Disclaimer: This is basically the spiritual successor of Genderbent Emperors and Gallivanting Eccentrics. The plot has been changed drastically, but the characters and ridiculous zaniness that was in the original will be pretty much the same. Sorry for how long this took, but hopefully it'll make up for the wait!
PS- To whichever record studio owns the rights to the cover image, please don't sue me. I have very little to give besides my pride and dignity. And believe me, they aren't worth the time wasted in court.
Late August, 20XX-
Fuyuki City has very few parks. At one point this wasn't the case. But recently there's been at least four that have been closed for renovation. It's past midnight, and one of these closed parks has a trespasser. He's sitting on one of the park benches. Well, for this location the word 'park' must be used lightly. This used to be a park. Now it's more of a construction zone. This one isn't simply undergoing renovation, it is being completely altered.
There used to be grass here, as green as an emerald. It's been torn up, in its place there is nothing but dirt exposed. The only thing left in this park that hasn't been changed is the lone cherry blossom tree situated smack dab in the middle of the property. That's what the trespasser is gazing at in wonder. He's wondering as to why the tree has been left behind.
Why was this sole tree spared?
Secretly he knows the answer. It hasn't been spared. The construction crew merely finished their shift before they could uproot it. This tree would meet the same fate as the grass. The same fate all the other trees that had once surrounded it had faced. Death. It wouldn't be replanted. It wouldn't be allowed to survive. It would be dug up and hacked into pieces. That was the destiny of this last tree. What a sad way to go.
This place used to be beautiful. Especially when all of the blossoms were blooming. These trees used to be adored. Little kids used to play around their trunks, their laughter and cries of joy echoing throughout the land as flower petals fluttered down onto their heads. Adults used to stand underneath their branches and confess their love for one another. The elderly used to sit near them and reminisce about the past. This tree used to see all of those happy memories unfold.
Now, it's only visitor was this man. This man who so carelessly tosses a cigarette near its roots. This man who guzzles from a whiskey flask as if he were dying of thirst. This apathetic, and depressing man. Somehow he has become the only one to remotely care about this tree. He doesn't understand how it came to be like this. Places like this park were considered treasures to the community. Yet now they were relics of the past.
The city doesn't have time for this cherry tree. They're going to cut it down tomorrow. It's been here for decades, but it's going to die pretty soon. An apartment complex is going to be built here. People have a need for it. They don't have a need for a cherry tree. They used to. Now they don't. Such is the fickleness of humanity.
The man continues to study the tree. Burning its image into his memory. If no one else will remember this tree, well then he'll just have to remember it for them. No. There's another option. He smirks a little at the thought of tying himself to the tree. Protesting it's destruction like so many other environmentalist types would. But he's not that kind of person. His care for this tree is purely out of a misplaced sense of empathy. He understands this tree, and only this tree.
The man gets up, and for a second a beam of moonlight displays his features. He could be called handsome, depending of course on one's taste. Despite this nothing about his was extraordinary. Eyes the same color as honey. Hair the color of straw and styled into a small ponytail. A proud Roman nose. A mouth that seemed to be permanently fixed into a smirk. Nothing was abnormal about this man's looks. Yet despite this he didn't seem exactly normal. Mainly because of what he was currently doing.
He was holding the tree. At some point he had taken the gloves off that had covered his hands. And now he was touching the tree gently, as one would caress the cheek of a lover. No, he was not going to start humping the tree. For once his intentions were pure. "Mutata in manibus meis". Latin. A language dead to all but doctors, scholars, and weirdos. This man was definitely a weirdo. The words he spoke roughly translated into 'Change in my hands'. An odd sentence, but one that made sense in context.
The man's very core flared up with energy. In his mind a bolt was being pulled back, the bolt of a rifle preparing to fire. "Analyze. Good. Now, Reinforce." What was this man doing? He was using magic. Not the Houdini kind, nor the sleight of hand tricks seen in Vegas. Genuine magic. This was something more akin to blessing the tree. He was creating a miracle.
The spells he used were somewhat complex. Structural analysis was the easier one. A technique hardly used, but one that was invaluable to those who knew how to properly use it. The other spell was far more difficult. Reinforcement. It was harder to learn, but with practice it was one of the most flexible spells possible. He could make the tree bloom instantly if he wanted it to. He could make the flowers more beautiful or more productive with their pollen dispersal. Or he could do what he was doing now.
