The Surgeon General's Warning:
Read at your own risk. Suspension of Disbelief is required. Beware: there is enough Dastardly Basterdery ahead to consider a change in your Alignment. Why is it the bad guys always have a better fashion sense than everyone else?
Springfield, Ph.D.: A Different Paradigm
Chapter 21:
nocturne ~ Something Wicked This Way Comes
An Negima-ish fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards
His palms were tingling incessantly, like a colony of flame ants were crawling around inside, excavating everything in a honey comb warren straight down to the marrow of his bones. It was an excruciating pain that flushed the boy magister's handsome complexion red, and narrowed his eyes into menacing slits, as he gaze up at the source of his great perturbation. A perfect reflection of himself clothed white that replied his vehemence with an artful doff of his own wide-brimmed hat, adorned with a trio of silver rings to one side that punctuated the moment with a savvy tinkle. Indeed, it was a grudgingly fashionable match to the silvery sash belted around the white silhouette's waist.
"Ladies and rogues, so good to see you!" the White Prince chorused in dulcet tones. "A thousand kisses, and my belated apologies in not greeting you sooner, while allowing these third-rate wretches to parade their shame about in mockery of true art, but never fear, the main attraction for our witching hour begins, NOW."
Opposite of his jovial smile, a feral snarl played the Black Prince's lips as the former snapped his immaculate white gloved fingers. The black one could not stand it. Could not understand it! This repugnant, oily feeling... It could not be...!
All of his thoughts lead to a singular hypothesis.
Am I afraid - trembling at the sight of THAT smug bastard?
From that crisp rapport, Silverberg sounded the chord for an even more fantastic display than a cityscape wreathed in flame and smoke. The "Stage" hummed, and the city shook with an unruly moan, lights flickered, as a palpable, undulating wave of force bloomed. Springfield stood his ground, hardly paying any heed to the pain whimpers of the much abused Mahora Bay Bridge. His attention was fixed at his white clad doppelganger, who threw his head back into a roaring laugh that punctuated the rising tempo of the sorcerous phenomenon, which appeared to be drawing power from all over the city and the heavens themselves.
Of course, The Doctor could see the source, a nexus of arcane energies now becoming visible to the naked in a literal maelstrom of crackling white, high above that gathered even the dark thunderheads into its vacuum-like gravity. Bigger and fatter it grew, before abruptly exploding in an earsplitting crack, not unlike thunder, from which a massive dome of scintillating light was born. As if an aurora of red and green color, it drew down like a curtain, blanketing the Mahora Academy campus area in a feat that easily put the smaller, activated pockets of blue temporal displacement fields to shame.
Negi was impressed only by the titanic waste of effort required to execute such a grandiose display, at least based on his knowledge of arcanoscience anyhow. Scans indicate ambient levels of mana had dropped drastically, but even then, the relative availability should not have been enough to power such a huge and powerful "Bounded Field" for any practical amount of time, in the first place. That said, escape was nigh impossible at the moment, and his ability to effect any communication was at the mercy of his enemies precisely, as he lacked the power and expertise to generate an appropriate counter field.
"H, hey, Springfield-baka!" spoke up Idiot Bystander A shrilly. "What's, what's going on?
"Please, allow me to speak: sensei, I have similar concerns," added fatally Objective Observer B. "From my last feeds, the power grid for Mahora Academy City has gone completely dark, along with any radio or cellular telemetry to speak of. Also, my chronometer appears to be malfunctioning."
Ah, these two bumbling idiots... What a time to have an audience, for an occasion that should strictly be on a per invitation basis only, Doctor N. Springfield resisted the urge to sweat profusely in irritation and shame, which he defeated by substituting the reflex for a more dignified response: propping up his glasses by the bridge of his nose.
"We are trapped in a [Bounded Field], not that I expect a pair of country plebes like you to know what one is, since it is considered top secret research even now in The Wizarding World, and alas, I cannot be bothered to provide an explanation. All you need to know is that HE," this point, Negi emphasized by brandishing his silver revolver at the interloper in white, "or someone HE knows can use one, and if HE has any brains, we are now in a most precarious precipice, on the verge of catastrophe. Do not count on any rescue. We are on our own; in a time and place not out of our choosing, where we will have to fight our way out of this mess. Count on it."
"Hweehhhh! Are you serious?" Evangeline blanched, reacting like a proper schoolgirl her age, when faced with an absurd circumstance. Her manner was almost comical, actually, with the way she huddled and shivered inside the expanse of his duster that was all too big on her small frame.
"Miss MacDowell, when am I never not serious, under grave circumstances?"
