Sup people. Have some pretty good news all around.
I decided to get off my ass and finally run some editing. Besides being horrified by my excessive adverbs, and for some reason, the word 'just', I'm pretty satisfied. 70k words, give or take a couple thousand, wasn't easy.
So, If you feel up for a reread, it's a better time than ever.
Now, those of you following this fic on spacebattles may have read this. It's a series of very serious (heh) omakes I've been writing. Since I hadn't published them in before, I thought I might as well celebrate the editing with this.
I'm sorry for what you're about to read.
In all of his regrettably long life, Gherman had seen many things.
He had seen the dawn of a new, horrible age where gods descend from the cosmos and mingled with humanity. He had been the first to see the need for hunters. Heroes that would contain the Scourge and offer mercy to those ailed by the horrible sickness. He had seen Maria perform a visceral attack up a giant pig's hindquarters, and been traumatized by it along with his other students.
But none of them baffled him nearly as much as the new hunter to make this horrid place his home. It wasn't that he was especially brave. Gherman had seen many brave men come and go, nor that he was especially skilled - he wasn't even close to an old hunter's skill. It wasn't even his questionable sanity – all of them had a screw loose to begin with.
No, the true mystery was...
The Doll, who had been speaking with Emiya Shirou gave a small curtsey and bid her goodbye to the young hunter. Her cheeks were prettily flushed and she watched he go with an alien, forlorn look.
How could a child barely out of his diapers attract the attention of so many maidens? And the Doll shouldn't even be capable of feeling romantic love!
Gherman glared at his pile of signed copies of 'How to pick up fair maidens', hoping to convey the weight of the betrayal he felt.
"You lied to me..." he rasped.
Laurence had said the book was, in his words, 'a pile of unadulterated rubbish'. Bah, what did Laurence know, he had thought. The man would have picked labs full of blood-filled vials over any woman. Also multiple-eyed brains in jars and sacrificial cults dedicated to his person.
Laurence had been a strange man.
Suddenly, wind picked up, agitated by something. Gherman looked at the sky, and the always clear view of the moon was blotted out by what looked like a golden saucer with wings.
Gherman observed it with eyes that had seen many strange things. He didn't even blink when a blond, red-eyed boy jumped out of it as it landed.
"Hello!" The child waved.
"Goodnight. How are you doing, young man?" he greeted back.
The child beamed. "I'm great, thank you!" He looked around. "My, onii-san wasn't joking about the graves. No wonder he asked me to lend a hand – something about thrashy, self-help books. Who could enjoy life surrounded by death and self-help books?"
"Oh, so the good hunter brought you here? How curious."
This event was steadily climbing up his list of most strange encounters, but he didn't show it. Only the most baffling, mind-bending occasions deserved a spot.
"He did. Onii-san said you needed help in your courting skills, so I, King Gilgamesh, shall be your teacher! Hohohoho!"
"King Gilgamesh," repeated Gherman, rubbing his jaw in thought. "I'm terribly sorry young man, but I've never heard of you."
Gil's stricken face reminded him of when he had told Ludwig that no, swords didn't talk back when you said something at them.
The boy's voice trembled. "I-it's okay, it's completely normal that you didn't hear of a King from a different world. I'm not bothered," he said, before turning around and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.
Gherman hummed. A child that came from space in a flying golden saucer with wings. Then, broke into the impregnable Hunter's Dream and had done it all to teach Gherman how to pick up fair maidens?
"I suppose this is a bit stranger than Adrian," he mused.
Ah, Adrian. One of his best hunters, deserving of every mercy since life had punished him enough. Trudging through the hunt with his broccoli head and feet of a beast.
Djura had told him he had settled down with a gentle, lovely woman. Good for him.
"Indeed, I shall apply your teachings with all of the two people I can interact with," said Gherman.
Gil scratched his jaw. "What's wrong miss Doll? She seems very fond of you."
"She is a doll," said Gherman, flatly. "She has ball-jointed hands and is made of wax and porcelain."
"But she is a very pretty doll."
Gherman sighed. This child was interrupting his nightly routine of napping, contemplation and regretting his life choices. It was very carefully maintained and he had never dealt well with surprises.
He would have to go for the metaphorical throat.
