38: This Story's Dead
A lone figure approached. She came from the main road, the one that forked in two around Homura's apartment, although neither fork led anywhere because nobody ever came from either. The figure and her hurried wobble disturbed the tranquility of the neighborhood, marked before by only birds and dolls. Her brisk pace drew her into better sight: their old friend Mami Tomoe.
On the rooftop of a nearby tenement, Sayaka tapped Nagisa's shoulder with the back of her hand. "Look sharp, she's here."
Nagisa woke from her pretend nap and scanned the street below. When her eyes settled on Mami her face grew bright and her mouth opened in a sudden breath. Sayaka clapped her hand over Nagisa's lips so only a muffled mutter escaped.
"Shh, not yet. You'll blow the whole operation."
Nagisa's spittle seeped through Sayaka's glove and touched her palm. With a bluh of disgust, Sayaka pulled the hand away and wiped it on her skirt.
"She's alone," said Nagisa. "Where's Kyoko and what's-her-face?"
Sayaka inspected her palm. "Probably ran interference for Chicago. Nothing to worry about."
"I hope they didn't get hurt..."
"They're fine. Trust me. Now quit yapping and get ready."
Mami reached Homura's door. She knocked and yelled for help, her voice tiny and weak from far away. Nagisa scrunched her face. "I don't get it, what are we even doing again?"
Groan. Now Sayaka knew she was being facetious. How many times had she outlined the plan? Like twenty, probably. Each time Nagisa missing some new integral component. Or else Omaha staring with ominous silence and a dour glaze of disapproval. But hell, what else were they supposed to do? Omaha had the same utter lack of creativity as the girl she'd been cloned from, a total space cadet when it came to the unknown. She wanted to sit tight, keep running raids on Madoka's place until one worked eventually, said that's what the Incubator told her to do. Well neat, but Sayaka disliked falling into a pattern. Homura needed repetition and predictability. Gotta shake it up, y'know? So Sayaka had slapped together a nice contingency.
"Simple. Chicago girls distract, we swoop. We got close just the two of us, with twenty more girls we're sure to win."
"I guess..." Nagisa probed at the bracelet of void tied around her ankle. "But Madoka's inside the apartment. And Homura's just gonna stop time? I dunno."
"Bah, I'm ain't explaining the finer points again," said Sayaka. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing. You know how I know this plan'll work?"
"How?"
"If it wouldn't work, you can bet the Incubator would be here right now telling us not to do it. He's got a vested interest in this whole thing too, y'know."
Mami continued to bang on doors, rattle windows. Tough luck, pal. Homura ain't interested in answering. Madoka would open it if she heard, but Homura's best trick was to make Madoka stop noticing things. The biggest point of failure in the plan was if the Chicago girls showed and Homura totally ignored them, even if they waited outside for hours, days. But Homura had to let Madoka return to her family eventually. She wasn't so nuts to think otherwise, right?
Truth be told, Sayaka only had vague ideas what Homura would do when cornered. We're talking a girl who became Satan to pluck her best friend out of heaven, accounting for reason kinda went out the window. But Sayaka viewed it like a win-win: Homura either deals with the Chicago girls, or she draws the blindfold too tight and Madoka sees through the sieve. That's a note from the Incubator Handbook of Diabolical Schemes, make it so no matter which way someone goes, they go the wrong damn way. Like the forks on either side of Homura's apartment.
"I don't like doing what Kyubey wants," said Nagisa. For a moment Sayaka thought Nagisa had somehow read her mind, but then she remembered the last thing she said.
"I got the Incubator handled. This is the most important thing in the whole universe, I ain't taking it lightly."
Nagisa chewed her lower lip.
"Look," said Sayaka. "You know my motto: No regrets. If I screwed up and let this go south, I'd sure have a whole lot of regrets, right? So I gotta try my damnedest to make it work."
"Okay fiiiiiine," said Nagisa.
Things had to work eventually. Had to. This couldn't be the way the universe ended. That didn't make sense, it wasn't right. Death (and reincarnation) had given Sayaka the capacity to forgive most sins, or at least see the perspective of the perpetrator. Yet Homura Akemi's actions made no sense no matter how she sliced it. If she wanted to be with Madoka, why not submit to the Law of the Cycles and be with her for eternity? If she wanted Madoka to be happy, why divorce her from her purpose? If she wanted the world to remember who Madoka was, why make her an irrelevant corporeal entity?
The best guess was that Homura wanted to be with Madoka, but not in a subservient role. She wanted to be Madoka's protector, her keeper. That was her wish, after all. To protect Madoka. She derived her worth from a white knight complex. Okay, Sayaka could empathize. But to go so far—
"You're gonna kill Homura, aren't you?" said Nagisa.
Sayaka looked up. "What?"