This man was giving the tree a second chance. He was making it invincible. Perhaps that is a hyperbole. The tree could certainly die at the hands of fire. He could make it resistant to such a fate, but he couldn't make it impervious to flame. Though he wasn't worrying about fire. What he was doing was making the tree able to stand against the men with chainsaws and hatchets that would undoubtedly arrive in the morning. With this single spell the man had made this tree defiant even to something like a bulldozer. It would resist. It would rebel.
The man gasped at the effort such a task took. Normally such a feat would be simple for him. He was far from an expert at such things, but he was certainly not a novice. However, right now the man wasn't in the best of shape. He was already exhausted beforehand, having had little sleep over the past few days. But this was something that could not be helped.
Originally he was simply going to walk away and let it die. But something inside him railed against such inaction. He couldn't allow himself not to stand up. The tree was more than a simple plant to him. It was a mirror. The man straightened his posture, wiped the sweat from his brow, and began to leave the park.
Chapter 1- Aqualung
You know, it's a bit sad that Japan's changed so much.
There's still that constant clash between the past and the future. But it's become less pronounced as time's gone on. The future has slowly advanced. History has been forgotten. Innovation is king. What does that make a guy like me? Am I progressive, or am I conservative? An antique or a greenhorn? Don't know. Don't really care.
I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing. Living in the present. I take a deep swig from my whiskey at the thought. An informal toast for all those souls unfortunate enough to be regretting the past or panicking over the future. Thankfully I've avoided both of those fates.
Walking late at night is strangely calming. There are less people around, and the few that are out at this time tend to keep to themselves. Which suits me just fine. The lack of crowds brings with it a lack of chatter. It lets you hear everything that goes on in the city. A car horn honking in the distance. Some J-pop song playing from a guy's headphones. A homeless man begging for change. It's all practically music to my ears. Just got to add in a baby crying and a dog barking and the symphony would be complete.
This is the heartbeat of the city. It's drowned out during the day when everyone's too busy to hear it, but at night it's prominently on display. Then there are the visual aspects of the city. Neon signs. Streetlights. Cigarette smoke. It's beautiful. In the same way a heaping pile of shit is. But hey, you have to look on the bright side. At least it's better than the city's odor, which smells quite similar to the aforementioned pile of shit.
I keep walking down the street. Occasionally crossing it, not even looking both ways to check for traffic. I'm tired. Exhausted even. I could really use a good night's rest. Unfortunately I know that tonight isn't going to be a restful night. I have places to be and people to see. A few minutes of walking and I've finally reached my destination.
An odd building, quite unlike any other building in the city. My Batcave. It lacks both the beauty of a traditional Japanese home and the marvelous appearance of a western style mansion. Yet it's still considered a home. Or at least a house. The fact that it's made entirely out of concrete makes it seem more akin to a safe house rather than a comfy home. Perhaps the word 'shelter' would be the best word to describe this Spartan looking building. If it hadn't been a gift, I would have demolished it years ago and built something anew.
A nine foot high metal fence surrounds the property the building is situated on. It lacks any ornateness, just like the house it protects. Home sweet home. I have to put a code into the gate's keypad before I can enter. I'll take a second of inconvenience over a lifetime of regret. As the saying goes, better safe than sorry.
Between the gate and the building there's the yard. It's quite spacious in comparison to other homes in the area. Something I can't help but be prideful of, as petty as it sounds. A pathway connecting the house to the front gate splits the yard clean in half. I slowly shuffle down that path, the sound of my footsteps echo off into the distance. I make it my mission to take a swig from my bottle every few steps.
Eventually I'm at the front door. Another code is entered into the door's keypad. Another inconvenient moment of button pushing. Another lock clicking open. The first of many. Now here's the real fun part. I have to awkwardly fish around in my pants' pockets. It would be easier if I put the whiskey bottle down, but I refuse to part with it. Liquid courage will always be my best friend.
After a moment of searching, I've finally found it. A keyring containing several dozen keys of various designs. Now to figure out what the right one is. In the dark. Should have left the floodlights on. Screw the neighbors and their need for eight hours of sleep. It takes a moment to identify the correct key, but eventually I get lucky. Hopefully my luck will last.
Four more correct keys and the door's actually unlocked. A quick turn and the lack of a resulting click informs me that I'm wrong. 'Gotcha bitch'. It's almost as if the door's speaking to me now. Maybe I should stop drinking, I'm starting to imagine things. With the fifth correct key inserted, the door is actually open. I stumble inside and close it behind me. Then I have to go through the tedious task of locking it all.