"Oh well, in that case maybe young Shirou will have enough space in his heart for a poor, lonely old man." He crowned it with his most decrepit, twisted laugh, that would make mothers hide their children behind their skirts and people whisper about 'the perverted old coot'.
Gil looked at him skeptically. "Isn't onii-san's harem a bit too crowded already? You wouldn't get enough attention. That isn't good for a healthy relationship."
Gherman stared at the child.
Gil stared back.
He sagged in his wheelchair. His new opponent was formidable. "You haven't the slightest clue, child."
Gherman looked back at the house. Whenever young Shirou was lingering about in the Dream, unbeknownst to him, another suitor peeked from behind the Dream's workshop. It huddled behind the house whenever Shirou looked at its direction, staring at him with a lovestruck...hole and tentacles squirming with excitement.
Once, Maria told him she had been 'beating suitors off with a stick'. Bragged about it, more like.
In Shirou's case, a stick wouldn't do. He hoped his apprentice had enough swords at his disposal. Many swords. All the swords.
Gherman sighed. He felt he would be doing that many times with this child here. "Very well. I'll accept your tutelage. In exchange, embarrass young Shirou a bit for me, will you?" That would teach the little brat to not play pranks on his elders.
"Can do! We have a deal, mister Gherman." Gil jutted a thumb at his chest. "I'm gonna teach you how to live!"
Gherman groaned.
It seemed he was in for another long, long night.
In all of his regrettably long life, Gherman had been rejected many, many times.
He had been rejected by women of all sizes, social class and personalities. He had been rejected by a particularly curvy tree in his lonelier moments in the Dream. He was rejected even in his dreams, because even in the safest, most hopeful parts of his subconscious, he could not imagine what success looked like.
But this time, things were different. He tipped his hat to the young lady that had given her time of day to a decrepit old man like him and had meant it. This seedy bar wasn't exactly the ideal place to pick up fair maidens, but decades away from society had hurt his finances a bit. She left him with a smile full of teeth and a promise to be back right away.
Somehow, it seemed success was finally in his grasp.
Gherman smiled. "It seems your advice worked very well, young man. That went far better than I expected considering how rusty I am," he said, looking at the most extraordinary child sitting in the table next to his. Gil had a glass with a sticker written 'Foreign Brat' glued to it, and the water inside had an ill, yellow color to it.
Gil watched him with lifeless eyes that had been drained of every last bit of hope. "Mister Gherman, are you one-hundred percent sure of that?"
"But of course! I am a very perceptive man, and the results spoke for themselves."
Gil threw his arms up. "Then you're one hundred percent wrong!"
Gherman gasped. "Surely not!"
"I'll walk you through your many, many failures. Firstly, you asked her, and I quote, 'how old is your name, m'lady'?"
Gherman tugged at his collar. "I admit it wasn't the most stellar opening."
"Indeed. Then you asked, and I quote, 'what are your thoughts on sacrificial cults'?"
"You told me to talk about what I was comfortable with!"
"How are you comfortable with sacrificial cults?"
"Well...I know a lot about them, is all. Laurence wouldn't shut up about how great were group sacrifices to one's self-esteem. I ended up learning a lot through sheer exposition, so it felt easy to talk about it." Gherman glared at him. "You said it would be easier if I talked about something I was knowledgeable about!"
"Nothing boosts your ego like dozens of people stabbing themselves just because you said it was a good idea. Nothing like it in the world, Gherman."
Yharnam was Laurence's brainchild through and through. Gherman was sure there were actual brain-children running about somewhere.
He rubbed his stubble of a beard. "In hindsight, perhaps it wasn't the best subject for a first rendezvous." He let out a decrepit chuckle.
Gil pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll give you that, mister Gherman. I had never seen someone more hopeless in the art of seduction than you. This'll be a challenge worthy of a king." He turned and mumbled something like 'you owe me big time, onii-san'.
Gherman's head dipped down. Even in his prime, Gherman hadn't been what one would call 'a player'. He and Ludvig had often bonded over shared misery when it came to fair maidens. They bemoaned the fact that no woman would give them the time of the day. Ludvig would cry and always say that, in his words, 'no woman ever gave him the friendship of her thighs'.
Yes, even for Gherman's standards, his old friend had been a bit of a loser. He hadn't minded because there was no friend more reliable and kind-hearted than him. Their times horsing around were some of Gherman's fondest memories.