"It's what you want to do, isn't it. Kill her."
"She's a proven danger to Madoka. To this universe. More than anything else in it."
"Madoka wouldn't want her to die."
"I know." Sayaka balled her fists. Below, Mami rattled on windows. "I know that. Madoka can forgive everything. I don't even hate Homura myself, not really. She's done good. She could do good again. She's not an evil person, not totally."
"I don't think you should kill her," said Nagisa.
"I know. When the time comes, I'll decide. If she makes it hard, I won't hesitate. If it's a question of her or Madoka, there's no question in my mind." Sayaka looked at the purple sky amid the towers. "You need to be prepared for the same if necessary, Nagisa. Promise me: If I die, you do what needs to be done."
Nagisa crossed her arms and made a pouty face. "Don't even talk like that, Sayaka! Nobody is gonna die."
"Maybe. But the universe is more important than any one person."
"Yeah..."
The conversation died.
FINALLY, from the direction Mami had come, new figures approached. Their gaudy gold armor was unmistakable. At their head rode a girl on horseback, an obvious leader, fancy axe weapon. The others followed in neat rows and marched in step.
"Showtime," said Sayaka. "Watch my back."
Nagisa nodded. Sayaka hopped the rooftop's railing and landed with a roll on the cobblestone street. She sprinted for Mami, head low and cape aflutter behind her. Her long legs took only a few extended steps to cross the distance. By the time Mami turned Sayaka was on her, a hand around the waist as she threw her cape over them both. The cape sank atop them, seemed to push them into the ground, but it's just a trick you see, they're still under the cape as a stray gust of wind carries it back to the rooftop where Nagisa waited. Like a random rag or tarp, nothing odd or suspicious in an ominous neighborhood.
The cape landed on the roof. Sayaka cast it aside, and there she was with Mami, on the rooftop. The girls in gold armor continued with no indication they noticed a thing. Piece a cake.
Mami looked at Sayaka with an utterly befuddled expression, and then her glance caught Nagisa. Sayaka had to clap a hand on Mami's mouth to stop a too-loud exclamation.
"Pst, quiet," Sayaka whispered. "Both of you. Mami, we'll explain everything in a bit. We had to use you as bait to lure those Chicago girls here."
These words pretty much totally bounced off Mami's ineffable face as she scooped Nagisa in her arms and squeezed her tight. At least she managed to keep to a whisper as she said:
"Bebe, Bebe... I missed you so much, I am so glad you're safe, so glad, so glad..." Her arms tightened.
"Oof," said Nagisa.
"Happy reunions later, Mami. Nagisa and I got business to settle. Shouldn't take long now."
Mami did not relinquish Nagisa. She started to cry, Nagisa started to rasp for air. Bah, guess they could have a moment. Sayaka watched the Chicago girls. Their leader received consultation from two girls near the front, probably her two magic detectors. Sayaka unfolded a piece of paper she had kept tucked in her collar. They were... let's see... Stephanie "Hinsdale" Galloway and Xochitl "Hodgkins" Hodgkins. The second name didn't look right, looked like Sayaka got lazy or bored and wrote the same word twice, but it didn't matter. They were the girls who tracked magic. The plan worked, they followed Mami here. Mental pat on the back for Sayaka.
Now to make sure nobody spotted them on the roof. Sayaka threw her cape over Mami and Nagisa and pulled them to a prone position. Under the edge of the cape they peeked at the proceedings below.
"They captured Sloan," Mami whispered. She finally released Nagisa and extended a timid finger at the rear of the convoy. Two girls shambled in step with the others, marked by their lack of gold armor. One was Sloan Redfearn, the other that one girl, uh, Sayaka consulted her notes—Serena. Serena "Hennepin" Ru. No Kyoko.
Wait. Sayaka caught a glimpse of something. Behind Sloan and Serena and their attendant guard (Charlotte "Norridge" DeWinter), amid the rearguard of gilded breastplates and shoulderpads, a whip of red hair flashed. Kyoko, captured after all. Looked like two of the Chicago girls were dragging her. They must have knocked her unconscious. If Sayaka knew anything about Kyoko, she knew she'd never get captured willingly. They'd have to pummel her to a pulp to put her in chains, girl was stubborn as a bucket of rocks.
"Kyoko looks bad..." said Nagisa.
"If I know anything about Kyoko," said Sayaka, "I know she'd never get captured willingly. They'd have to pummel her to a pulp to put her in chains, girl's stubborn as a bucket of rocks."
Her fingers kneaded the edge of her cape. She bit her lip. They must have knocked her unconscious. If Sayaka knew anything about Kyoko, she knew she'd never get captured willingly. They'd have to pummel her to a pulp to put her in chains, girl was stubborn as a bucket of rocks.
Why would anyone haul a dead body around anyway, right?
