* Umineko – Discolor

* Rewrite – Scene Shifts There

* Umineko – Discolor

Evangeline Golodiaïev was someone who attracted misfortune.

This wasn't a bias born out of bitterness or a subconscious conviction. It was a simple fact deeply etched into her nature, in the same way that some people were born to be tall or intelligent.

Luck was not something that could be observed by the naked eye, and yet it was something even the most rational humans instinctively believed in. Somehow, it was interwoven with fate, a similarly invisible concept and yet also its opposite. In truth, someone's life was only a facet of the world they all lived in, a world made up of an infinity of wheels, each spinning faster in one direction. The collision between those wheels was what people generally referred to as 'fate'.

If one believed in the existence of fate, then luck was a pointless concept since all events were played in advance. If one refuted the existence of fate, then they would be incorrect to an extent. Many elements of this world didn't enjoy the freedom of choice; even those who did were not as free as they imagined. If a man decided to drink, was it not because he was thirsty? As for when, where and how, were those decisions not shaped by a multitude of subtle characteristics he had developped throughout his life? One action begot result, a result begot a change, a change begot an action. As such, a living being was intrinsically trapped in the momentum of their actions since the day they were born, goaded by an ever-transforming nature.

Then, what of luck?

The many cogs of the machine moved according to a predictable pattern, but it was exactly because there were so many that gaps were formed in the scenario of fate. Some decisions were made with a firm intent, but others were settled more vaguely. If a choice was made in indifference and created a chain of events, riddled with more thoughtless actions, then the result could have been changed by a mere whim at the start of the chain. Even so, a person on the other end of the Earth would have to suffer the consequences. When too many insignificant sparks spread like wildfire, luck had a soil to grow on.

The rocks rolling down a slope didn't all weigh the same, didn't all share the same shape, and the way down was anything but even. Then, what if some of those rocks could attract the rest along their path?

There were humans around whom fate gravitated.

Evangeline had always been one of those.

More than simple good or bad luck, her existence alone attracted those sparks. Wherever her feet treaded, gods and demons alike smiled. Overjoyed to see a pyre burning so bright, filled with the primal desire to keep it alight until there was nothing to burn anymore.

She remembered little of the household where she had been born. Her family had never been wealthy, and as years had passed that situation had gone from bad to worse. She had been too young to fully grasp that concept, yet even so all of her memories from that time were marked by need and injustice. More accutely, she recalled that these hardships had only gone increasing since the day she had been born.

Once, their house had burnt to the ground.

Once, a close friend had betrayed them and left them worse for wear.

Once, they had lost her older sister to a rapid and deadly disease.

Tragedies which could occur in anyone's life, all the more when they had been forsaken by fortune. But those unpredictable, devastating events had been introduced in the life of people who had lived simply and quietly until then. Until she had come along. Nothing she could have done about it: how had she been supposed to connect the unfairness of their lives to herself? How could she have made amends for something so far out of her control?

Eventually, rightly or not, her parents hadn't failed to make her a culprit. Even if they hadn't said it out loud very often, it had been impossible to ignore for someone sharing their misfortune. She had been born and raised in that environment, and thus not once had she believed things could change.

But they had.

A sprig of luck had come their way eventually, probably the only one. She couldn't recall that man's name nor his face. At present, he was but another link in the chain of destruction around her neck. It was him who had first acquainted her with the notion that her life was entirely out of her hands. Evangeline didn't know how she had ever managed to attract anyone's attention. Even so, it had not surprised her in the least. Misfortune could put on whatever face it liked, she would recognize it when it came knocking on her door.

By that time, she had turned seven years old.

Her family had been stripped of almost everything. And so, they had separated from what little they'd had left without much regret. That was the only part of it that had left an impression on her. She didn't remember her parents as being overtly cruel or abusive. From her point of view at least, they had been the most important persons in her heart in spite of everything.

Nonetheless, they had sold her for money.

She had never seen their faces ever since.