Unsurprisingly the house is far from what could be considered neat. Unlike most Japanese homes there's no foyer that leads to the living room. Instead the living room is the first thing you see once you enter through the front door. The open kitchen is the second thing you see. Sadly neither rooms are in the best of shape.
Various books, both hardcover and paperback, are scattered haphazardly around the living room. Some are stacked on the floor, others are tossed in piles in various corners of the room. Newspaper clippings are tacked randomly on the walls, with headlines ranging from 'England's Greatest Marksman Arrives in Japan' to 'Indo-American Forces Destroy Terrorist Base'.
Sporadically tacked up next to them are various movie posters, all with the common theme of being mobster related.
Leftover dishes of takeout are covering the dining table in the kitchen. Even worse are the dozens of empty bottles of liquor that are not only on that table, but virtually everywhere in both rooms. On the couch, in the armchair, on the coffee table, even stacked around the computer desk hidden in the farthest corner of the room.
They look like targets in a shooting range with how they're lined up on the kitchen counters. And several are stacked up like bowling pins on the tile floor. It doesn't take much imagination to assume they're probably located all over the house itself. Cigarette butts are scattered around on the ground, probably because I don't even care enough to own an ashtray.
The room smells of tobacco smoke, cheap alcohol, and body odor. A pleasant concoction if there ever was one. It's safe to say I hardly have company over. In my opinion the messy state of the house actually adds character. It makes the house feel positively alive. As if it is a character in its own right. A stark contrast to the house's outside appearance.
I look around my house as if I've just seen it for the first time. Really that isn't too far from the truth. I've been away from home for a good three days. The grumbling coming from my stomach tells me I'm hungry. Alcohol only sustains you so far.
I guzzle down the rest of my drink rather sloppily, wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve, and toss the bottle into a garbage can in the corner. It lands inside with a satisfying clink. Shaq would be proud.
I then proceed to awkwardly stumble into the kitchen. It's not that exciting. I'm not reenacting that laser scene in Mission Impossible. I'm just making my way to the fridge. Albeit by tipsily tiptoeing my way past all the junk I've gathered over the years.
I plop into a chair at the dining table and give myself a moment to catch my breath. The fact that I need one causes me to feel a little bit of shame. You know that kind of shame you feel when you use the last piece of toilet paper in a public bathroom? Yeah. I feel like that right now.
I get back up and make my way to the freezer. A few minutes later and I've microwaved myself a TV dinner. A beer is pulled out of the fridge to compliment it.
The food's unappealing but since I'm hungry I force it down. It's some type of meat patty along with dehydrated mashed potatoes and corn. The important factor is the price of it being really cheap. I suppose that's the only way they can sell them, since the meat's like cardboard and the potatoes like sawdust. The corn's ok. For frozen corn. Yes, I just made a random critique of a TV dinner that may or may not have been expired. Do TV dinners expire? Another question I must ask my magic 8-ball when I get a chance.
Still, at least it's food, no reason for me to complain. I mean, I'm still going to complain, I just don't really have a reason to. Never really could understand those gourmet chef types that think taste has anything to do with a meal. How long it sustains you is the thing that matters. Whether or not it has paprika on it or if it's baked at 350 degrees to perfection are definitely not important.
My meal finished, I offer a satisfied belch. And that's when my cell phone starts beeping. The alarm I had set a few hours prior had just gone off. "Well, looks like it's time to go."
I glance at one of my newspaper articles on the wall. The headline stands out even among the rest. "Massive Spike in Homicides around Fuyuki". Pretty ominous stuff, if you ask me. There's a lot behind that title, and most of it is lost on the average person.
They'd read it and probably think 'damn Yakuza' or something along those lines. I wish that were the case. Handling the Fujimuras is easy peasy. Hell, handling any of the gangster bosses in this country is easy. Even the boys in Ikebukuro aren't that unreasonable. The only one I consider a pain in the ass is Gonzou, and he isn't that bad. Sure he's a cold-hearted, manipulating, mother "lover" but that's kind of what you have to be in his line of work. Sadly this is a bit bigger than gangsters.
A part of me wants to freshen up before I leave. I've just gotten here and I already have to head out again. But I know I can't waste the time. If I go and shower and change clothes I'll end up procrastinating with this, and believe me this isn't something I can afford to hesitate on.