As for Chachamaru Karakuri, well, her academic response spoke for herself, with interest.
"Query: if it's top secret research as you stated in Magica Mundus, why are you privy to this information, sensei?"
"Classified, Karakuri-kun. Classified," nevertheless, Negi saw an opportunity, and he was never the kind to be ungrateful for a perfectly fine gift horse. "If you want to know, consider a change in your employment, and we will - talk sometime, savvy?"
"Heeeeeehhhhh! HEY. What're you suggest-"
"Hmm. If you succeed in your lobbying for ojou-sama's parole, consider it done, Springfield-sensei."
"You realize, I will hold you to those words, yes?"
"HEEEEYYYY! Don't I get a say in this?" protested the vampire girl, her complexion beet red from yelling at the top of her lungs.
The self-styled cowboy's answer was plain to see, thumbing back the hammer of his priceless revolver with a riveting click, while the head maid stood off to the side, ready to intervene on her young mistress's behalf, but no more. Evangeline A.K. MacDowell, the Girl Queen of Darkness, had just been overruled, much to her wallowing dismay.
"As for you, (sorry to keep you waiting, by the way), perhaps I heard wrong, but just now... Those words you spoke, so nonchalantly, sounded an awful lot like fighting words to me, no?"
The White Prince responded with even more bombastic bravado, letting loose a passionate holler as his whole body disintegrated shockingly in a golden spray of butterflies.
"But, of course (oh, do not mind me terribly; I happen to enjoy the more endearing squabbling of commoners), they are! Did you honestly expect any less from THE MAN, who will take ev~erything and leave nothing of you to remain, Negi. Springfield?"
Alarms sounded in the boy magister's head at the fantastical sight, his pupils widening ever so slightly, as he withstood the bittersweet venom of his foe. Golden butterflies? It could not be...could it? He must be dreaming, and if such was the case, then this had to be a nightmare, bar none!
"Bah! How sad, honestly," drawled Silverberg impossibly so, disembodied altogether, yet still coherent all the same. "I expected more out of an educated gentleman, but to think even academics from the highest levels of education are dullards, unable to cure your boorish instincts...UGH! You are little more than a pungent beast masquerading in the clothes of a man. Have you no shame?"
The storm of butterflies descended to the main concourse, much to the wonder of all witnesses present. In particular, Evangeline was at a loss for words, as she watched the conceitedly radiant wizard in white reconstitute himself, bit by bit, as if he had been merely in the process of swaggering towards them. To any ordinary girl, Silverberg was resplendent in an effulgent afterglow, a handful of the golden butterflies still gathered about him in a most gorgeous sight, but some gut instinct told her to be wary.
Why is it, I wonder that I feel as if such bijou is unsuited to this - knave? thought the vampire girl, narrowing her eyes crossly at his imminent arrival. He might strut and preen himself like a prince, but a knave is still a knave! And those marvelous butterflies... (How nostalgic. ...but why?) They belong to someone much grander, much more noble than... Ah, oh no, he's looking right at me!
"And YOU, Queen of the Night," the doppelganger in white named her epithet, unpleasantly, "what say you of your disgrace? Huh! Can you imagine how ashamed my Honorable Father would be to see in such seedy, disreputable company? Feh. ...then again, I suppose, it was too much to expect any better from a never do well, peasant girl, so fickle and quick to latch on like a leech to the first warm body that shows her any interest."
The color drained from Evangeline's cheeks under that harsh castigation. How could he speak with such authority? It would be laughable, had it not been for the lack thereof any mocking mirth on that handsome face. He was serious, and she knew what was coming next, could see it in this Negi T. Silverberg's eyes, from which a gruesome hint of malice seeped through his natural charm, like poisoned wine. Worst of all, Eva felt utterly powerless to resist the power of that descending executioner's sword wielded by this leering bastard, who would enjoy every heart beat of crushing her still very much fragile resolve beneath his heel.
"You. Wh-"
Imagine the Dark Evangel's surprise when her sudden deliverance came at the thunderous bark of a gun. It appeared Messer Silverberg had forgotten that as much as he had a metaphorical gun leveled at another's heart, there was still the very real and present danger of Doctor N. Springfield. One second there walked the falsely angelic Negi in white, the next second he was consumed in a brilliant blazing flash, leaving only choking smoke and the infernal crackling from discharging static.
"Blah, blah, blah, blah-blah, BLAH. Oh, shaddup already, YE JACK RABBITS ARSE," bellowed the Negi in black over the hot gun smoke trailing from his silver revolver, "I OWN the God flipping monopoly on teasing my students, and no one else gets a piece of the pie, unless I. Say. SO."