That and the fact that Gherman looked comparatively cool when beside him hadn't hurt either.
"But she seemed to be enjoying herself." He clung to his defense like a lifeline. "She laughed at my jokes, smiled and she threw her hair back twice every minute. My book said that is a sure sign of a successfully picked up maiden!"
"Remind me to set fire on that book, will you? And all the copies too, don't try to hide them from me!" Gil shook his head. "That thing is a public menace." Gil looked at the direction the woman had left to. "And you do realize that woman was a lady of the night, don't you mister Gherman?"
Gherman laughed. "Surely not. She seemed like an upstanding, decent woman of good birth and character."
"Yes." Gil squinted at the entrance of the ladies' toilet, as if seeing through the walls. "And I think she just jumped through a window and ran off. She was scared you would take her to a dark corner and give her as an offering to an evil god. And, I'll say. It's very strange to use my infinitely powerful Clairvoyance to peek inside the ladies' bathroom."
A sob escaped Gherman's throat.
She wasn't his first runner.
"Don't worry, she wasn't a nice person either." Gil squinted harder, peering deeper into the universe's secrets. "She was planning to..." He facepalmed. "Drain your blood out of your body." Squint. "And sell it to the highest bidder because there's a market for old old blood." Squint and a grimace. "And she thought it would be easy because she could just outrun you since you're... in a wheelchair..."
Gil gave a long sigh and looked at the heavens. "You Yharnamites are awful!" he cried.
"Yer awful!" a Yharnamite screamed from another table. His friends cackled.
"Stupid foreigner kid! Drink yer piss!" another yelled. The whole bar joined the fun, cackling and booing.
Gil's eyes twitched. "You all are making me feel genocidal. You don't want me being genocidal. Don't test me, I will do it."
The laughter ceased.
"Please take me away, Gil. There's only so much failure an old man can take," whimpered Gherman.
"Okay." Gil went behind the wheelchair and pushed Gherman outside the seedy bar. Gil threw back an evil eye when a Yharnamite made to throw an old apple at him on the back.
Awful, all of them.
High-up in the outside, clinging on the walls like a demonic spider, a creature watched them go.
"What is that thing mister Gherman? It's horrid."
"That, my young friend, is an Amygdala." Gherman sighed. "It is one of the first Great Ones to invade our land, sponsored by Laurence, of course. They are the patron deities of Yharnam and exist for the sole purpose of bringing misery wherever they go."
Gil's lips pressed into a thin line. "And you Yharnamites couldn't do anything about it?"
"No. They are too powerful. They cling to our buildings and prey on unsuspecting victims, bringing an early end to innocent lives. Their very presence twists the world into a darker place. They are the symbol of Yharnam's corruption."
"That is awful, mister Gherman," he said with sympathetic eyes.
"Indeed. I myself have been terrified by them many times. Only after years of experience could I stand in front of them and not shake like a leaf. Most of my students couldn't say the same; their hearts stopped at the mere sight of it."
Gil patted Gherman's arm. "You are strong, mister Gherman. There was never any doubt on my part."
"Thank you. And when you get strong enough to not tremble in your boots in their presence, and can finally gather your wits, you begin to wonder...what would they taste like?"
"Yes, I can see wh- wait, what?"
Gherman frowned, staring at the Amygdala. "The meat. It looks positively delicious."
"No, it doesn't! It's- it's hairy and bony and that creature reeks of evil. It's an evil alien!"
"And what does evil taste like, Gil? I bet no man has ever tried it. Decades locked in that horrid dream, away from everything, made me ponder. Wonder. Many, many times, I would ask myself: 'what does it taste like?' I must try it if I ever have the chance. And now, destiny has arrived. Or should I say..." He licked his lips. "I have."
"No! No! Absolutely not! Bad mister Gherman!" Gil squeaked.
Gherman sagged in his wheelchair. "Ah, I suppose it is a distant dream. An old man like myself should let go of pointless whims such as these." He sniffed. "It is not as if I was locked inside of the dream with no sustenance to eat other than the corpses of hunters that were released from the dream."
Gil sighed. "If I bring you the meat, will you stop telling me details of your backstory and throw the books away?"
Gherman immediately perked up. "Of course! Oh, thank you, dear child. Thank you."