The pair of gloves that cover my hands are removed for the second time this night. I won't be putting them back on for quite some time. There's no need to worry about fingerprints. With their departure the flesh of my hands was laid open for all to see. The sight was less than pretty. They say there's a lot you can tell by looking at someone's hands. And I don't mean that kindergarten bullshit about the line in your palm telling you how long you'll live.
Some people had calluses that covered their hands. A sign that they were hard laborers. On the other hand (terrible pun intended) people with delicate hands may be used to a comfy upper class lifestyle. Or at least have the time to apply a lot of lotion. Well then, what did my hands tell the curious observer? Covered in bruises, cuts, and burns, they looked like they'd just been used to dig my way out of a battlefield. The hands of a survivor.
I activated my magical circuits. I kneeled down and placed the palm of my hand to the floor. "Analyze." I almost whispered these words. I'd been waiting for this moment, anticipating it for days. This simple spell took less out of me then what I did in the park, mainly because I was only searching for something in the floor, not actively looking for the weaknesses of a tree. Weaknesses that I ended up fixing.
What is it that I'm looking for? Oh, nothing that important. Just the tools of my trade. I can't do anything without them. It'd be like a carpenter without a saw, or a plumber without a wrench. Or, my favorite comparison, a surgeon without a scalpel.
I wouldn't be able to go back from here. This was the beginning of the end. Everything I've been preparing for. It's all going to culminate on this night. Good. I've been waiting far too long for this to happen. I can't help but smile at the thought. It's all going to go to hell so fast.
The spell reveals what I'm searching for. A hidden compartment in the floor. One of many, and one whose location I'd forgotten. This one was the most important. It contained a suitcase. One made of solid titanium. Nothing short of explosives would breach it.
There should be a place to grab somewhere around here. Here? No. Ah, finally. It's here. I pull the floorboards up, revealing the compartment I was looking for. The light from the microwave glistened off of the case's surface, granting me enough visibility to admire my reflection. Same bags underneath my eyes. Same unshaven mess. Same bloodshot eyes. But at least for once those eyes looked excited.
I pulled the case out, and it opened at my touch. Mainly because it recognized me. No, it didn't have a fingerprint scanner. I'm just good with metal. As weird as that sounds. The case had a few noteworthy things. Boxes of bullets. Several suppressors. Spare magazines for a gun. You know, the usual generic stuff. The main attraction was of course the firearm this was all for. A tiny little handgun. The Beretta Pico. At one point it was "the thinnest .380 semiauto handgun on the market". Those words being stolen straight from some shitty advertisement. Beretta, please don't sue me for copyright infringement.
Still I liked the Pico. For one simple reason. "Come on Pico, let's make you famous for more things besides gay cartoon porn." Yes, the references. Oh, the references. Just think about how hilarious it is to say to someone "You just got shot by a gay little boy bitch." Including a comma or not after the word 'boy' being something of a personal preference.
I closed the case up again, it locked on its own. The clock on my wall read 12:43 A.M. It was the 'witching hour' period of the night. Where everything supernatural was supposed to go on. Perfect time for another mage to screw around with things they shouldn't. I went into my garage through a side door in the kitchen. The weapon's case in my hand of course. The pistol was a precaution more than anything. If everything went well I wouldn't even have to draw it. Though the odds of that happening were never in my favor.
The garage was spotless in comparison to the house itself. Which wasn't much to say, all things considered. At least I didn't trip finding the light switch. If I had I probably would have broken my neck or something. Not really an honorable way to die. The garage door opened with the press of a button. There are some things done better with technology than magic. The garage opened up to the backyard of the house, which was mainly just a driveway with another password locked gate. It'd take a moment to open.
Boundary fields be damned, they didn't tell people you meant business. Big iron gates with pointy spikes on them told people you damn well meant business. Besides if I set up a field to keep people away it'd keep everyone away. Including the Girl Scouts that sell me snickerdoodles. How was I supposed to live without snickerdoodles?! I did set up a different sort of field, but nothing would happen unless I activated it myself. Which hopefully wouldn't need to happen. It was a pain in the ass to handle.
With the gate finally open all I had to do was get in my vehicle and take a short drive down the street. Aforementioned vehicle was an ominous looking utility van. Seriously, it almost made me want to paint 'Free Candy' on the side to complete the look. I wasn't a dedicated enough actor though. And I really didn't want to grow a pencil 'stache.
I was anxious the whole drive. Not because of the destination but because of the ride itself. The suitcase sat in the passenger seat, I could have tossed it in the very back of the car but it didn't seem necessary. Unfortunately I could think of nothing but police lights the entire drive. Getting pulled over by a cop was not the type of setback I needed right now. Granted I didn't need any, but I'd take something like a flat tire over a police interrogation any day.