Ever the diligent observer, Chachamaru could ill resist the temptation to offer her own dry words of wisdom, as The Doctor continued in his passionate diatribe.
"Sensei... I, Karakuri Chachamaru, confess I must conclude that your wording was not particularly apropos. If anything, it swelled your image more that of a villain, correction, a demon than the actual villain of the hour."
The boy magister, naturally, did not hear a word of it, leaving only Evangeline to suffer alone in scandal.
"Goodness, I could have shot your bollocks off twenty times over, while-"
Thankfully, the verbal assault on the not-so-virgin ears of all present spectators, courtesy of The Doctor's trademark bloodletting lip service (never mind the fact his sterling revolver was a six-shooter), ended a lot sooner than expected. Punctuated by hair raising electric whine emanating from within the blooming column of smoke and flame, a sneering amused laugh cut through the tension. There, a sudden gust of air parted the choking curtain of black and grey, for the marvelous Negi T. Silverberg to step through.
He stood, surrounded in a crackling, shimmering bubble of pure energy. The diaphanous sphere appeared to be projected from a mysterious mechanism of engraved, pristine white metal with gold-trim to the back of his right gloved hand. Its protective shutters opened to reveal a pulsating, glowing pale blue orb ensconced in its center.
"Shishishi! What is the matter, Springfield? Cat got your tongue? Hu hu hu hu!"
Indeed, The Doctor had his jaws agape at the startling sight, while his keen intellect wrestled mightily with the implications derived from his observations, quantitative and qualitative.
A [Fortress Barrier]? More importantly the output on that unknown blastia, it is equal, no, greater than my own! What kind of arcane formula are they using? Is this some kind of sick joke? Impossible. It cannot be!
The situation, rightly so, called for a reexamination of the data, under closer scrutiny, and thus, the boy magister switched his A.R. glasses' auspex to active scanning. After all, The Society's mastery of arcanoscience should have no equal on this earth, unless...
"Ahhhh, that itches!" cried Silverberg, staggering abruptly as he deactivated his barrier blastia, with no more than a passing afterthought. "Itches, itches, itches, OOOooo, it REAL~LY itches! He he he he, and it just won't do at all, is that not right, Springfield, you. filthy. VOYEUR?"
It was no idle insult, and only by the grace of sharp spike of agitated pain in his tingling palms did the Negi in black tear the glasses from his face just in the knick of time. The A.R. glasses burned out, with an ill, mournful wail, as its nano-fabricated components suffered an unexpected - catastrophic failure. Shorting out one by one with a hiss of unpleasant ozone, at the behest of some unseen force, a few scant moments later, there was little more than a liquefied blue-tinged mass of composite materials cooling in his tender black gloved hand, much to The Doctor's extreme indignation.
"Dah! (Sorcerous Electronic Counter Measures, is it?) You bastard...I have had these glasses for three years! What a pity. ...Say, just WHO do you work for, huh? In my golden experience, there is no way some run of the mill riff raff should have access to that kind of black technology."
"Me? Riff raff, you say? Ah ha ha ha! O Vociferous Beast, surely you jest! If you would open your teary eyes and see past your foul rank, then you shall see, without a doubt, I am the most noble prince of them all."
Springfield snarled, his growing black rage threatening to undo the tenuous thread of his cool reason altogether, as he tossed aside the remains of his glasses, and took a bold step forwards, brandishing his silver revolver empathetically. Never mind it was devoid of bullets, just the act of defiance mattered, reminding him that he still had control of a rapidly deteriorating situation. The ever logical academic in him, however, noted that trembling in his arm had not subsided; in fact, the frequency was increasing. Soon, it would become obvious even to the densest dunce that some matter was amiss.
No. This is not a fear response. It is deeper, more nostalgic, and much more - BLACK.
"A noble prince, you say? You cocksure rat, you dare to make light of me to my face? Heh. That is some guts you got there. Good. Very good. This is not boring at all! I am going to enjoy making you see the insides of them."
Why. Why. WHY DOES HE HAVE MY FACE? MY VOICE? MY SMILE? THE OBVIOUS THINGS THAT MAKE ME...Me?
"What an empty boast! Shishishishi! Tell me, beast, you and what raggedy pack will make good on your threat, hmm?"
...That's right. This feeling must be: Hatred.
