Pulse Demon
An unclaimed blade, Daishinji Tetsuo had said, his face lined with worry. Within the annals of the Southern Base, deep in enemy territory, there was an unclaimed blade, a Zweihänder not handled by any of the Order, its previous owner, with his brutish lust for battle, having fallen recently in confrontation with their strange new foes, silvery biomechanoids upgraded seemingly by the use of strange gears.
Oogami had not told his old friend why he would ask after such a thing, and Daishinji had been reluctant to let him go, even more reluctant to refrain from discussing the matter with the others, and yet here he was, his heart hammering in his chest as he flattened his back against the wall of a lengthy hallway in the Southern Base, several crimson robed scribes passing so close to him that if they had simply turned and looked they would have seen the shape of him, seen the shape of Dogouken Gekido held in one of his hands, ready to be put to use against them.
He didn't like all this sneaking around; stealth didn't suit him, and he was unhappy with the idea of turning his sword against scholars, even if they swore fealty to the Southern Base's corrupt regime, yet he needed that unclaimed blade, they needed that blade.
It was hard putting distance between himself and the others of the Northern Base. Over time, they had become his friends, even the youngest amongst them, even the boy novelist, Kamiyama Touma, whom he had so doubted when first Kaenken Rekka had chosen him. Yet he did what needed to be done, and he couldn't risk burdening his friends with this new danger—not when things were so unsettled, when the Sword of Logos was still divided and Touma was still so very distracted by the loss of his childhood friend.
The footsteps of the sages receded, and he realised he'd been holding his breath. Hastily, he drew stale air into his lungs, and turned the corner at last only to stop dead in his tracks, the sight of two armoured figures before him, matte black and burnished chrome—Riotroopers, he recognised them instantly, swinging the weight of his blade without hesitation.
Despite the aged traditions of the Order, despite the relics passed down from swordsman to swordsman, those who presided over the Sword of Logos were not averse to employing modern technological developments. The use of Smart Brain Riotroopers was just one such example of this philosophy; why waste holy blades and essential Wonder Ride Books equipping guardsmen when you could just as well deck them out with Smart Buckles and Axelayguns?
Steel clashed against steel before he even had a chance to don his armour, the edge of Dogouken Gekido pushing against both Axelayguns, and Oogami grimaced unhappily, trying to put his weight behind his massive sword, trying to clear space enough to give himself a chance to—
There was a sudden flash of white, the mercurial silver of a doorway opening, realms being bridged, a bootleg Book Gate in use, he thought. He pushed with his weight against Dogouken Gekido, and then abruptly stumbled forward, as the two Riotroopers slackened and dropped to the floor, sparks leaping from their armour. Biomechanoids, he realised in surprise, just like the new invaders!
He looked up to find himself confronted by the familiar figure of Daishinji, the worn lavender of his leather jacket, his long hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, his expression serious as he gazed down at the sharp pink and blue handle of his blade.
"Even though she no longer sings to me, Suzune is still a fearsome weapon." He lifted his head, looking around as if suddenly aware of his surroundings, and then finally turned his attention to Oogami, smiling shyly, boyishly. "I couldn't let you come here on your own."
The older man looked him with confusion.
"I didn't really give you much to go on," he murmured.
Daishinji's smile warmed.
"You're not exactly subtle."
A laugh escaped Oogami's lips, deep and resonant.
"You could say that."
In the distance, there came the sound of heavy boots on marbled floors. His expression changed completely, all mirth departing. He reached out and patted the other man on the shoulder.
"Let's get going, they'll be more of these, I don't know, robots, I guess, if we stick around."
Everything about Daishinji's expression seemed to suggest that he would rather not go, that he much rather stay and examine the remains of the two felled Riotroopers. Again, Oogami patted him on the shoulder, moving on ahead, his massive buster sword held out before him.
With much reluctance, Daishinji turned away from the fallen soldiers and followed him.
How long had they known one another, he asked himself; 17, 18 years maybe? When Daishinji had officially joined the Order it had not just been as a swordsman, but as a technician, a man responsible for the upkeep of their blades, for ensuring that the song of their voices could be heard, as he had once said.