After being traded for the means to survive, she had been brought to some far off place without being told where. She had not been alone: she had met a great many other children hailing from families who had hit rock bottom, or who had never had families to begin with. For a network that large, it would have been easier to straight up kidnap them, and perhaps it had been the case for some of them. Even so, their buyers had taken multiple measures so that there wouldn't have been a fuss about so many children being smuggled.

Instead of being classified as products and sold separately, they had all been acquired by the same careful person. To this day, she still didn't know their name; she hadn't met them before their demise. Nonetheless, in hindsight she could imagine what kind of person could have wanted so much fresh meat at their disposal. Thus, they had been even less than products.

Time had passed by erratically, in a place with little light and no way out. Whether for consumption or as part of some experiment, many children had gradually disappeared. When her turn had come, she had been nine-years-old or so. Before she could see the one who had bought her from her family, their prison had been destroyed. A large-scale assault in the middle of which she had been little more than a fly on the wall; all of sudden, she and her fellow prisoners had become even less valuable than flesh.

After everything had come to an end, their owner had been eliminated.

Some of her companions in misery had died in the crossfire. As for the rest of them, they had been taken under the wing of the Church. The next years of her life had been blessed comparatively, but she kept no particular positive memories from it. Maybe it had already become impossible to her. She should have shared a bond with those who had survived the massacre, but she had never thought of herself as one of them. Her own misery had started long before.

She and others had come to be raised in an orphanage owned by the Church, a plain but quiet life. During that time, she had learned the fate of her parents: her hometown had been swept by disaster not long after her departure. An earthquake had struck in a region that was usually safe from those, but what had caused the most destruction had been the ensuing fire. Her parents had been among the victims, a fate she would have shared if not for their betrayal.

At that moment, she had accepted that they had been right. That she was a magnet for misfortune.

What should she have done?

At that age, the thought of simply disappearing forever hadn't visited her yet. Her life had become calm, so she had kept on living. Until disaster had struck again.

Her orphanage had been one that would form agents of the Church. Not such a bad opportunity: kids whose families had been found had been returned to them, and for the rest there had been no future. Before she could come to believe in this new life and choose a path to follow, their monastery had been caught in another conflict.

The perpetrators that time had been mages, and their motive had been to obtain certain artefacts guarded by the priest who had been watching over them. Once again, that was the extent of what a victim would know. Since the objective had been extermination on top of theft, everyone else had been killed without a second thought.

Why not her?

She had often wondered about that too.

There was no deep reason to it – before they could add her to the pile, she had caught the eye of one magus in particular. At the age of ten, she had become someone's property again.

Likewise, she couldn't remember the name of that magus; the time she had spent as his test subject had only been half a year. There were too many faces in her memories to recall his. Nonetheless, she still had the look of his eyes in her mind, an unnatural pair of irises like beads of glass. Thanks to those, he had been the first to grasp her true nature, to see her as something more valuable alive than dead. He had brought her to London with him and she had enjoyed about as much freedom as when she had been livestock.

Soon after acquiring her, that magus had achieved a jump in his researches. It had born no relation to studying her whatsoever, just mere luck. Achieving results advanced one's status in the society of these people, and when those results were particularly quick they might attract the attention of powerful figures.

This could be a boon or a curse. When the eyes from above looked down in interest, the gazes from below filled with envy. When stepping onto the chessboard that was the Mage's Association's politics, that rule was important to keep in mind: barely six months after Evangeline had been introduced to that world, her new owner had been done away with while the rest of the pack had been quarrelling for the fruits of his researches.

In that time though, she had managed to learn more about herself. The threads of fate woven around her were not the sole result of some incomprehensible feature of her soul. It was more apt to call it an ability, one that had been out of control ever since she had been born. Rather than a magus who uses thaumaturgy, or a half-blood inheritor of ancient powers, she had been designated as a Psychic with a unique influence over the flow of fortune.

This meant nothing to her.