Nobody said anything. The Chicago girls marched to Homura's apartment. The trackers at the front stopped, signaled for the others to stop.
"The trail ends here, milady," said the first tracker.
"I read the same, milady," said the second.
"By 'here', you mean the housing unit before us?" said the girl on the horse.
"I believe so, milady," said the first tracker. "The signature of Fugitive Yellow ends at this door. I also detect the presence of incredibly strong magic, but from another source."
"Explain."
The first tracker approached the door. She waved her hands over it in small circles. "Yes... An incredibly powerful Puella Magi resides inside. Her aura is unlike any I have ever detected. Its raw signature exceeds even Your Ladyship. It exceeds even Centurion DuPage. She has enveloped this structure in a powerful barrier."
The girl on the horse (the paper with the names had crumpled in Sayaka's hand, she felt no desire to open it) surveyed the façade of Homura's apartment. "I dislike hasty conclusions. However, the existence of a Puella Magi of such power in this geopolitically unremarkable Japanese urban agglomeration comprises a tremendous coincidence. I hypothesize Omaha has some connection to this power."
The rest of the soldiers made no movement and said nothing. Which frustrated Sayaka because at their current position she couldn't see Kyoko. Bah, it was for the best. They knocked her out. End of story. She imagined the scene, Sloan already subdued, five or six or twenty girls all trying to pin down Kyoko, but she bit and kicked and was basically the hugest bitch of all time so eventually they had to conk her in the skull. Leave it at that. Sayaka needed to focus. Madoka needed rescuing.
But as soon as Sayaka made this resolution, the girl on the horse called for the captives to be brought forth. A stir divided the ranks into two wings. The girls holding Kyoko dragged her aside while Charlotte "Norridge" DeWinter led Sloan and Serena between the soldiers. Terse commands bid them stop before the girl on the horse.
"Fargo. Who resides in this structure?"
Sloan held her head low, swallowed beneath her coat's collar. "Why don'tcha knock and find out?"
"An inappropriate response, as expected." The girl on the horse (Sayaka relented and unwadded her paper—Laquesha "Cicero" Kabwe) remained rigid and straight atop her steed. "If you desire corporal punishment, Fargo, you will be disappointed. I have more pertinent matters to assess. Norridge, give Hennepin the megaphone."
"Yes, milady."
A megaphone exchanged hands. It ended in the palm of Serena, the second captive. "What should I say?" she asked in what barely rose above a whisper. A testament to the stillness of the street that her voice carried to the rooftops.
"Demand that those inside this structure emerge for a conversation with Centurion Cicero of Chicago," said Laquesha Kabwe. "In truth, it matters little what you say. I doubt one erected a barrier like this to stand outside it. I seek merely to provide fair forewarning of our purposes and give our adversary, as always, a proper chance to surrender."
The residual lilt of Cicero's words acquired a character of their own, not an echo so much as a perceptible weight in the eardrums that took time to decompress. Once the words came together, Serena shrugged and raised the megaphone and shouted in weirdly passable Japanese:
"HEY THERE LITTLE PIG. COME OUT COME OUT OR WE'LL BLOW YOUR HOUSE DOWN. NOT BY THE HAIR OF MY CHINNY-CHIN-CHIN. WELL I'LL HUFF AND I'LL PUFF. IF YOU ASK ME PERSONALLY, I THINK YOU SHOULD JUST RUN NOW. GO OUT THE BACKDOOR, THEY HAVEN'T TAKEN THE TIME TO SURROUND YOU YET."
Despite the fact that she said "chinny-chin-chin" untranslated, none of the Chicago girls seemed to find anything amiss. Apparently coincidentally, Laquesha Kabwe turned to a subsection of her soldiers and commanded them to encircle the premises. Five girls broke from the main squadron and rushed to fulfill her bidding. Five! Did they have any idea who they were dealing with?
"That shall be sufficient warning, Hennepin," said Laquesha Kabwe. "My patience for negotiations wears thin anyway. Lombard, fetch me a chronokeeper."
A girl handed Laquesha Kabwe a watch.
"We wait five minutes for a response. If we receive no response or a contrarian response, we shall commence operations to test this barrier's strength." She checked the watch. "Lombard, organize the Artillery Subsquadron to the right wing."
"Yes, milady."
"Addison, relocate to Rooftop A." She indicated the apartment left of Homura's. "Maywood, relocate to Rooftop B." She indicated the apartment right of Homura's.
"Yes, milady!"
"Yes, milady."
"Norridge, relocate Fargo and Hennepin so they do not interfere."
"Yes, milady."
No mention of Kyoko. The girls who had dragged her (unconscious) body dropped her on the cobblestones and filed into a subsquadron.
"Darien, prepare to assault the entrance with your sword. If the Artillery Subsquadron fails to pierce the barrier, attack while they restock their ammunition. Under constant assault, even the most potent wall shall fade."