As if by caprice, all the hot, surly rage watering to the surface of The Doctor's eyes left him, and its place came a ruthless purity of purpose, his gaze transformed into cold steel. The subtle tremor in the cowboy's arm subsided into a gentle lull. Holstering his sterling revolver in an elegant flourish, before he reached over with his free hand towards his utility belt, The Doctor withdrew a dreadful twin-pronged razor sharp dagger of malicious design, sliding it free from its sheathe in a sibilant hiss of metal on metal. Reversing his grip on the pitch-black blade that held no hint of a sheen or fond ostentation, it became clear that the dagger was purely a tool - for murder, and the cool night air returned to its familiar arctic freeze.
"Miss MacDowell, Karakuri-kun; my sincerest apologies, but I am going to have to impose on you," said Springfield mirthlessly. "You see, Karugazaka over there at your five o'clock, her feet poking out from behind the strut? Grab her and RUN."
Despite the obvious intent of his opposite number, the White Prince did not cease his belligerent swagger in the slightest; in fact, he grew bolder.
"Ah ah, ah ah! That won't do at all, third-rate," Silverberg waggled an admonishing finger, in a sing a song tone. "Shishishishi, I happen to have business with that girl, you see?"
What a time to act the age she looked to be; Evangeline grimaced, in spite of herself, fraught with a sudden swell of unease, as she felt crushed between the overwhelming dominance of the two prowling "Princes", poised to spring at each other in macabre carnage at the slightest drop of a pin. It was unbelievably embarrassing, but what could she do, powerless as she was, at the mercy of these two maniacs? Hell, even Chachamaru with her precision poker face seemed to be hesitating on a oh-so-logical course of action.
"Tough luck, boy scout. I am her teacher, and the hall monitor on duty tonight. Curfew is in effect, so you can take your beeswax, turn it sideways, and shove it up y'er arse."
"Ha. Then, it cannot be helped, I suppose. Allow me to up the ante, eh?" Silverberg paused in his advance, and swept his hand before him, as if he were a king giving his imperial command. "By the order of our sacred covenant, I, Negi T. Silverberg, command you: come forth, my bosom companions, Successors of the One-Winged Eagle! MISERY. BALROG."
A gleam of gold on his jacket caught The Doctor's eye, and shamefully, he felt his breath grow erratic and pitched with panic.
The One-Winged Eagle! Impossible, is that a golden wing emblazoned on the lapel of his jacket? Why did I not notice it before? ...It looks just like the iconic design on the Stakes of Purgatory's uniforms! And... If you factor in the golden butterflies, too... NO. No, no, no, no. Not now! It cannot be. I won't accept it. This farcical travesty! It has to be a delusion!
The momentary hesitation cost him dearly, however, as the foe gracefully by-passed his defenses, from above.
"HHHUUUZZZZZAAAAAHhhhhhh!" bellowed a digitized, masculine voice in a joyful rebel yell, as he smashed into the main concourse with a thunderous crash.
The backlash of momentum sent a terrible quake through the cracking asphalt that nearly threw the boy magister of his feet, as the center of gravity shifted by the absurd mass of the individual who had appeared spectacularly in their midst. Lady Luck, however, was not so kind to his students, namely the less than composed one. Evangeline fell flat on her rump, with an indignant shriek. The Doctor's worn duster saved her from added insult to injury, but her misfortune also put her right on the warpath with the new interloper.
A figure, wide as he was tall, towered over her, garbed in a prodigious black cloak that covered the entirety of his immense boxy bulk. From within his dark, cavernous cowl, a pair of glowing beady yellow eyes gazed down maliciously at the helpless vampire girl.
"Found one~! Now, stay still so I can SQUISH you," boomed the creature with a hearty laugh.
Springfield cursed his luck for not having time to reload, and the inconvenience of losing his wand when he so desperately required one now.
"Oh, bollocks. Mac-"
"Eva-sama!"
Seeing her haughty young mistress in danger, Chachamaru overrode her self-preservation protocols against her better judgment. She moved to intercept come what may that meant to be loosed from within the giant's billowing cloak, emblazoned with a single golden winged crest and wreathed in matching wavy flame. Thankfully, there was to be no valiant sacrifice this festive eve: a rapid column of water blasting into the side of the cloaked executioner, with concussive force, saw to the end of that notion.
Lesser men and beasts alike would have suffered severe internal injuries and broken bones from the sudden hydro jet's terrific pressure, as they were swept aside like mere twigs to a rip tide. Indeed, Silverberg's lackey was bowled clean over, and thrown back for good measure, but his prodigious bulk sapped much of the conjured attack's strength, and did little more than to inconvenience him, evidently so.
