Yo. Posting this a bit early because I'mma be busy basically all Saturday.
For those of you that were super excited about the Shirou v Pyrrha fight. Sorry bubbah, that needs some more Tender Loving Care before I am satisfied with it. I wrote a thing, was pretty satisfied, but then a buddy of mine pointed out I could have done a lot better, and I agreed!
This is a fight between two of my favorite characters and I wanna do it justice. So it needs some more work.
That said, I've been super busy the last two weeks so I didn't actually get that much time to write. Also my PC's power supply was dying, I replaced it just before it went caput. That was fun.
Anyways. The next few weeks look really bad as far as free time goes. What does that mean for this story? It means that while I'll try to have the next chapter finished for two weeks from now, I can't make any promises about it being finished on time. It's just how it is. I got bills to pay.
So there you have it. I'm working on the Pyrrha v Shirou fight. I've got a rough draft of it done but I'm not happy with it. It's being worked on. Thing's looking not good as far as free time goes tho.
Have a pair of short stories that were cluttering up my brain and getting in the way of me writing. I got a chuckle out of writing them, hope you like 'em. Maybe they'll help tide you over till I'm finished with the next chapter.
And if they don't...well...sorry to tell ya bubbah, but nuttin' I can do about that.
As always, if you liked it drop me a review and lemme know why.
If you didn't. Drop me a review and preferably give me a detailed description and list of the reasons why you didn't. Failing that at least keep it civil yeh?
As always, thanks a bunch to Keel the Swift for betaing, it is thanks to that guy that you get to see a thing that does not have absolutely awful punctuation.
Final reminder. I'mma try to make the deadline for two weeks from now. But it might not turn out that way.
Have a couple short-stories/omakes set sometime between Arcs 1 and 2 of this fic! 8D
=][=
Are You In Or Out?
A peal of distant thunder rumbled over Anima, shaking the ground and trees with a shadow of the power of the lighting that birthed it. Over forests and hills, past mountains and lakes, the thunder rolled until the barest fraction of its fury broke against the walls of the Branwen camp, serving to perfectly punctuate the disquiet within it.
Raven's demand that they abandon their ways, putting aside generations of being raiders had not been a popular one. But the beatings Raven and Vernal handed out to any who voiced a complaint, and the much more serious punishments to any who didn't comply with the new rules that prevented them from taking from people under their 'protection', effectively trampled any opposition.
In a mere two years the Branwens had almost made the transition from wolves to sheep dogs. Eventually the idea of not merely taking what they want would become the new 'normal', unless something changed, Raven would succeed in turning the Branwens soft.
Russus Branwen would not stand for it. He was a giant of a man, the circumference of his arms greater than the thighs of most people. He dressed plainly in a black shirt and brown overalls that seemingly strained to contain his musculature. Russus was shaven menacingly bald and forever had a 5 o' clock shadow on his chin. But if one were to ask any who were acquainted with Russus, they'd say that his most striking feature were his keenly intelligent blue eyes, forever shining with a cruel glint.
He looked at the cattle the Branwen were willingly becoming and scoffed in disgust, he swore to himself that he'd put things right, but how to go about getting rid of Raven? Russus was one of the best fighters in the tribe, but Raven Fucking Branwen was the best. He was not ashamed to admit he'd never beat her in a fair fight, or even most unfair ones.
Livid? Yes absolutely, but ashamed? No.
What he needed was for the red-eyed bitch to die. He could handle that stupid chit Vernal easily enough once Raven was out of the picture. The million Lien question was how? Raven's instincts were too keen for him to catch her unawares; double-crossing her on a raid would not work as she had put a stop the tribe's very lifeblood; poison was out, her food was entirely handled by her worthless little pet.
No, what he needed were numbers, he needed the Branwens. He had to slap the stupid out of them, remind them that the strong ate the weak, not the other damn way around! All he needed was to light a fire in their bellies, make the sheep dogs remember they were wolves!
And it had to be done right now, he'd not get another chance as good as this one, Raven had left with her brat and Vernal for 'training'. She thought herself secure in her position, in her power. She believed she had cowed the Branwen's spirit, that they feared her enough not to tear their leashes off and run wild when she turned her back.
Well joke's on her, the weather had taken an instant turn for the worse a few hours after they left. They'd come back shivering and soaked to the bone, and tired from whatever the hells Raven has the two stupid kids doing. It would be a perfect chance for a coup.