No matter what it was called or what others thought of it, that was just the way her life had always worked.

She couldn't fathom steering that power and using it for her own purpose, if that was even possible.

Nonetheless, word had gotten out.

Around the man who had kept her alive, some had connected the dots between his sudden rise and her presence. As such, there had been no lack of those who had wanted to repeat what he had done. Either they had not understood the reason for his downfall, or they had not cared one bit. Among magi, there were both the former and the latter. And even though it would always be the same dance, the prospect of unbelievably good luck was too alluring, even for those who lacked nothing.

She had passed through many hands until the age of fourteen. She had stopped counting how many faces she had seen smiling in anticipation of the miracle she could bring them. Needless to say, all of them had disappeared one way or another; of their own volition for the most fortunate. The higher her power brought them, the harder they fell while she remained, a bird in cage ready to sing the same tune. No matter how obvious it had become that she was a catalyst for disaster, it hadn't deterred them.

After enough time, these tumultuous events had become background noise to her.

For the most part, she had been spared the spectacle of backstabbing and secret executions: an assassination with her around could have led to an accident and the degradation of her value.

Until one day.

She remembered sitting listlessly on a sofa inside her current owner's workshop, a mansion isolated in the woods. Then, a burst of noises coming from another room, the ruckus of strife and destruction, concluded by silence. She had not been shocked, not any more than the times before. As usual, she had been given no part to play and no action had been expected from her. Still, for the first time she had stood up and had gone to see the result with her own eyes. Because it had been so close and violent, and because no one had come for her in the end.

What she remembered the most vividly was that large guest hall painted in red.

A crowd lying limply on the ground with various expressions. The first fresh corpses she had ever seen. In their state, she wouldn't have been able to tell who they'd been nor on which side they had stood.

And, in the middle of the carnage, a single man with a smile unfit for the situation.

"Oh? What is this about?" He had noticed her without parting from that grotesque delight. "You don't seem to belong here. In fact, you're quite the peculiar person."

On that day, she had met Ivan Pedilefey for the first time. She had stared breathlessly at the gruesome painting she had been made the witness of, not knowing which had been more disturbing: the bloodbath or the man standing nonchalantly over it, as though it were a normal occurrence.

"Are you scared?" These words had made her hair stood on their end. "The way you are now, it would be a shame to clip your wings before we see how far you can soar. I have done what I came here for – but what about you? Are you satisfied? Will you share the same road as me for a while?"

He had not waited for an answer and had turned away.

She hadn't followed him.

Nonetheless, the last glance he had given her had shown no ill-will.

"I feel we have something in common, at the very least. I will remember our meeting."

After that, she had been left alone. Alone with the dead who had sought her against their better judgement, alone with her thoughts and with a terrifying freedom. At that moment, no one would have come to take her away again, not immediately at least. With that respite, she could have ran away and started a life of her own.

But... what was that supposed to look like?

For most of her life, she had barely been considered a person. She had known little else than captivity, forced into someone's care with her only role being to keep her mouth shut. She had barely been to school during her younger years, she hadn't learned the skills requiered to make do in a modern society. How could she have found the vision to take the reins of her life?

So in the end, she had fallen back on the only method of survival she had known.

Blood and suffering had never been enough to chase off greed. Quite the opposite, it had only made her more valuable. Like how a cursed jewel was prized for the clout it conferred, owning the miracle girl had flattered their pride and ambition. It hadn't only been magi; she had also been sought by people well outside the magic society but with equally shady passtimes. It made no difference at the end of the day – she had kept living out her existence as a prize, of her own volution now. Still, disaster had followed behind her. She had watched the same tragedy over and over again, with different actors but the same outcome.

She didn't pity them. None of these people had been innocent. While in their possession, she had witnessed some of the worse humans had to offer; she had suffered some of it as well. In order to protect herself, she had treaded a fine line between complete obedience and defiance. She had learned to pretend she had fangs without ever biting. As long as it entertained them, it hadn't earned her too much retribution. With a pretty dress and three meals a day on top, it had almost looked like she'd had control over something.