"Of course, milady."
And so on. Sayaka kinda zoned out while the rest of the orders swirled around. Girls in gold armored flitted, chirruped. Weapons manifested in hands. She watched Kyoko's body, near where Norridge had corralled Sloan and Serena beside the shelter of a tenement. Was she breathing? If Sayaka stared hard enough, focused her eyes until everything else ebbed away, she thought she saw Kyoko breathe. Thought, almost, that she could hear it.
"Sayaka..." said Nagisa.
"Miss Miki, are you alright?" said Mami. "I am positive Miss Sakura is alive. They must have rendered her unconscious in a scuffle."
Stubborn as a bucket of rocks.
"Yeah, yeah I'm sure too," said Sayaka. "I'm fine, don't worry."
Laquesha Kabwe's sharp voice cut through their conversation. "Are all subsquadrons in position?"
A resounding chorus pealed yes-milady in unison.
"Commendable." She checked the watch. "Operations shall commence in exactly one minute and thirty-four seconds. Until then hold position and await my command."
Credit where it's due, they did work efficiently. The Chicago girls stretched in almost a straight line across the front end of Homura's apartment, pieced into smaller groups each with its own subcommander and internal organization. It looked rather reasonable, rather composed. Not that, under normal circumstances, any of it mattered when Homura did her stop-time gag. (Key phrase: normal circumstances.)
"Get ready, Nagisa. It'll start any second now."
"Excuse me, Miss Miki," said Mami, "But what will start? Do you intend to fight Cicero? I'm afraid I won't let you endanger Nagisa's life so recklessly."
Yeah this thing, this is that thing Sayaka was worried about. "Sorry Mami, I swear what we're doing is super important and is way too complicated to explain right now. We're gonna be fine though."
"Mami, please," said Nagisa. "Sayaka's right, this is reeeeeeally important, like super duper okay?"
Mami's face indicated Nagisa's sound reasoning had left her unaffected. Which was fine, even though it did make Sayaka sorta nervous, but like everything else she had considered Mami being a pain and not letting Nagisa do stuff. And had discussed this possibility with Nagisa. The solution of course was simple. When Homura turns off time, just make sure nobody's touching Mami. Then she freezes along with everything else and when time resumes everything is already over.
Sayaka gave Nagisa a stern look to try and jog her memory about this plan, because currently she was way too buddy-buddy with Mami, basically nuzzled into her side. Nagisa caught her glare but looked perplexed so Sayaka drew a line over her throat and finally the message rang clear enough for Nagisa to awkwardly roll away from Mami and almost out of the cover of Sayaka's cape. Which was just about the least subtle way to conduct business in basically the history of humanity but it turned out fortunate timing because the next moment time stopped.
Sigh.
Homura knew it too much to ask for a single pleasant day alone with Madoka. The fact that she had striven to enjoy one perhaps invited the current situation; the Incubator would of course plan his most vigorous assault the he perceived Homura at her weakest. Truthfully, though, what did he expect from these Chicago girls? Even the strongest of them could not compare to her power. And they had attacked Homura when she was already with Madoka, at her fortified home. Which aroused her suspicions, as no rational strategist would create such a ploy with so little chance of success.
"Homura? You're spacing out again." Madoka sipped from her tea.
Kaltherzig whispered the situation into Homura's ear while Homura tried her best to look invested in a story about Madoka's classmates. Twenty girls from Chicago plus Serena Ru as a hostage. Attacked Tomoe's apartment, Tomoe and the others fled here. Sakura dead. What a shame, Sakura definitely surpassed both Tomoe and Miki in terms of likability. Although Homura supposed she did not consider it enough of a shame to turn back time and prevent it. Even if she resolved the conflict with Omaha: too much risk associated with rewinding a successful outcome. Kaltherzig actually seemed a little upset about the death, although she tried best not to show it especially in front of her twelve peers, who listened with rapt attention from Madoka's side of the table.
And now the Chicago girls had come here. They bellowed idle threats into the impenetrable façade of the apartment. They would attempt to break down the barrier. They would, of course, fail. Even under a relentless barrage from twenty Magical Girls, Homura's protective spells and enchantments could not be rent. However, the question of them breaking down the door was not the primary issue. Madoka had to go home eventually. Homura's appraisal of their resources indicated the Chicago girls were equipped to maintain an assault for over twenty-four hours, sustained on surplus grief cubes. Potentially longer if they dedicated part of their force to foraging during the night. And Homura's appraisal of their collective sanity indicated they would stand in front of her apartment all twenty-four of those hours.