Oogami didn't know much about music. As far as he was concerned, the only kind of song Dogouken Gekido could make was noise, a shuddering, grinding, growling thunder, a riotous, raw resonance, some kind of pulse demon chomping at the bit, a wild beast struggling against its fetters.
He glanced over at Daishinji, marvelling that such a man would put so much on the line for a cause he knew little about. Oogami had not been exactly forthcoming about why he needed to break into the Southern Base, why he needed an unclaimed blade; he had not explained to any of the others about his debt to his mentor, about the foe he had glimpsed on Academia Island, or what he feared the silver biomech represented. Oogami wasn't that kind of person, he didn't talk openly when he had a problem, and he didn't expect others to carry his burdens. He wasn't someone like Touma, who, as much as he admired the young novelist, gained strength from sharing his problems with his friends. Yet, he was loyal, that was one thing Oogami considered himself to be, both to his friends at the Northern Base and to those of his past, and if he and Amamiya were to stand any chance of turning the tide against these new enemies without dumping more woes in Touma's lap, then Amamiya would need a weapon, something to replace what had been lost when the skies had clouded over and the world had been taken prisoner.
They came to a halt before a set of large, imposing black oak doors, the shape of the doorway dwarfing both men. Oogami looked around furtively for sign of any further Riotroopers, or any of the Southern Base's vast number of academics, turning his attention to the doorway only when content that they were alone.
"This the place?" he asked at last, glancing over at Daishinji, trying to sound nonchalant.
The other man nodded.
"This is it." Apologetically he added, "I don't have an unofficial Book Gate for this door."
A smile caught the older man's lips.
"That's fine, guess we'll just do this the old-fashioned way."
With swiftness, he brought up his right leg, and then with an astounding thud, his heavy boot smashed into the aged wood, kicking the massive door open, the aged, sodden wood protesting as splinters flecked beneath the blow and the half-open doorway revealed beyond a garden of summer flowers—eris lilies and lilith blossom—bathed in warm, golden light.
Reverently, Oogami crossed the threshold. Amidst the garden, driven firmly into the soil, some decorated in holly and ivy, others rusted into unique and foreign shapes, was a graveyard of holy blades, a countless array of swords, each one representing a different swordsman who had fallen, a servant of the Order with no successor.
How many knights had the Southern Base sent to die, he asked himself with quiet sorrow. Slowly, he turned to survey them all, their forlorn shapes and forgotten forms, his eyes finally coming to rest at last upon the mighty Zweihänder, its tip wedged into the ground like the others, its blade still anointed with the blood of its last owner.
A wisp of sulphur, of brimstone caught his attention. He heard Daishinji cry out behind him, and deftly, he hefted up his massive sword, only just blocking the fall of another weapon, finding himself abruptly face-to-face with Shindai Reika, her face blank, devoid of emotion, the slender shape of her blade sparking as Oogami pushed back with force.
"Buster, Slash," she said, her tone flat, disinterested. "I had not been informed of your arrival."
She broke free, turning with grace, the shape of Eneiken Noroshi lashing out, blocking Daishinji's Suzune as she turned back to Oogami, gesturing with one hand that she would take them both on.
He responded as she had perhaps predicted, angrily swinging the weight of his huge sword.
Effortlessly, Shindai ducked, rising up beneath his defences, a smirk on her lips as she knocked the blade back, catching him off guard before turning and striking against the edge of Daishinji's blade before it could connect, bouncing between the two of them, pollen and petals stirred up by the graceful step of her feet in the long grass, the agile manner in which she moved between them.
Angrily, Oogami reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling free a Wonder Ride Book. Again, she predicted his movement.
'Fly! Smog! Sting! Steam!' cried out her blade in a churlish, childlike taunt, smoke stirring in the grass at her feet.
Oogami's face broke into a smile. He slapped the book against the hilt of his blade.
'A story of loss and regret, stolen dreams and bitter youth,' crowed the shape of his dread weapon, a wave of force arcing forth from the sharpened orange edge as he brought the blade up.
