needed to be silenced, even if just briefly. For his sanity's sake.

"Sod off, kid." The bartender snorted, after swiftly examining his costumer. His rough beard and stern eyes denoted years of experience in the trade. "You may look older, but you don't fool me."

"I said-

"And I said I can't sell it to you! You want me to get a criminal record?"

"Record?"

Before the bartender could even lower his eyebrows, he was looking down the barrel of a Beretta 92, cold, dead eyes looking at him through the pistol's sights.

"How about I set the record for shooting a fucker in the face the most times in a row?"


"True strength is not found in those who stand tall over all, but in those who fall and find the courage to rise up again."

Puella Magi Madoka Magica: Against Destiny

Chapter 11

Angelus Lapsus


A strange sight welcomed any passer-by that happened to stumble into that decaying alley so deep into the night: a blue streetlamp.

No, wait, that can't be right.

And it wasn't. A blink later, it was back to its regular, pale yellow.

Shrugging it off as fatigue, Kazuhira took another large sip of the cheap vodka he's "requisitioned" from the izakaya he'd stumbled into, and carried on.

He'd never been much of a drinker, apart from the occasional beer with his companions on the weekends off the military academy. But at the moment, it was better than sobriety. And it was working, to an extent. He wasn't overwhelmed with sorrow anymore; in fact, there was barely anything on his mind right now, being limited to guide him as he groggily walked through the rundown streets of the vice district. The few bystanders he crossed paths with did not even raise an eyebrow: of all that happened in that forsaken neighborhood, public drunkenness was at the bottom of their concerns.

It might have been the vodka. Or maybe it was simply because his body and soul were broken to the point where his mind simply started slipping away.

But no matter. The pain was gone.

For a moment, at least.

"Why did you kill me?"

It was as if someone had reached into his soul and dipped it in the icy depths of hell. Horrified, he looked back immediately, but saw nothing but the shadows cast by the derelict buildings.

Not that the owner of that voice could have ever been there.

He was about to shrug it off again as he turned around, but what he saw in front of him was impossible to ignore.

She was there.

"Sa-sa-sa-"

Sayaka Miki, the girl who lost the battle against her own despair, miraculously appeared in front of him. Even though his vision was blurred, she was somehow crystal clear to his eyes. The young girl was as beautiful as ever, her blue hair flickering with the dim light of the streetlamps, her school uniform pristine, her smile…

…no, her smile… her magnificent, heart-warming smile was gone. No, that couldn't be Sayaka, there was no expression, no emotion in her face… and her eyes, her eyes of such a deep blue that one could feel oneself almost drowning from looking into them… they were black as night. Kazuhira instantly backtracked. The healthy human mind would have quickly dismissed it as a delusion caused by fatigue, drunkenness and emotional frailty. But perhaps exactly because of that, his didn't; that Sayaka looked as real to him as the heavy clouds in the night sky.

Still baffled, he attempted to reply to the girl that stood in front of him.

"I-I didn't-

"You killed me." The black-eyed Sayaka immediately said. "For all your good intentions, for all your empty words, you were unable to do anything to stop my demise. And in the end, you were the one who put an end to my life."

Even if shocked, even if still not believing his eyes, Kazuhira couldn't help but to feel slightly insulted.

"But we tried to save you! We risked our lives to bring you back!"

"Indeed, you tried."

The girl fell quiet for a moment, slowly circling around him.

"And you failed."

"You're not Sayaka." Kazuhira replied, trying to get his mind back together. "She'd… she'd understand, she understood. She'd never say such a thing."

"You are correct." The figure conceded. "I am not Sayaka. I am merely a product of your mind, a representation of your regret and grief. And yet, that does not make my words any less true."

As the black-eyed mirage spoke, the streetlamps again turned blue, and the walls around them lost their natural color, giving way to a hazy, but bright deep blue glow.

"In the end, all your will amounts to naught."

The hazy lights shifted and twirled in the walls, gradually forming various figures and shapes, eventually creating clear pictures: a walk though Mitakihara with a magnificent sunset as backdrop; a classroom full of bored, but happy middle-schoolers; a lively lunch at the mall with a jolly pink-haired girl; and a witch defeated by a magnificent display of swordsmanship. And in the center of all these images laid a cheerful, headstrong bluenette, Sayaka Miki.

Those were Kazuhira's memories of her.