Which at least partially explained why the Incubator arranged his stratagem in this way. It ensured Homura must at the very least exit her house to contend with them. An obvious diversion, but how could it work? If Homura left her thirteen dolls to watch Madoka—Eitelkeit remained with Tomoe, relaying information on the whereabouts of Miki and Nagisa as well—and went to dispatch the Chicago girls, then even if Miki and Nagisa went for Madoka the dolls could warn Homura in time for her to fall back and crush the threat.
That strategy had remained inviolable on four prior attacks by Miki and Nagisa. The Chicago girls merely added a secondary layer of diversion, they did not change the underlying layout of events. Besides, with Homura's magic it would take merely moments to destroy them, with them helpless to fight back. And she would destroy them. No more leeway. If an enemy got in her way, she must kill it. Or else this conflict would never end.
"Homura...?"
Best then to end it. Homura stood, transformed, ignored the startled gasp of Madoka, and churned the gears in her shield to freeze time.
"Defend her," Homura instructed her dolls. "Report any and all disturbances. Stave off attacks as well as you can."
The dolls said nothing. A few blinked. Homura reached into her shield for a weapon and proceeded toward the door.
Time stopping didn't stop Mami. Sayaka pulled back her cape and checked to make sure nobody was touching her, no wayward ankle of Nagisa's brushing against a finger, but she had thrown herself far enough from Mami to make that not an option. Sayaka thought for half a second and realized—goddam threads.
But that didn't matter because Homura's front door opened and Homura herself emerged with a McMillan TAC-338 tactical sniper rifle. She raised it and took aim at the girl on the horse.
Sayaka turned and shouted into the black portal behind them: "Omaha, now!"
A portal opened on the street below. Out of it sprang a cluster of wispy tendrils, like a squid or two squids, each comprised of the same dark essence of the portal itself. The tendrils lashed forward. Each wrapped around the ankle of a different Chicago girl, forming a connective chain. One by one the Chicago girls emerged from the grayscale palette of the world around them. Their entire line lit up, their weapons already raised at the front door.
Some of the Chicago girls looked at the world around them with a mixture of confusion and uncertainty. But Laquesha Kabwe, their leader, didn't miss a damn beat, didn't even take the time to register the situation.
"FIRE!"
The single confident cry galvanized her underlings into action. Those with guns pulled their triggers. A bricolage of gunshots rang out, some explosive, some sedated, some abrasive. Flashes spread in a line like a cannonade across the ranks of girls.
Homura stood perfectly still as a wide variety of bullets—slender, round, broad, minuscule—soared at her from a semicircle of angles. Each bullet traveled a full couple of meters before it slowed and settled into the monotonous background. The girls watched, bewildered.
The stunned silence lasted only a moment before a girl with a sword at least twice her height loosed a feral roar and charged Homura. Homura brushed back her hair and with barely a windup rolled under the swing and nailed the sword girl in the groin with a stiletto heel. Sword girl hurtled far far away, but more Chicago girls followed her lead and rushed Homura.
"That's our cue," said Sayaka. "Nagisa, let's do this! Just like we planned!"
She seized the railing and hopped it. A quick two-story drop to the cobblestone which she stuck with a sharp tick-tick of her heels and a small bend in her knees. She dropped into sprinter position and raced down the road toward the fracas. Homura nearly disappeared beneath the sheer multitude of golden armor that thronged around her, but the way the Chicago girls kept flying back indicated she had no trouble dispensing with the numbers disadvantage. One girl, holding a ball-and-chain, got flung away from the fight with a single strand of blood trailing from a wound on her chest, the blood freezing in time moments after leaving the body. The girl landed on her back and detransformed. Her gold armor changed to schoolgirl clothes. For a brief moment after she fell, Sayaka glimpsed Homura amid the others. One arm clutched the sniper rifle while her other wielded a handgun as she cartwheeled and dodged and kicked and shot.
Her powers of omniscience surely let her know the locations of all their gems despite their concealment. One shot kills each, but the Chicago girls were distracting better than expected. Sayaka hastened her sprint, set her eyes on the goal of Homura's front door. She had left it open in the shock of the attack. Great, meant Sayaka didn't even have to pick the lock.
She sprinted past Sloan and the other captives, untouched by Omaha's magic and frozen in time. Kyoko facedown. Sayaka didn't look. Eyes remained locked ahead. So close now, and not a single impediment. If she and Nagisa both got inside, it would be easy—almost trivially easy—to circumvent the dolls. Madoka acquired, game over man.
An explosion burst from the Homura mosh pit. It froze immediately but not fast enough to stop its force from propelling all the Chicago girls skyward, save the one on the horse. Homura emerged from the blaze and cast aside the rocket launcher she had used to create it.
Even in the stillness of time, time seemed to slow. Homura rising, back arched, hair all over, her other arm extended with the sniper rifle, pointed directly at Sayaka. Sayaka running, leg raised, arms bent, head turning as the barrel of Homura's gun took aim. Took aim toward the gem on her stomach.