There was a glimpse of another between them, a woman, a girl, long, dark hair, sad hazel eyes, the spectre of someone loved, someone never unforgotten, someone he could not let go of.
The spirit dissolved into energy as she rushed forward, the sword rising in its upswing and Shindai was thrown backwards, falling amidst the grass and flowers, slamming hard against the ruin of a number of buried swords, their brittle shapes corroding into dust on the wind as she crashed into them.
When she rose once more, her transformation was incomplete, the right side of her armour having gained permanence, solidity, yet the left side revealing her furious expression, wisps of that dark smoke gathering about her form, clouds that stirred and passed, momentarily obscuring her before dispersing, the armour imperfect.
"Fool," she snarled, her face alive with anger, more expressive than he had ever seen before in his brief stint in her service at the Southern Base. "Do you know what I saw when I held the Abyssal Blade?"
He felt a chill run down his back, felt sweat on his palms as he held his sword before him—and he felt his friend at his side, reassured suddenly by the other man's presence.
He said nothing, yet still, from her sneering lips, came the answer.
"I saw you, Oogami Ryo," she snarled. "I saw you alone on a battlefield of broken blades, your hair turned silver. I saw you, bearded and dressed in rags."
She laughed abruptly, the smoke stirring around her.
"And do you know what they called you? Do you know how the people of that time referred to you as?" Cruelty brought her face to life with intensity. "Eternal Bus—"
"That is enough!" called a voice throughout the room's garden, silencing Shindai instantly.
The wind stirred, and though he did not wish to admit it, he felt fear, a cold sweat forming on his forehead. Almost out of reach, she stood, standing upon the distant horizon of the vast room, her dark hair obscuring her face, her trailing grey robes failing about her lithe frame, failing to disguise the form beneath.
He knew her, they all knew her. As readily as the Northern Base had its own guardian, so too the Southern Base, equal and opposite in all things, had her own tutelary spirit, her own daimon.
He did not say her name, did not dare speak it, yet he knew it, he felt it, the shape of its sound, the awesome power it suggested: Lilith.
In the time that he had spent at the Southern Base, he had not seen her, their paths had not crossed. For this, he had been grateful.
"Take the blade," she called to him, her face unseen beneath the dark hair. "I have no use of it."
Beneath the half-formed mask of her Sabela armour, Shindai Reika looked as if she wished to protest yet dared not speak out against her mistress. They said that the young Sabela, the Southern Base's star pupil, shared a bed with those whose orders she enacted; Oogami could not even begin to imagine what it must be like to be so tender with such a being—not even the moments he had shared with Sophia felt as if they might compare with the idea of loving Lilith.
How could you love someone that had been alive for more years than any human on Earth, that had been the originator of all life? How could you love someone who had not been removed from the course of history as the Æon had been, someone who had witnessed and participated in the birth of all culture, of all language, of all magic?
"Take the blade," commanded the distant figure once again, impatience in her voice now. "Take the blade and get out of my shrine."
He wanted to move, wanted to lift his feet up, but he could not, the radiance of Lilith's spiritual aura pushing down upon him, weighing against him like a physical force that kept him rooted in place.
In the end, it was Daishinji who stepped forward, warily passing Shindai and tearing the huge Zweihänder from the soil, backing up slowly until he was at Oogami's side once more, Suzune in one hand, the unclaimed blade in the other.
"You'll find no joy in it," Shindai sneered beneath her incomplete mask. "Whatever it is you're planning; it won't save you."
Oogami opened his mouth, his lips dry, struggling to find a reply, to contest the words offered him by the woman before him. Instead, he found himself thinking again on the weight of the sword held in his hands, the honour he felt that it had chosen him, the meaning of its heavy shape in his grasp.
Pulse demon, he thought once again.
As if there was nothing more to say, the figure in the distance cast her hand out, a wall of silver erupting before them, moving swiftly to swallow them up, casting them out and away from that garden of fallen swords.
In the last moments before they were evicted, beneath the fall of her dark hair, Oogami Ryo thought her caught side of the ancient other's sorrowful gaze.