Despite the trail of misfortunes in her steps, she had never shared the grim fate of her proprietors.

Eventually, she had figured that this wasn't a coincidence, not any more than the rest. It was her 'luck', the wheel of fortune playing cards so she would be rescued. After all, her being fortunate didn't mean those around her had to be.

Fortune...

What a tasteless joke – this untamed power of her didn't know how to bring about anything other than misery, yet it would still keep her alive so she could keep suffering.

The wheel had kept on spinning until she had reached her nineteenth year.

After passing through many more hands, she had ended up in the care of someone slightly different what she had been used to. Magi had hardly been a rare occurrence, but that one had not approached her for the usual motive. She had garnered a certain reputation around the circles of the Clock Tower against her will, so it shouldn't be surprising that all kinds of individual had fostered an interest.

In that specific case, the person who had approached her belonged to peculiar organisation – the Abbey of Thelema.

A cult, albeit one revolving around the passing down of esoteric knowledge. Its members were trained in the art of thaumaturgy regardless of their background, following the precepts of their founder: Aleister Crowley.

Evangeline had never thought much of religion, despite the years she had spent under the Church's wing. On the other hand, her mind had been ripe for latching onto what she could. Becoming an apprentice wasn't worse than being decoration, and so she had accepted without really caring what would happen next. To her own surprise, she had bought into their teachings with fervor. Not out of admiration for her fellow members nor for what they dreamed of. No, she had only cared about the man who had professed these beliefs in the first place, and the promise his words had held.

A new era.

The destitution of the old, and its destruction in the same process. She couldn't have imagined what form Aleister's new age would take. Even so, she had become enamored with his ideals. She hadn't mused about it much before; how much she loathed this world. The world that had given birth to a wretched existence like hers. The world where those who had betrayed and captured her had lived. The world filled with everything she had seen. If there was a way to wash all of it away, she wouldn't need another objective in her life. And so, she had come to worship that new era as much as any faithful.

One day, Ivan Pedilefey had returned.

"I see you still have wings. Tell me then – will you spread them?"

This time, she had followed him.

After learning of the Holy Grail and the possibilities it offered, she had grasped her chance of making that dream a reality. To do away with the world that had watched her grow into little more than a doll. Not once had she thought of using that miracle to sever her curse, to make her life a happy one. In the first place, her woeful power and the life she had led were synonyms. She had slowly gained some freedom, reached a point where she could abandon everything and start anew.

But it was too late.

No matter what good may come her way, she couldn't bring herself to love this world.

After accepting her place as a Master of White, she had set out to find a Catalyst. In her mind, there had been no doubt who she would summon. He had always been her only form of guidance, in a way. Getting her hands on the Blasting Rod had not been a simple matter; she had practically betrayed the Abbey of Thelema in order to obtain it, but not before scrambling to find it.

And, in the course of that quest, she had come upon a house inhabited only by a starving girl as white as snow.

Why had she saved her?

A newborn in the shape of an adolescent, someone who couldn't even eat or walk without a guardian to look after her. Evangeline had never wanted to burden herself with the fate of another. In fact, she had wanted nothing more than to be left alone, even though that was impossible. That nameless girl had been no one to her, she could have just turned away and left. Instead, she had given her a name, food and time out of her busy schedule.

Had she found some kindness within herself?

Or did she enjoy controlling the life of someone just as weak and helpless as she had been once?

That would have been easier to accept. This way they would both be using each other for personal gain. Evangeline would've had the satisfaction of having that girl at her mercy, in exchange for taking care of Anastasia.

But...

'Sorry...!'

She knew that wasn't true. She had asked nothing in return for looking after her. Anastasia hadn't asked to be saved from that snowy house. Evangeline was the one who made all of these decisions, without thinking about it. That was a cruel this to do – by keeping that girl with her, she had sentenced her to a tragic end. In a way, she had wilfully caused the death of Anastasia Angelene, like so many others before her.