Sayaka reached for a blade to deflect the bullet. Her hand settled on the hilt when a halberd swung from the explosion and nailed Homura in the ribs. The blow detonated against Homura's body and wave of power rippled across the solid air as the girl on the horse finished her swing, mounted amid the explosion like it did not even disconcert her, wielding her puny mortal weapon against a demon straight outta hell with such fearless abandon that Sayaka felt a stirring of admiration, stupid horse girl, stupid horse girl you stupid hero.
The force knocked Homura straight into the tenements on the other side of the road. She crashed into the brick and the brick shattered. The fortune of the blow almost did not register to Sayaka, that this whole damn plan could be salvaged on the back of a random girl whose name Sayaka forgot. But that was the whole point of roping these Chicago chicks into the fray: Homura can't deal with deviations from pattern, so dump enough girls with enough weird powers on her and one is bound to catch her off guard. Mental pat on the back for Sayaka!
Don't chick your countens. The door to Homura's apartment was still a good ten paces away. Sayaka resumed her sprint, casting a glance over her shoulder only to check how Nagisa had kept up.
Nagisa had not kept up.
Nagisa had not even left the rooftop.
Because Mami.
She had strung Nagisa with a ribbon around the wrist, a shiny gold tether that jerked her hither and thither as tried to float away on a trail of multicolored bubbles. Mami clung to the rooftop railing, tugging on the ribbons, shouting at Nagisa with words unheard over the din of battle, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure the issue, how Mami might understandably not want Nagisa rushing into a fight (although from Mami's perspective it must have looked like Nagisa was trying to help Homura), and Sayaka had even considered this a possibility but given the unexpected circumstances of Mami not getting time-stopped she didn't have the time to come up with a contingency which was what she had to do now.
The contingency was abandon Nagisa, the open door gaped ahead of her, Madoka not far beyond it. Sayaka turned to throw herself through it before Homura recovered but Homura had already recovered and extricated herself from the wall. She placed her eye to the scope of her sniper rifle and aimed.
Not at Sayaka. At Nagisa. Which made no sense, Sayaka was the threat, Sayaka was at the door, how could she just ignore—
Homura pulled the trigger. The recoil jerked her back as a long, needlenosed shell sped from the barrel. Sayaka reached for a blade to throw and intercept the bullet, but she already knew the pointlessness of the endeavor, no magic will make a thrown sword move faster than a bullet.
Time unstopped. Sayaka threw her blade. It hit nothing.
The bullet drilled through Nagisa's waist with a spurt of blood. It passed through her body, out her back, and drove into Mami's throat behind her.
Sayaka had no time to process this information because all the bullets the Chicago girls had fired at the front door resumed their forward motion and exploded against Sayaka's back.
Everything jumped positions, swapped places, within the span of an eye blink. Although the bullets fired by the Chicago girls exploded where and when they should have, the girls themselves had gone all over the map, many consumed in a second explosion farther away from the door. Many were on the ground, not in armor but in schoolgirl uniforms. Those ones looked pretty fucking dead.
The moment of confusion passed when Sloan remembered time demon Homura Akemi. The confusion resumed as she saw Sayaka Miki and her unmistakable blue cape flop out of the doorway explosion, slam into a wall, and ricochet to the ground. Sloan started toward her, but Sayaka had already flipped to her feet and drew a sword to deflect a bullet fired by Homura from across the battlefield with a loud clang and a spray of sparks. The entire mess disoriented Sloan, Chicago girls and Homura and Sayaka clustered in an elongated panorama of bullshit.
Her eyes went to the Chicago girls on the ground. One of them—not a dead one, but dazed and groaning—was the girl Cicero had tasked with watching Sloan and Hennepin. Porridge, if Sloan remembered right, which she totally probably didn't. She glanced to check if anyone else was watching (nobody except Hennepin, cowering against the street curb) and rushed to Porridge's supine body.
"Guh?" said Porridge. Sloan slammed her knuckle into Porridge's face and knocked her out of commission.
She scoured the unconscious goon for where she kept the gems. Knocking her out reverted her to the same schoolgirl uniform the others wore, which limited the number of pockets because skirts. But the gems weren't in the outer vest pocket and when Sloan undid the buttons she found no inner pockets at all. She patted the body awkwardly, kinda placing her hands wherever in search of like a bump or something. Eventually her hands moved down to the girl's twiggy bony legs at which point she detected a hidden pouch strapped to her upper thigh. Her very upper thigh.
Hennepin shuffled behind her. "Gee F-Fargo, I'm not one to k-kinkshame but..."