Gil took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves. The Amygdala locked gazes with him. A Noble Phantasm came from a golden gate. A cleaver owned by Gil's personal, legendary cook along with a white mask. Last but not least, a golden apron with 'kiss the king' inscribed on it surged.
The creature that was fear given form began scuttling away.
Ṕ̵̫͕̅̐̈́͝L̵̡̘̠͔̦͖̦̪͙̦̝͔͈͐͗͊̏ͅͅȨ̶̛̹̞͎̫͉̾̽͑̈́͌͊̀͘A̴̙̪̓̑̓̃̽̎͜ͅŚ̴̫̭̼̏́͗̄͊̂̐̉̋̋̋͆̔͝Ḙ̶̠̘̞͖̤̰͑̏̏̍̇͌̍͋̓̇̃̿͊̕͝ ̶̨̟̬̯̪̞͖͚̜̩̖̀̏͒̑͌͘Ņ̵̈̓̀̀̉̾̀̈̓̀̑̀̔͘O̸̻̚͝
"I'm sorry miss Amygdala. Just a leg will do," he said, cleaver gleaming a wicked gold.
Fear given form took off with an alien squeak. Gil followed, swinging his cleaver in the air.
N̶̡̠͇̼͎̯̓̈̈́̽̐̍̂̓Ò̵͖̣̗̱̎̋̄̅̿͐̉͝ ̷̘͚͔͆͆͌̏̓̏͂́͛̿̇̅̕ͅG̶̩͚̳̾̐́Ĩ̶̢̧̙̘͔̖͙̞̻̒̉́̒̋̀̾͋̚̕͠͝͝L̵̛̺̮͎͖̲͓͙̭̇̿̓̓͊́̑̔̓̑̕͜͝͠-̷̨̨̧̙̠̝̞̖̹͈͔̩̤̱̬͛̀͋̓̂̕̕̕̕͝D̶̠̗̰̖͍̤̊́̓̎̓̿̓̚͜Ö̸̢͙̜̹̥̼͚̭̠̩͓́̎͂́̋̋̌̀̌̕N̸͕̦̜̪͎̓̐͑̈̂́̏̑́͒̚O̷̡̲̘̫̳̮̟͍̱͙͉̘̰̠̞̊̄̃̇̀̋̌̂̉̍̅̑͛͝ ̸͓̂̓̔͆̔̑͗̇̉̎̚͝ͅY̶̺͍͈͂́̆͛̅̏̏̆͗͛̚͘̚͝A̴̳̦͕̣̠͖̬͛̀̃͂̍͒̚ͅM̴̧̺̟̪͉̺̭̰͉͉̆̍̇̃̚̚͝Ḙ̵̡̡̠̻̰̠͍̭̜͊̑̽Ţ̴̨̧̼̠̼̮͔̗̳̅̈͜͜ͅË̵̳͉̣͉͖̩̲̓̍͊̑
"Just a leg! Come on, you have plenty to spare!"
Minutes later, Gil came back. A jagged, hairy leg of about ten times his size was slung on his shoulder like an over-sized sack of potatoes. Gherman's eyes shone with pure, childish glee.
And minutes later, it was sizzling on Gil's kingly grill. An alien goop drooped from it, and he told Gherman he would never use it again.
When Gil's Clairvoyance told it was done – it was very versatile, indeed – the child handed over the unholy smelling meat to him. It smelled as if someone had thrown every putrid, rotten and disgusting material in the world and mixed it in an industrial blender.
Gherman took a bite.
"How does it taste?" asked Gil, almost afraid to ask.
Gherman smacked his lips and smiled. "Otherworldly."
Gil groaned while Gherman's body at long last relaxed, a weight being relieved from his chest.
He had been holding onto that one for three decades.
I LIED. I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL.
In a way, these chapters are to escape some of the story's doom and gloom.
looks at outline
And there's a lot of doom and gloom coming, indeed.
Oh, and I'm 1k words in for the next chapter. It'll be set mostly in Fuyuki and overflowing with foreshadowing for the next arc. Counting this one, only three chapters left for the third arc to begin.
Shirou will meet his waifu Kirei-chan and his coach Gil. Truly, the dream team.
The second arc has been a blast to write, but like the first one, I think it'll shine the most in the end.