Luckily nothing happened. Well I did run into a pothole, but that's not really exciting enough to mention. Even though I already did mention it. I'd made it to my destination without much incident. It was a blatantly abandoned building. At one point in time it might have been a prestigious house. The property value must have been pretty nice back in the day. Sadly it was now just another neglected building that should have been demolished.
The reason I was here was simple. My target was here. It's supposed to be the Matou representative. The Matous being a mage family that used to live around here. They vanished a while back, and I'd heard some rumors they were in Russia of all places. Guess they had a fondness for vodka. I can relate. It certainly tasted better than sake. Damn, I'm salivating now.
Once upon a time this house used to be owned by the Second Owner family in Fuyuki. They'd left it here to rot for a few years. Hopefully I wouldn't get tetanus or some shit by going into it. I doubled back and parked a block away from the manor. Then I exited the van. It took all of two seconds open the case and load the Pico. A suppressor found its way screwed onto the threaded barrel. I tossed a few spare magazines into my pockets for good luck. I was hoping this wouldn't be messy. I hated going to the drycleaners at this time of night. Too many questions, and unfortunately my most common answer ended up being 'I spilled a bunch of marinara sauce on myself'. Because of this most of the neighborhood seemed to think my name was Boyardee.
I locked up the van and made my way to the house. The Pico holstered at my waist and covered by the jacket I was wearing. The minute long walk from my van to the house ended up being worse than the drive here. Images of a beat cop wandering upon me flowed through my mind. They faded away when I made it to the front gate.
Here's where I had a few options. The first was to hop the fence. It was old so I could have maybe even bended or broken some of the bars off. The second option was to tediously attempt to pick the gate's lock, then proceed to stealth roll into battle taking my enemy by surprise. Perhaps it could even have involved the use of a cardboard box, or maybe a hay bale. The third option was to start shooting and just not stop. Extra points for screaming like a banshee while doing so. The fourth was probably the best, but also the most boring. It involved simply opening the gate that was apparently unlocked. I picked option four.
The other problem I could have was dealing with the enemy's boundary field. Luckily, or unluckily depending on your view, I couldn't sense a field. Which either means there wasn't one, or that I was so pathetic I couldn't even feel one. So I was either overestimating my opponent, or I was outclassed. A pleasant thought if there ever was one.
I didn't have time to think about it anymore. I rushed onto the property and to the manor's front door. A moment passed where I considered breaching through it. Then I realized you should never breach through the front door. So I shimmied my way into a broken window.
Immediately I felt as if something was wrong. There was a harsh scent of blood in the air. Whether it was human or not was impossible to judge. I could have probably licked it later to find out, but that would've risked the chance of contracting all sorts of fun diseases. The other thing wrong with the house, besides the feel of prana in the air, was the voice I could hear quite clearly.
"Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill.
Let each be turned over five times, simply breaking asunder the fulfilled time.
Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation." The voice sounded somewhat feminine, it was too high-pitched to be a man. What it was saying meant only one thing. I was already too late.
I sprinted in the direction of the voice, trying my best to muffle my footsteps as I did so. The low lighting made it difficult to tell where I was going, but I could make out a flight of stairs in front of me. The voice wasn't on the floor I was on and I could hear it coming from the direction I was running. That could only mean they were on one of the upper floors. After rushing up the stairs I barreled down a hallway in front of me. The voice had to be on that floor. Not only was it getting louder, but the feeling of prana usage was getting closer as well. It was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight.
Charging ahead through the darkness brought me to a single door. It was a dead end, there was no way the voice was coming from anywhere but there.
"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!" That was the last line needed. No time to think about stealth. I kicked the door open. Then I ran in like an idiot. Full on charging at them like a bull that saw red. Or like an obese man that was told McDonald's was having a sale on Chicken McNuggets. Whichever metaphor works best.
They're shorter than I was expecting. Meaning I was in fact dealing with a woman. Or a midget. Perhaps Frodo was my enemy. As a result of this height difference, I pretty much overpowered them in all of three seconds. Which led us to a very awkward situation. I'm on top of them. Pinning them to the ground. Sadly I don't take the time to examine their features before introducing myself. If I had I probably would have avoided looking really creepy.