"Shut the fuck up." Sloan reached under the girl's skirt and tried to wrench the pouch away, but the strap held so Sloan had to fumble for the buckle which of course was on the innermost part of the thigh and after a few seconds of failed fumbled touching she gave up trying to unbuckle it and instead tried to open the pouch itself. Her brain kinda went AHHHHH real loud while she did it but eventually it worked and the button undid itself and Sloan dug her hand inside.
She grabbed the first gem her fingers touched. She expelled a tremendous sigh of relief when it happened to be her gem, because if she grabbed Hennepin's instead and had to go back under...
"Where's mine?" said Hennepin. "Is mine there?"
"Get it yourself." Sloan tucked her gem back where it belonged, in the pocket of her coat.
The moment she stood, another explosion burst nearby. The force hit her in the gut and lifted her up, up, up, and down again. She slammed hard against the cobblestone. Her vision blurred and various golden shapes drifted before her. She slapped her face and fixed her eyes. The battlefield only grew more hectic the better she saw it. Cicero sallied her horse and swung her halberd. Around her dashed her soldiers, and in the midst of the melee clashed Sayaka Miki and Homura Akemi. Sayaka looked on the offensive, her sword strikes battering against Homura at a berserk pace. Homura backpedaled with each strike, deflecting with various guns she drew from her shield—the guns looked oddly conventional, not standard Magical Girl fare—and although the apathetic, almost bored glaze in her eyes indicated she had no trouble defending herself, the insane rapidity of Sayaka's attacks prevented counterattack. Which was good for Sayaka, because half the Chicago girls were shooting or stabbing her in the back while she focused solely on Homura. Blood and gashes spread along her body, healed as quickly as they came by a teal aura that surrounded her.
Magic, right. Sloan found herself in the awkward position where using her own magic to affect the fight would hurt her ally as much as her enemy. If Homura even was her enemy? She had never spoken to the girl, had only Sayaka and Omaha as sources.
Bah, whatever! She broke from her stupor and scanned the area for something to do. Hennepin rolled around on the ground; her hands clutched a wound on her side. But Hennepin could suck a dick, she'd live. Kyoko lay where the Chicago girls had dropped her. Flames from the most recent explosion flicked around her outstretched arms. Sloan tried not to dwell on her too much.
Instead she looked over her shoulder and saw other terrible shit. Two bodies lay on the cobblestone near a building at the end of the street. The facedown one Sloan could not place but the other lay propped with her back against the wall, her blonde head slumped and blood running down her chest. Mami.
Sloan ran. No no no. Don't let Mami be dead too. But soon Sloan was close enough to see the gem in her hairpin, intact, although severely dark. It flickered as a sole spot of black on Mami's otherwise autumnal color scheme. Bad, very bad, but not dead. Sloan could work with not dead.
She slowed as the reached the first body, the facedown one. Nagisa. A precise wound bled on her back. Sloan knelt beside her and turned her over. The ground beneath her glittered with the shattered fragments of her gem. Her one wound, a small round red circle, lay directly where a belt buckle should be.
No. She could be no older than ten. No older than that, dammit. Sloan balled her hands into fists.
What could she do. What could she have done differently. How could she have stopped this. The point where she could have given up seemed so distant, so far away. Williston. Another continent, another world. She wanted to die herself, lie down and die. But Mami. Mami was still alive. Sloan had to do something.
"Mami," she said. "Mami, listen to me. It's Sloan. Mami?"
Mami's eyes stared forward at the cobblestone. Her throat gurgled with blood, her threads made no effort to stitch the wound. Sloan crawled close and placed her hands on Mami's shoulders. Shook her gently.
"Mami, Mami please. Please listen to me. Mami. Mami?"
Nothing. An empty dullness in the eyes. Her gem the color of coal. Sloan had no hope herself, no hope she could say anything to change anything. Not with Nagisa dead. But she had to say something, she had to try, she could not give up.
"Mami. Mami. Mami. Please Mami. Please."
Mami said nothing.
Sloan started to cry.
In the periphery of Sloan's blurred vision appeared the doll. The doll. The one with pink hair and a flowing white robe. Its mouth a twisted triangle smile. Its feet barely touched the ground. It drifted toward Mami.
"No," said Sloan. She shook Mami again. "Mami, Mami, no."
Mami's head lolled to the side. Like a doll herself.
"No," Sloan said again. "No, don't." She turned toward the doll. "Get away. Get away."
The doll floated, unconcerned with Sloan's words. Its arms spread wide as if to envelop Mami in an embrace. Mami's dull eyes flitted for a moment to the side. Then they settled back straight ahead and did not look again.
"No you DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER!"
Sloan threw herself at the doll. Her arms wrapped around its frail body and clutched tight as she forced it back, away from Mami. It swiped at her with hooked hands, little white claws that raked the side of her face and drew thick hot blood. Sloan didn't care, did not let go, only heaved her entire weight against the pink-haired doll, the false Madoka.