He began to walk around the camp, watching with mounting fury as the once proud men and women he's fought and killed beside huddled in their tents away from the rain and discussed patrol schedules. Patrol schedules!
Disgusting.
He strode out into the rain, filling his lungs with the petrichor scented air and shouted, "What the hells happened!?"
His bass roar cut through all conversation like a hot blade through butter.
He turned in a slow circle, glaring into the eyes of several tribesmen and women. "What! The hells! Happened!?
"I remember when being a member of this tribe meant I was respected! I remember when being a member of this tribe meant I was feared! I remembered when being a member of this tribe meant I could look forward to proving my strength, to taking what I deserve! To stand proud and walk beside wolves!
"I look now, and I see nothing more than sheepdogs! Where is the pride!? Where is the strength!? For hells' sake we have salaries!" He devolved into a wheezing laugh and repeated in an incredulous tone. "Salaries!?"
There were grumbles of agreement.
Russus suppressed his smirk. "We are Branwens! We are meant to plunder! We are meant to ransack! We are meant to take what we deserve from those beneath us!"
The grumbles became murmurs.
"But are we? No, we are not allowed," he said, his voice dripping with disgust. "We put our trust in a leader who has gone soft! So I say, join me! We are meant to be predators not sheepdogs!"
Russus lowered his voice, causing every member of the tribe to lean forward to catch his next words. "So I say join me, help me depose a leader that no longer deserves your loyalty. Join me in returning to the wolves we are meant to be. Remember that we are not dogs! We are the predators!"
The tribesmen began a ragged cheer.
"Wait!" Flaxen's panicked shout brought the cheers to a halting, stuttering end. Flaxen was the definition of taciturn; he hadn't raised his voice when a Huntsman plucked his eye out. Everyone could instinctively feel that for him to sound so ragged, it had to be something monumental.
He looked at the tribesmen with wide-eyed horror. When he spoke, it was in a whisper that trembled with barely suppressed dread. "What about the food?"
"Well," Saian said scratching her chin. "Raven's kid makes the food."
At that instant, the entirety of the Branwen tribe came to the same horrifying realization.
The Branwen tribe had always made do with whatever could be scavenged or preserved. They weren't the most educated bunch; most of them could read and do some basic math but that was about it. Their expertise lay in fighting and intimidation, not so much the culinary arts. As such, for years, they had simply made do.
But ever since Raven adopted the kid, an entirely new world had opened to them. Not to mention that ever since he took over as camp cook, they no longer had any cases of scurvy or rickets. Not to mention how damn tasty his food was.
"You know," Oak murmured as he slowly ran a hand through his buzz-cut hair, "a lady at one of the towns we protect? She said to me 'thanks for keeping us safe' and gave me an apple, free of charge. I like apples."
There were grumbles of agreement.
"Raven's kid makes the food," Saian whispered in fear.
"Not to mention," Fren said scratching his cheek where a nasty scar pulled the corner of his mouth into a permanent leer. "I hit on a girl in town, yeah? And she actually seemed pretty into it, I didn't get the usual scoff or cringing in fear."
The grumbles became mutters.
"Raven's kid makes the food!" Saian wailed in horror.
Raven's kid was, after all, fond of Raven. He didn't talk much to anyone else other than Vernal, who acted as his babysitter more often than not.
If there were to be a coup against Raven, there was very little doubt where the loyalties of Raven's kid would lie.
As one, the entire Branwen tribe turned to glare at Russus with murder in their eyes.
"Remember! We could be wolves again!" Russus said, instinctively backing away from the tribe as they began to stalk toward him. "We can be predators! Remember your roots!"
In truth, Russus had lost his battle before it even began. The wolves of the Branwen tribe had grown fond of the warmth of a hearth fire.
As one they fell on Russus, bearing his screaming form down under sheer weight of numbers. He struggled and fought with fist and boot and tooth. But the wrath of the tribe would not be denied.
Raven's kid makes the food.
=][=
Training day.
Shirou barely managed to duck out of the way as Omen's current blade whistled over his head, only when the weapon reversed course and the back of the blade slammed into his now exposed side and sent him face-first to the floor, did he realize that the first swing had been a feint.