"You are nothing but a powerless dog, eternally holding on to futile and impossible dreams." The black-eyed Sayaka continued, with a voice so chilling it would make the devil himself cry in shame. "Cowardly running away from destiny, all you do is of no consequence, other than to make the unavoidable fate even more painful. And thus, you are to blame for my death."

Kazuhira had fallen to his knees by now. He told himself none of that was real, but his mind begged to differ. He told himself the girl's accusations were false, yet he could not open his mouth to deny her.

"And mine as well."

His spine froze again, as he turned around to witness another familiar face, that of blond girl with twin drill-bit-shaped tails, standing in front of a wall opposite to Sayaka. The images behind her had changed, and now had a yellow tint, instead of blue.

"…Mami?"

"Had it not been for your malignant presence, I would have protected this city for years to come." The newly appeared girl said. She sported the same thick, soulless black eyes of her blue-haired counterpart. "Is that what you call standing up for mankind? Is that what you call saving us from despair?"

"Pathetic." Sayaka answered for him.

By then, the images projected on the walls had lost their color, and displayed a variety of pictures, mostly those of witches being destroyed by him. All those innocent girls… the girls Kazuhira had put to rest…

"There is nothing you can do. There is nothing you could have ever done. Anything you attempt will have no result but to further our suffering in this wretched world."

The young man faced the black-eyed Sayaka, disheartened. Deep down, he knew she was wrong. No amount of denial, drunkenness and trauma would ever make him doubt his beliefs… he would have been dead long ago, had it not been like that. Yet, he simply couldn't denounce her words… just like the other Puellae Magi, she had suffered beyond comprehension and in the end, he was indeed unable to protect her.

"I-I'm sorry…" He simply said, in such a low voice that few would have heard it. But it was enough. Hearing those words escape his mouth, and looking back up to see the two figures standing immobile, emotionless, Kazuhira broke. He screamed his lungs out in apology, not only to the fallen girls, but to the earth and the heavens, and anyone that could hear his nearly savage roar.

When his voice finally subsided and he opened his eyes, everything was gone. The ethereal panels, the blue lights, the eerily beautiful girls were gone, and his surroundings returned to normality, like a passing shower. Kazuhira blinked rapidly, trying to understand what had just happened, if it had been nothing but a drunken illusion, or his sanity finally giving in. The answer came in the form of a large, irrational sip, which emptied the vodka bottle he still carried. He grabbed his neck immediately, the alcohol nearly burning his throat, but it quickly faded, leaving nothing but a sense of relief.

He placed one hand on the ground, trying to stand up: it immediately faltered. It took both his hands and a handy downspout to get him back on his feet. He then took a step forwards, restarting his trek on the way to nowhere.

He should have known better than to think it was over.

A sudden, staggering pain in his right arm drove him back to the ground. Kazuhira clutched the arm with his left hand, but it was in vain. The young man howled in agony, as he left his arm being eaten away from the inside, the pain spreading through his body unchecked, as if his veins were ablaze.

This time, he knew what was happening. He'd experienced that horror once before, and it had nearly taken his life and soul. His darkest nightmare was about to come to pass.

The loose cobblestones at his feet melted into grey, dead soil, and the building next to him became nothing but a ruin, as if a tank shell had blown the façade off. Soon, the street had been completely engulfed, with the Grief Seed in his arm as the focal point. The buildings crumbled away, barbed wire raised from the ground, the air became nearly unbreathable with the scent of dust, gunpowder and death.

He'd seen that nightmarish, war-torn world before, and he swore he'd never see it again. But he failed. And now, Balalaika once again threatened to spread misery on the world.

The stage was set… but there was no witch. Not yet. Instead, another figure appeared before Kazuhira. It was another girl, taller than the previous, but thin, a wore a glittering, semi-transparent long-tailed black ballroom dress: a true portrayal of elegance. Loose, bright orange hair extended down to her waist, fiery as the flame of Olympus. But unlike the previous, she didn't question him, nor did she stared at him with those pitch-black eyes that shattered one's soul. No, she simply looked away, back turned to Kazuhira. And perhaps that was for the best. Her gaze would have probably been fatal.

Clinging to his right arm, which, though less, still throbbed in pain, Kazuhira forced himself up. That girl… he could feel it. For who she was, for her aura… she was far more than a mere apparition. But the moment he got up, she started to walk away. Her pace was steady, unflinching, not looking back to Kazuhira for one second.