"Uwaaaaahhh! Cor blimey, I'm all soaked! Oh, the inhumanity, Ol' Balrog's gonna rust like this, I tell you. Rust to death! Eya~aghhh! Whatever shall I-OUCH."
Another hand silenced the flailing waterlogged giant, stomping down directly onto his broad visage by the spiked butt of a majestic eagle-winged scepter. It was a murderous blow, with far more strength than belied by the slender, elegant nature of the arm adorned in shear satin evening gloves. Indeed, this particular individual, garbed in equally mysterious fashion, though more suited to normal human proportions, would have done much harm to a creature of flesh and blood.
The resounding echo of metal on metal pointed out that Balrog was far from anything so feeble.
"OUCH. Misery~, OUCH, will you cut it out, lady? I was only exercising-OUCH."
The conical witch's hat crowning her cowl said plenty for Misery's calling in life. The disparate differences in size aside, it was marvel alone to watch the witch bully her colleague into submission, with a judicious application of her scepter, which did not seem to be doing much more than annoying the tar out of Balrog.
"Okay, okay, I gots it, you shrieking banshee. Pipe down and let me up."
Stranger still, the two so-called successors to "The One-Winged Eagle" seemed to be carrying on a snappy tongue and cheek conversation exclusive to themselves. Nary a sound had escaped from the witch's hooded cloak (sans any eagle-winged iconography, but sporting imagery of storm clouds and lightning bolts instead), much to shock of those watching, barring a select few.
Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova was among the said privileged individuals, appearing as if conjured in a condensed splash of water from the very air. She stood in full-caped arcane regalia, brandishing a surprisingly elegant broom of rich redwood, her irate ire reserved specifically for the gawping idiot blonde and her blinking maid, stricken with a sudden case of curious fascination.
"What are you two idiots spacing out for? Take the girl and run!"
Whereas Evangeline was preoccupied with the jaw dropping gravity of "too many things happening all at once", Chachamaru, ever the capable multi-tasking android, had the better efficacy, and presence of mind at that to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Falling back in line with her self-preservation protocols once more, she twisted about on the balls of her feet, grabbed her gobsmacked mistress into the crook of her arm, bolted over to the unconscious Asuna Kagurazaka, and made off like a thief in the night. Likely, she had achieved a new world record for orderly retreats, all without ever uttering a single breath and in a damaged state no less.
"Blimey," heaved Balrog, surrounded in a symphony of whirring motors and sinuous metal, as he rose to his full imposing height once more, with an added passenger atop his broad shoulders. "Who'd figure that half-arsed automatic doll had the potential to set a new land speed record, eh, your worship?"
Misery rapped her imperial scepter in silent agreement, all the while fixing the remaining leftovers with her veiled baleful gaze.
Such contempt, however, seemed amateurish when compared to the brilliantly smiling eyes of Negi T. Silverberg, who lavished a dainty snicker just for the occasion, "As expected of the third-rate pawns, but what more could we hope for from a pauper who surrounds himself in unseemly garbage? Is that not right, Negi. Springfield?"
The Doctor frowned, reaching reflexively to tip up his characteristic glasses, only to remember midway through of their recent destruction, forcing him to correct his motion into a casual ruffle of his auburn air, or at least he hoped it was the case.
"See, what proper adults have to tolerate, my darling auror? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Goodness gracious, did you pick one hell of a bloody mess to show up to; that is, I do see you, do I not, Anya?"
Naturally, Little Big Red One bristled at his thankless drawl.
"Who else did you think-"
"I would thank you, except I think you are about to become another liability, when I happened to rid myself, just now, of three. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Woe is me, is that not the truth, O Cruel Lady Luck?"
"WHAT!" his secretary reddened in flabbergasted indignation. "Uuuuuuuuu! Even though... Even though, I came all this way...! Springfield. YOU-!"
Good, that's the Red Ruskie, I know all right, thought The Doctor, unconcerned of the peril brewing to his left. Or at least, it is adequate enough proof in the meantime that I can trust my senses, until Silverberg decided to get creative and alter the phase of space-time even more. In fact, I had better confirm it, with the villain of the hour himself.
"This is your doing, is it not, Silverberg?"
Much to the boy magister's rancor, his double in white made a show of repeating his savvy doff of the hat once more.
"Why, of course, Springfield! Must I repeat myself that I am the noblest prince of them all? Shishishishi. As a prince, it is within my magnanimous nature to afford even the most wretched of my enemies a fighting chance, you see? I do not expect the likes of you, a common cur, to grasp even remotely of the concept of honor. I dare say, such nobility is beyond your station in life!"