"How many times have I told you to keep your guard up!?" Raven railed at him as she pulled him up off the ground by his collar, his feet dangling off the floor. "Dammit kid! You'd think this would be simple! How have you not learned yet!?"
He looked away and scowled at the ground before muttering, "It works on everyone else."
"Well it only needs to fail once doesn't it!?" Raven shouted, giving him a good shake before letting go. Shirou barely managed to stop himself from sprawling. "Again!"
He took up to his preferred combat stance. He'd grown quite a bit in the years since Raven had found him. His hands wrapped all the way around the grips of Kansho and Bakuya, if only just, and his head now reached all the way to Raven's solar plexus if he stood straight…maybe he should try head-butting her there?
Five seconds and three lumps later he learned that his plan had been a rather poor one.
"What the hells even was that!?" Raven shouted at him as he picked himself up off the ground from the ground. "Again!"
The next time he lasted eight seconds.
Then ten.
And in the next five he lasted less than three.
"Again!" Raven growled, and Shirou did his best to comply, his arms shaking as he failed to push himself up more than a few inches, before he collapsed back to the ground. "I said again! Is that all you've got!? Are you going to lay down and die!?"
Shirou growled and pushed harder, the sweat streaming down his face and nose forming a muddy patch underneath his face. He was able to push himself to his knees, then to his feet, panting like a dog as he tried to regain control of his breathing. He squared off against Raven and as he took one step toward her his legs buckled underneath him, dropping him face-first to the dusty ground. Well, when you can't walk...
"Alright, that's enough then," Raven said as he failed to crawl toward her. She calmly plucked him from the ground and hugged him to her chest. "I'd say you did good, but you never once got the lesson on keeping your guard up."
"Raven let me down," he muttered, sulkily resting his face against her neck as he currently lacked the energy to hold his head up, "I can walk."
"No you can't," she said gently, walking away from the circle of rope in the center of the camp. She turned to the members of the tribe that had stuck around to watch her 'training' Shirou, "Alright whoever's up next the arena's yours!"
A small silver haired girl shot up and pointed an imperious finger at Raven's adjutant. "Big sis Vernal! Today is the day you die!"
Vernal sighed dejectedly. "Seriously Sylvie? Again? Can't you pick a fight against anyone else?"
"Nope!" the excitable girl said with a smile far too predatory for a twelve year old. "Once I beat you, I'll be able to challenge Shirou!"
"Oh that's it!" Vernal shrieked. "Just for that, I'll make you eat dirt!"
Shirou missed the rest of the fight, but judging by Sylvie's panicked cries of "Uncle! UNCLE!" followed by squealing and frantic spitting, the fight neither lasted long nor went in Sylvie's favor. Barring Raven, Shirou could beat every member of the tribe, wrenching the title of 'second-best warrior' from Vernal, something for which he wasn't sure she had forgiven him yet.
"Seriously, Shirou," Raven chided gently as she made her way to Flaxen's tent. "When will you learn to stop leaving all of those holes in your defense?"
"It works against everyone else," he repeated sulkily, his hands bunching on her dress.
And it did, he could read everyone's fighting style from their weapons. Ever since the change and the foiled coup, most of the Branwens practiced almost religiously, to the point that their movements in a fight were almost instinctual.
Meaning their fighting styles were etched deeply into their weapons. So Shirou almost never fell to any of their feints, he was instinctively and intimately familiar with their style without the need to fight them previously.
There was only one notable exception.
Raven's 'swords' were compressed Dust. Each one was both fragile and disposable, she used those blades like another would use expensive ammunition. As such all of her skill remained a mystery to Shirou, no matter that he had a copy of every Dust blade Raven had ever used since she picked him up, each of those copies was a blank slate with next to no history. Meaning Raven's fighting style was a closed book to him, which resulted in her smacking him about however much she pleased any time they sparred.
"And I keep telling you," Raven growled, " it only needs to fail once. And because your Aura is weird, you don't heal as you should. If you mess up in a real fight you'll be much worse off than even Flaxen! I…You…" she sighed, her arms tightened around him, holding him closer. "It would be really inconvenient for me if you died."
Those words made a warm feeling spring up in Shirou's chest. It wasn't often he had that feeling, so he relished it every time it came. His lips stretched into a slight smirk. "Love you too, Mom."
He made the rest of the trip to Flaxen's tent dangling by an ankle.