"No… don't… don't go away!" He pleaded, his voice weak and dragged. But there was no reaction, she carried onward without regard for his words. And, to his terror, a few paces ahead, her black dress started to vaporize into large plumes of thick, black smoke. The smoke rose in the air, forming irregular clouds that hovered above them, which twitched about in an awkward fashion, as if incubating a great evil.

He had to do something. Right now. Or else, it would have been the end of this world. His legs finally obeyed him, and he charged towards the girl, tacking her to the ground. The smoke stopped pouring from her clothes immediately, leaving behind nothing but rags that barely covered her skin. She didn't fought back, and simply stood there, motionless, facing the ground.

"I've… I've already lost everything… You're the only thing I have left…" He whispered, smoothly, softly hugging the girl. "I'm not losing you too!"

"Rika…"

For a second, it was as if the universe had frozen, a disturbingly quiet moment that seemed to last forever. Then, the girl, the battlefield, and the clouds exploded in a million sparkling shards, like a rain of diamonds. And as even those disappeared, he once again found himself in the same, now unfortunately familiar alley.

Kazuhira was now laid down on the ground, back against the jagged cobbles, gasping for air. After a moment, he again tried to stand up. But it was too much, too damn much for just one day.

He'd reached his limit, and as the hand that supported him slipped and he fell on his back, he passed out.


I…


"Hey, let go of me, you bastard!"

"Heh heh, scream all you want, bitch. No one will ever hear."

How much time has it been? Hours, minutes? He couldn't tell. All he was sure was that it was still night and that he was still in the middle of the rotten alley. It wasn't surprising, after all, who would care about a drunk passed out on the curb, in such a place.

With difficulty, he opened his eyes. The young woman whose voice had awaken him leaned against the wall on the other side of the street. She had short, brown hair and wore a high school seifuku: by the looks of it, she was a senior. She crossed her arms around her chest, as she gazed, with eyes filled with disgust, at the men that threw her against the wall. There were several of them, all with the same jet-black jackets and tattoos, all with the same depraved look on their faces, all hungry for young flesh. Filthy pigs. Savage beasts. The scum of mankind.

Kazuhira wondered if it was just another nightmare. In fact, he wondered if anything he'd seen that day, Sayaka's rescue attempt, her later apparition, the close call he just had, if any of that had actually been real. It probably wasn't, he reckoned, it all felt like one long nightmare, and thus, it had all been nothing but a source of pain. So why bother? Why even do anything? What was the point? Better just to ignore everything… and wait for the nightmare to end.

"We're gonna gave some fun, babe!"

"No, stay away, pigs!"

But… he couldn't. Real or not, seeing such a disgusting sight irked him. Badly. Something inside him compelled him to move, even if wouldn't matter at all. An irrational feeling, certainly. But his guess was that it didn't matter, otherwise he wouldn't have sprung up and smashed the empty vodka bottle he still held on to on the leading man's skull.

The other men turned around, shocked by seeing their leader fall at the feet of what was nothing but a drunk passed out on the gutter just seconds ago. Their victim took the opportunity to escape, but the savages didn't even notice it: they were now focused on Kazuhira, possessed by rage, shouting expletives like Cossacks. One of them broke the standstill, and charged at him. And only when he took a defensive stand did he realize why he wasn't hungover: he was still drunk. His movements were slow and predictable, and his vision was as blurry as the horizon on a hot day.

But for a punk like that? It was more than enough.

He ducked below the attacker's careless punch, and answered with a right hook to his jaw. The assailant was sent flying back against a dumpster, and backflipped over the lid, falling right into a week's worth of trash from the Chinese restaurant ahead.

"That's… where you fuckers belong…"

It took him great effort to articulate those words: the booze had really kicked in, and caused him to lose his balance, falling backwards in an awkward fashion. He got up quickly, but it was clear he was in no condition to fight the remaining five men. Dishonorable as they were, they took no ceremony, and attacked Kazuhira at the same time. He was still able to fend off the first one, but could avoid a kick to his rib cage, and was knocked against the wall, his back slowly sliding down until he sat on the floor.

"You're gonna die now, you motherfucker!"