Her outrage derailed for the moment by the maligned content of this shocking insult, Anastasia bore witness, speechless that the insufferably ineffable Negi Springfield she had come to know would bear with such belligerent abuse. What was wrong? She was here, was she not? Why was he behaving so - timidly (at least by his absurd standards, anyhow)? It could not be that standing here before them was a foe, an enemy that the spectacular Professor Negi Springfield had to fight, seriously? Unbelievable; the thought had never occurred to her once, so convinced Anya had been by his grossly inflated reputation of superiority that it would be up to her alone to become a nemesis that could make him think twice.
This Silverberg and his companions must be dangerous, incredulously so! Heavens, no wonder the stupid onion had been so disparaging to her. Just how dense can you be, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova?
As for the savvy medicine man himself...
"Good grief," The Doctor sighed wearily, "with enemies like this, I reckon I might just have to reconsider my choice of company!"
...he was now preoccupied with rifling through his available options, against cynical odds that were becoming not in his favor, exponentially.
Dammit, where are The Stakes? I have been calling feverishly for them, but they are not responding to me at all. Why?
He loathed to summon The Sisters of Purgatory in front of another mage, whom he could not fully endorse as a comrade after his own heart. Many fear the demonic dark arts for good reasons, and Anya being a former officer of the law would no doubt be unable to reconcile the truth of his exceptional worth that he could, actually, negotiate the perils of entreating with demons and the like. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures, and a key piece that would have helped him scrape together some embattled victory had been denied to the boy magister by some circumstance that he had no knowledge of.
Ugh, it was unspeakably frustrating.
He refused to believe The Stakes had betrayed him, for their contract, which Doctor N. Springfield had memorized to the last blood written letter, was binding and absolute. He was well within his rights, and had done nothing whatsoever to renege on his oath, so what gives? Why would they not come to defend him, when it was within his power to defend himself? It could not be that he was deluding himself with some falsehood that he had any chance at all of beating Silverberg and his cronies, could it?
Ridiculous. He had all the means and the vitality to effect such an outcome; there was no way he could be mistaken!
The distant rapture of an explosion threw off his train of loathing for the umpteenth time in mere minutes. Gosh, The Doctor could recall many times in the past half a year or so bellyaching away about his boredom. It figured that his ol' chap of an archenemy, Murphy Law, would be so kind as to remit all the excitement he had been missing out on, tonight!
"Oh hell, what was that now?"
"It came from the dorms," Anya gesticulated, slowly. Taking great pains not to make any sudden moves in light of the prickly situation, she had to wonder why the instigating party across the way had not chosen to ignite an all out melee yet. "See, right there; that plume of smoke?"
"God blind me, do I see it."
They could not be savoring the consequences of their actions on purpose, could they?
"Springfield... They couldn't have, could they?"
"SIL~VER~BERG," The Doctor hollered at his opposite number, a long suffering leer afflicted to his handsome complexion, like some awful disease.
"Ah ha ha ha, how unkind of me," the eccentric wizard responsible for the present calamity took his cue to bow. "Did I forget to mention I had other companions here on campus as well? So sorry, shishishishi!"
The magistra magi sweated, an itchy tic gnawing away at the corner of her brow, which thankfully was hidden beneath her bent over witch's hat and auburn fringe for good measure. She had been correct in her hunch. These irregulars were a match for Negi Springfield, all right. It did not help matters that their supposed leader shared the same first name, too. How...eerie.
"Good grief, you should have told me sooner you were in the business of human trafficking," the Negi in black clucked his tongue in dry disapproval, "you corpse eating nutter, in which case I would have exercised the courtesy of putting an extra bullet into your disgusting mug."
"My, my, you are of such small, simple mind," riposted the Negi in white, fanning out his hands and arms wide in a magnanimous gesture, presumably. "It reminds me of observing the manner and movement of a lesser animal beneath the looking glass, poised before the surgeon's scalpel."
"Che."
"Aw, why the sour face? Shishishishi. Come now, I am but a humble contractor returning stolen goods to their rightful owners. Nothing more, nothing less."
"...As I thought, that smiling mask of yours makes me want to break out in hives. Eerie. Disgusting. And twisted! Feh. It's awful! Just. Aw-ful, I tell you!"
Oh, gods, why me? thought Kommissar Anya in vehement commiseration. Why did I do something as stupid jump into this screaming hornet's nest of maniacs?
Indeed, they were all quite crazy, speaking of darkly portents so casually, as if the present event were no more than another pleasant afternoon at teatime. Even Silverberg's lackeys joined in on the fun; Balrog's deep booming laugh, speaking volumes for his stake in the matter.