"Bite the pillow, I'm going in dry." I don't know why I said it. Maybe it's because I felt it fit the scenario. Maybe because I thought it would stun the mage so they wouldn't retaliate by launching a lightning bolt at my face. Or maybe because my fucking target was supposed to be a fucking busty purple-haired woman and not a fucking little boy. Granted, saying that to an attractive woman would be almost as bad. It would probably make me look like some mangy serial rapist. And my name wasn't even Bill! However, it wouldn't have been as bad as saying it to this kid. Especially considering I made Boku no Pico references earlier. I've all but condemned myself. Holy shit. Don't make me sit in the chair Chris Hansen. I was joking, I swear!
Well on the bright side I could at least conclude that he was in fact a Master. Even in the dimly lit room I could see the Command Spells on the back of his hand. I also had a good look at his face. His hair was curly, it looked a little like seaweed in how it was styled. Except it was blue. As were his eyes, a cerulean blue. I didn't know how his hair was blue, but I didn't question it. Magic. Or hair dye. Whichever one made more sense. Oh, I should also mention the expression on his face was a look probably only seen before by parish priests. An expression that was a mix of confusion, terror, and anxiety. The worst part is, I was probably more confused than the kid.
I didn't know whether to let him go and risk getting incinerated by some voodoo magic shit he'd inevitably pull out of his ass (being a mage and all), or to stay in that position and risk getting registered as a sex offender in the foreseeable future. My answer was taken from me. In the form of a knee slamming straight between my legs. Kudos kid. I probably would have done the same if our roles were reversed. Unfortunately I was now the victim of one of man's greatest punishments. A blow to the crotch.
I fell beside the boy, wheezing in pain and unable to comprehend what had just happened. A few seconds went by and I realized I'd just gotten outplayed by a kid whose balls probably hadn't even dropped yet. Well that didn't do anything good for my self-esteem. Next time I'd just shoot first and ask questions later. Or at least stealth karate chop my target. Hell of a lot more refined than charging headfirst into the danger zone.
Surprisingly enough he didn't cast a spell at me. Instead he scurried backwards into a dark corner of the room. Well that was just peachy. I had unintentionally mentally scarred a small boy for the rest of his life. At least I could cross that off my bucket list.
"The Matou was supposed to be a woman with purple hair." He didn't answer me. Hell I didn't blame him, he was probably trying to become one with the shadows or some shit. It was probably a better choice than answering your assailant in this kind of situation.
I decided not to apologize. That'd probably have made it worse. It'd show I felt regret over my actions. Granted not showing regret made me seem like an experienced pedophile. What the hell was this situation I'd gotten myself in?! You were supposed to be some big breasted waifu, not a little boy! This is like the ultimate form of catfishing right here!
Fortunately, I was interrupted from my thoughts. It happened just as I started to smell the faint scent of urine. Ewww. My salvation came in the form of a bright light that covered everything. It was so intense that I could see it even with my eyes closed. Then it was gone. One second the room was bathed in a purifying light, the next, it was concealed in shadows once again. Dammit Jesus! Go bother someone else! Oh, wait, it made more sense that it was the kid's servant. Well damn. I didn't dare to so much as breathe. The thing that I'd come here to prevent. It had happened. The final servant had been summoned. And I'd just unintentionally mentally molested their Master. Oh boy. I'm screwed, aren't I?
AN: I'm not going to assume everyone's read the first story, so I'll go ahead and explain a few things. The setting of this is basically the Fate/Stay Night universe, however there's a few big changes. Those will be revealed later down the line, all you need to know for now is that the plot takes place somewhere between the current year and 2030. I'm going to make it as ambiguous as possible because to be quite honest it isn't that important. Plus it'll give me some leeway in avoiding anachronisms. Yay for that! There's also going to be various elements from the real world in Fate/Extra as well. Think of this as an AU showing what would happen if instead of the Moon Cell, Extra's plot involved a traditional Fuyuki style war. As such, all of the characters are going to be taken from Fate/Extra and Fate/Extra CCC. Besides my OC of course. He's in there to spice things up.
To those of you who did read the original story: thank you so much for sticking with me! As you can see this is somewhat altered from the original example I showed. I changed it for a number of reasons, the main one being the quite constructive criticism I got from Server lock. To him/her I can only say this "thank you for bringing up what you did, I almost made Dante even edgier without even realizing it". Oh and hopefully this rendition is somewhat more satisfactory than the depressing demo I showed off.
Thanks for reading! Please criticize the hell out of it so I don't end up doing something stupid by accident. Your opinions help keep me in check.