"Mami, Mami run, run away!" Sloan yelled over her shoulder. She seized a handful of pink hair and slammed the doll's head against the wall. It screeched at her, its eyes a swirl of hypnotic hues that Sloan squinted to avoid staring at. A deluge of German—probably German—flooded her mind, like the Japanese Mami and Kyoko had transmitted between themselves during the battle with Cicero but multiplied, amplified, rebounding in the hollow confines of her skull. Sloan held on, refused to relinquish it. She had done nothing for Kyoko or Nagisa, but she would not let Mami die. Would not let her disappear completely!
Mami did not heed her call to run, did not look at her. Remained in repose against the wall. Sloan forced the doll back, further away from her, moving with herky-jerky steps. The doll unhinged its crescent mouth and sank a long row of fangs into Sloan's shoulder, but the pain only caused Sloan to lock her arms tighter, sealing the doll into the cage of Sloan's lanky, wiry body. Despite the doll's flowing dress and hair, Sloan outsized it. Outpowered it. They staggered back in their disjointed tango. Away from Mami.
A new voice entered her mind. Cold, stiff, formal, aloof, but strangely familiar. Sloan was certain she had heard it before, but couldn't quite place it—Omaha? Similar, yes, but Omaha had no such confidence, no such force. No, this had to be Homura Akemi. The voice said:
You have no idea what you're doing, do you?
Sloan twisted her head over her punctured shoulder. The battle raged down the street. In the midst of the chaos Sloan glanced Homura, her weapon locked against the sword of Sayaka. Homura's gaze met hers for a moment, but the look she gave Sloan bore no emotion whatsoever.
Mami's gem exploded. It burst with a sharp crackle that stirred Sloan's attention. The glitter of fragments twinkled as it erupted from the side of Mami's head. Sloan stared dumbly. How? HOW? Sloan had kept the doll so far away... had Homura? HOW COULD THIS BE HAPPENING?
"MAMI!" she shouted. She throttled the doll's scrawny throat. Its head bobbed back and forth. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?"
A tremendous pulse of energy issued forth in a ring from Mami's body. It ripped through Sloan and the doll and launched them into the air. Sloan clung to the doll as they revolved together in the sky, the cobblestones and brick buildings beneath them bending, melting, changing. The wind rushed past and lifted Chicago girls off their feet, flinging them into the vortex. A girl with a shield crashed into Sloan's side, ricocheted, and sent them both in new directions.
Everything kept changing, even the sky changed. As Sloan and the doll reached the top of the cyclone and drifted in its pull, the view around her stabilized and she could see that everything stemmed from Mami Tomoe. Not her body—her body scraped limp against the ground. But the spot where she had—where she had died. Waves of purple and red emanated from it, swallowing the landscape in new colors. From the colors rippled sheets and ribbons that trembled and rolled into a cavernous abyss below, the ground itself crumbling away to reveal an infinite void. The colors sealed them in, surrounded them on all sides, no sign of exit, no sign of the real world that had once existed.
Was this... a wraith miasma? Like in Williston? Or was this something different?
Wrapped Christmas presents dropped from a nebulous ceiling. They fell in slow motion, and yet fell faster than Sloan and the doll (they did not fall at all, merely floated). The Chicago girls who had been pulled inside with them were seized by ribbons and dragged into the darkness. Bowls of ice cream and platters of cake formed precarious towers. Chains of gold links strung like streamers from columns and arches. Architectural forms existed inside the space but cohered to no greater plan or format, no kind of structure in the mayhem, only additional heaps of objects. Fragments shored against the ruins. Only in a wraith miasma had Sloan seen distortions like this—if these were even distortions—but she saw no wraiths, no glimmers of static.
Out of a tangled bundle of cords rose an impish figure, small in stature but with long, thin arms of yellow ribbon that spread in all directions and had no end. The fae being wore a bonnet that dwarfed its featureless round face and a teal apron that spread from a twig body. It moved like dada art, like animated collage, rectangular segments that shifted by degrees. It turned its eyeless face toward Sloan.
It looked like no wraith. Sloan regarded it only with horror. She gripped the pink-haired doll tighter as the odd creature twisted its spindly arms toward her, groping and reaching for her defenseless body. Did this come from Mami? Did this come from this universe?
The arms neared, encircled them. The doll wrenched its fangs from Sloan's shoulder screeched at the arms as they neared. Sloan had no recourse for retaliation, no brain to conceive an action. A dream, right? An illusion?
Moments before the creature's endless arms bound her, the pink-haired doll tossed its head. A pure white sliver tore through the space around them. It flashed in an overwhelming ray of light that enveloped Sloan and the doll, erased their outlines, faded them into nonexistence.
Sloan went blind.
Note: Next chapter two weeks from now, March 12.