"Bwa ha ha ha, boss, this fella really knows how to talk the talk! Hee he he he, it's gonna be real boring, after we squish him. Ha ha ha ha!"
Misery rapped down her imperial scepter, again, the faintest hint of a sibilant snicker escaping from within the dark confines of her cowl.
"I agree, my bosom friends," the mastermind himself clapped his hands together, greedily. "I will remember his barking fondly, long after he has rotten away, crucified upon the cross."
As for Doctor N. Springfield, he had his own choice words to marinate the pack of hyenas, before he roasted the whole lot of them alive. His blood-letting lip service, regretfully, had to be put on hold.
"Another explosion!" Anastasia yelped, in spite of herself.
"Thank you for stating the oh-so-obvious, my sweet dearest cousin."
The auburn-haired girl flushed enough red at her boss's backhanded remark to throw the hyenas into another round of merry laughter. Way to show solidarity there, Springfield you jerk!
"Ha ha ha ha, but let's be frank here, methinks that little obstacle yonder is giving our dear friend and my right hand man, Messer Fate, some trivial exercise. Shall we all have a listen, my good friends and enemies alike? Shishishishi."
"Oh! I'm right up for that, your worship. Turn it up. Turn it up. Turn~ it up, just like a hi-fi ster~eo~! Bwa ha ha ha!"
Misery rapped her scepter, and it was plain to see they were all in unanimous consensus. Much to The Doctor's deepest regret, Silverberg made it clear that he was very much enjoying the preliminary mind games, before the real exchange of iron, blood, and fire would begin. The snobbish prat was dragging this out like a pair of nails to a blackboard, a maddening, painful cacophony that seemed to be endless, and now, he was going to kick up the humiliation another notch.
Reaching up for an imaginary volume knob, the White Prince ushered in an chilling transmission, audio only, with lossy artifact noise in the background that was par for the course in radio-based telemetry. At first, there were impacts, a kind of settling shower an observer would expect in light of the recent explosions, but after that came a harsh suspiring at an agitated pitch. Though coarse, it sounded feminine and dismally familiar for two individuals in the crowd listening into the waking nightmare beyond their sight.
"Hmm. How quaint," a cool, disaffected voice called out in an absent-minded tenor. "The reaction is much better than I anticipated. Speak: you are one of Negi Springfield's companions, are you not?"
The irate scrape of metal on metal said much more than what the other speaker had to say in words.
"Ehhhh! I... I have no such relation with that man! I am Sakurazaki Setsuna, a loyal guard who owes her allegiance only to the noble house of Konoe. I will fulfill my oath without fail; just watch me! Return our princess to me at once, and I promise, your due punishment will be swift and merciless, you skulking scum."
So did the dog of Konoe bare her fangs at the foeman, not that he was interested in the least by such cliché bluster. If anything, the boy called "Fate" sounded, awfully, bored by Setsuna's passionate out cry.
"Is that how it is? Hmm. Understood. It was a mistake that you were brought upon the stage, then. I apologize for the inconvenience, and am sincerely regretful, but - there is no need for you, Sakurazaki Setsuna of Konoe. Your happenstance role ends here. However, before I dispose of the unwanted extra, do entertain the thousands of apathetic eyes, watching us all, one last time with some - nice screams, won't you? I confess, it is the only thing that relieves my own boredom while processing such a mind numbingly tiresome chore, as the Curator of Theater. Begone."
The rapport of another distant explosion came to no real surprise, as the grim transmission was cut off.
Anastasia bit her lip, absently wishing she could disappear from those leering face. There something wrong, very wrong with these scoundrels gathered before her under this bad moon. The way they spoke, the way they carried themselves; it was as if everything was no more than a play to Silverberg and his mean-spirited companions. Never had the magistra magi dreamed she would cross paths with individuals who could laugh gaily, yet sound so utterly mirthless. There were not joking about anything.
Oh no, they intended to fulfill every last black comedy filled oath that they had uttered tonight, and then some, if they could help it.
I thought I had met the scum of the earth already, thought the redhead cynically. Ugh. It goes to show how inexperienced I am, and how much more I still have to learn. ...And what about you, stupid onion? Don't you have any smart aleck insight to offer at a time like this? It's not like you to keep your mouth shut, without at least setting the record straight.
Then, The Doctor snorted with a most unkind snicker.
"Damn, that is some gratitude there; it goes to show how quick delusional individuals are to forget about my prescribed treatments. It was my mistake to believe she was responsible enough to take her medication on time, and rid herself of the illness, but I was also remiss in being distracted by another patient. Tsk, tsk, Anya, my dear~?"