One of the men produced a switchblade, and clicked it open with a typical "swoosh" sound. Within moments, he trusted the knife forward, aimed at Kazuhira's exposed neck. He only saw the knife when it flew in front of his eyes, glowing in ominous silver, before he felt a large squirt of blood hitting his cheek…

…and saw the knife embedding itself on the wall just above his skull, slicing a few of his hairs. His attacker screamed in agony, horrified at the sight of his right hand having been turned into a bloody stump by a thunderous shot, while the other men looked in stupefaction, unaware of what was happening.

"And these are the "people" you say you fight for?"

A shadow dropped down the rooftops, and landed gracefully between Kazuhira and the hoodlums, her long, black hair almost giving her the appearance of a dark angel. However, all eyes were focused on the gigantic, pitch-black sniper rifle she held with her left hand alone, the "Aegis" Kazuhira had given her, still smoking from the previous shot.

"Homura…" Kazuhira could say no more, his speech becoming completely incoherent.

"You've had enough for one day. I'll handle this." Homura said, looking to him over her shoulder. Her expression was unusually serene, her eyes filled with kindness, instead of her usual serious and distant expression.

"Hey, you bitch! You're the one who did this?"

Finally, one of the men reacted, realizing the shot had come from Homura's Barrett. The others quickly gathered around him, abandoning their injured companion which had gone into shock, and drew firearms of their own. It didn't even take a second for Homura's typical freezing look resettled.

"I'm gonna bust yo-"

Fuck you.

Homura was in no mood for their bullshit, and, in a blazing movement, she brought the massive rifle to her shoulder, and exploded the man's right shoulder before he could even blink, sending him spiraling through the air like a ragdoll, landing a few meters down the road. After a moment of hesitation, the remaining men, chilled to the spine, ran away in a stampede, crying out of pure fear and stomping over each other.

As their screams faded away into the night, Homura put the Aegis away. She proceeded to pick up one of the injured men's cellphone, dialed 911, and threw it in the middle of the street. She then crouched before Kazuhira, gazing at his miserable state. She didn't dare showing pity, though.

"No one else dies today." She whispered, as she effortlessly picked him up and slung him over her shoulder. The young man didn't resist: he was in no condition to, in a grey area between awareness and unconsciousness.

"Come. It's about time this day ended."

She shot off the ground, and quickly made her way across town, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, above the deserted streets. Kazuhira would mumble occasionally, but nothing a healthy human mind would understand. They stopped short of Homura's apartment, in order for her to scan the area. It was clear, and so she snuck in with Kazuhira unnoticed by any gossipy neighbor.

Homura dumped the young man on her couch, and closed the blinds, just as the first rays of dawn poured in. She retreated into her bedroom, coming back with a blanket, which she clumsily threw over him. But it'd do.

"Try to get some sleep. This day was too long." Homura meant that for herself, as well. "Too fucking long. But there's nothing else we can do. We'll deal with things tomorrow."

"I… couldn't save them…"

Kazuhira used the last of his strength to say that, falling into a long-delayed slumber afterwards.

"And neither could I. Don't blame yourself" She replied, even though she was aware he wasn't listening. She let out a large yawn, before heading back to her bedroom.

"See you tomorrow."

And the instant she closed the door, hidden from the world where she could show no weakness, she collapsed on top of her bed, drained of any strength, too exhausted to even pull the sheets.


I… I d-don't…


A/N: Intro quote by: Unknown.

*ahem*

METHODS FOR OBTAINING DNA PROBES FOR FLUORESCENT IN SITU HYBRIDIZATION (FISH)

Yeah, I hate the name just by looking at it too (it's actually very interesting, though), but at least you don't have to work on it. :(

I'm sorry, terribly sorry for essentially leaving this story to rot for two months, but my life has been absolutely hectic lately (in my profile, if you really want to know), between university and other stuff. At this point, most would probably shelve the story or rewrite it: I am in no position to do any of them, so I'll carry on, even if it's not the most popular girl in the wet t-shirt contest.

Not sure how such an abstract and OC-centric chapter will be received, but I hope well (that is, if by now anyone still remembers the story...). The following chapter should explain any unanswered questions. I just hope it won't take another two months… because seriously, it's completely out of my hands.

Although I must say, being back to university did help in one aspect: I've been writing during the bus trips (I'm a crosstown student), and that was how this chapter was almost entirely written.

Props to jodan no ken for another title translation for this Latin illiterate that is yours truly.

And, as always, hope you enjoyed! God, I've missed saying that.