A cold chill ran up the magistra magi's spine, draining the color from her complexion. The gravity of the near certain doom before her lay forgotten now in the face of a far more imperative concern: Negi Springfield was angry, a quantifiable fury matched only by the recent display he had just bequeathed on Evangeline A.K. MacDowell. To think that hellish inferno had been ignited, again, so soon after it had been quenched, Anastasia Yurievna Cocolova had little sympathy to spare for her barbarian colleague.
"Y, Yes?" she responded in a small, hesitant voice.
In fact, Kommissar Anya prayed strongly to whatever deity, who would listen that the Prince in black would not get it up to mind that she was ill and in desperate need of treatment for her supposed neurosis.
"Yes, you, my sweet, could you be so kind as to finish quickly with the big one and the witch-thing on his shoulders, and go rescue Sakurazaki-san? I fear she is about to catch a terminal case of premature death from necrotic stupidity, unless you pull her head out of the fire in time."
Oh yes, Setsuna Sakurazaki was next on his hit list of student in dire need of "rehabilitation" all right, but...
"S, Springfield. That's... A two-on-one tango... Isn't it...a bit much?"
"Would you rather fight," The Doctor stated bluntly, "the mad as a hatter freakshow in white impersonating me, instead?"
"On second thought, tee hee hee, I think I'll settle for the toady lackeys and go lend a hand to our barbarian friend. Sounds like she bit off a lot more than she can chew, having to face that unpleasant overdressed doofus' right hand man no less. Hmph, letting all her blood rush to her head, the fool. How unprofessional! Tee hee hee. SEE YOU~!"
Suffice to say, her newly designated opponents did not take well to their prey mocking them.
"Oi, I resent those-UWHA!" Balrog exclaimed in surprise as the petite witch accelerated rapidly into the sky in a crystalline trail of sparkling stardust. "That quid of little ruddy wench's runnin' away. Let's get her squishy squished, Misery!"
Hardly waiting for a reply, the cloaked behemoth himself let loose a series of ratcheting clanks that turned into a keening roar of engines, shortly thereafter, drowning out any response his passenger might have given. He shouted a jubilant cry, as the assembly of rocket thrusters fired in synchronous, heaving his prodigious bulk into the sky, with all the grace of an intercontinental ballistic missile. The scorched, melted asphalt and blooming smoke left in Balrog's wake hinted much at what lay beneath the obfuscation of his cloak.
Tactile observations that quite frankly mattered little for the two wizards who had remained behind, their eyes colder than steel and faces clad in smiles that did not match. All of the forgettable supporting cast members and extras had left the stage, and at long last, the true act could begin. Their grave enmity demanded unspeakable violence, a marvelous drama of blood and madness to put all macabre festivals before it to shame.
The Wheel of Fate is turning...
Production Notes:
Wow. This baby fermented a lot longer than expected, then again, I was having a case of writer's block for the past two weeks, trying to get into the groove of things. I personally feel the quality has suffered some, but it's a fairly serviceable product nevertheless. Y'all cannot imagine how hard it is to write two snarky Inglorious Basterds on screen simultaneously, and introduce a whole bunch of antagonists on stage at the same time, plus the reactions, pacing, yada yada, etc.
It's a lot of work, especially when it's your obligation to keep things savvy and black. Sure, this baby might be a usual meal, shy of 7,000-ish words, but I managed to move a ton of developments here. I'm not telling everything, but there is a heckuva lot of hinting and showing of here and now, and things to come.
...although I confess I did get sidetracked playing BlazBlue: Continuum Shift's story mode and learning the basic in's and out's of the entire cast to improve my practical and theoretical kung fu. Nya ha ha ha ha.
That said, freshly inspire, I promise there'll be less bombshells in the coming episode, which should be straight shounen action drama that I hope to impress you all with at the very least. My thanks to y'all who tuned in at the last gig, and the motivators who reviewed as always. Without y'all, there'd be no reason to keep this show going, now that we're finally beginning to hit my good stride. I guarantee, you're gonna be blown away when we get to Kyoto, and the School Festival will set the bar even higher. As the Dark Evangel arc draws to its close, all of this is but a taste of the roaring entertainment to come.
Hnnn... Any terms that need clarifying? Hnn... Not to the best of my knowledge. References? Don't think so. Characters? Well, that'd just be spoiling; at least, give it a shot before you come asking me for hints.
Well, I hope this appetizer was worth the wait. Later y'all, and I hope my next release will finally get us all back on schedule. I swear I'm still suffering from the double-issue episode from last month.
Peace.