So why?

When faced with the inevitable conclusion, why had it hurt so much?

Chapter CXXVIII: Smile

* Rewrite – Scene Shifts There

The Moonchild flew quietly like a star of serenity.

The scenery down below was one of cataclysm, yet far removed from what was happening in the sky. Nothing truly separated her from it save for empty air, but it was enough instill a feeling of isolation. There was even more to it though. Noises, smells, sensations – everything was so far away. And yet, she was moving in accordance to those events and took an active part in the battle between miniature figures. The only presence she recognized was that of her Servant, she couldn't even tell whom to fight. Therefore, she had turned her attention to the most imminent danger to the world she had built.

The Unborn was reeling from the barrier she had cast – after staggering, it bounced back and threw its entire weight forward. Its target had changed; its eyes were staring up as though to swallow the fake moon drifting toward it.

She wasn't scared. There was nothing but malevolent intentions within that nightmarish titan, yet she couldn't seem to feel anything. Just like all else, it was far, far away from her and the reality she had chosen.

It didn't belong here.

The pale shine from her crystalline body expanded for the second time. From her point of view, it was the same as extending her arm to brush off that intruder. Her physical body was motionless but this realm was pregnant with her True Will. Her soul was connected to everything and nothing at once. Thus, the slightest movement on her part was replicated by the Temple itself: another screen of light manifested between her and the Unborn.

The latter crashed into it with twice as much power as before. The moonshine barrier trembled under the weight but it held strong, repelling her opponent in the same dramatic fashion as before. Nonetheless, the Moonchild had stopped. The physical strain of resisting the attack had been transmitted to her; if the Temple was like her body, she had to bear the consequences. That being said, she hadn't been harmed, whereas the Unborn was once again struggling to keep a balance with its emaciated body.

"..."

No sound would come out of her mouth.

But, why did she care about that?

It wasn't as though she felt the need to speak. As a matter of fact, she wasn't sure what her 'mouth' was. It felt like such a self-evident notion, yet the more she thought about it, the more nonsensical it felt. Her 'eyes', her 'face', her 'body'... those words had a meaning, they must have. How could she relate them to herself though? She felt nothing. The shell of what had been Evangeline Golodiaïev was as a beating heart – her true self was all-encompassing, an almighty presence dominating the sleeping city.

Although, there was one thing she could feel.

She was cold.

The night was still lingering, that had to be why. Her 'eyes' had lost their light, so she couldn't see the white of dawn peeking over the horizon. But the day had to be close at hand. Once the rays of the Sun filled the sky, it would warm her for sure.

At the moment, she didn't fully understand; her mind was cut up in a million pieces, drifting through a bottomless ocean. Even so, the essential was limpid to her: there were those who would destroy this world she had built. She had come so far and at long last she could make a difference, yet still they wanted to trample her desires. She wouldn't let it happen. This was the world she had built. A world where didn't need to suffer anymore. A world where she could protect the only thing that still made sense to her.

She would never surrender it to the world that rejected Ana's life.

So she would fight – the Unborn was lurching back forward in an unnatural manner, as though driven solely by the desire to get its hand on her. Its body may have appeared feeble and ready to topple over but that couldn't be further from the truth. Repelling its attacks wasn't enough, she had to go on the offensive as well. But how? The way she was now...

Burn.

Since she had become light, her enemies had to be burnt and erased.

"..."

The crystal shell was wrapped in a cocoon made of moon-threads. The energy was pouring out of her heart like water from a spring; in an instant, the cocoon swelled up and dispensed the accumulated light in a straight line. That was the simplest form an attack could take, an incandescent arrow shot like a scream, amplified through the magnifying lens of her hostility. The Unborn was too large and slow to have a chance at dodging; the upper part of its thorax vanished within a blinding explosion.

It had been struck head on and was rocked backward, on the verge of collapsing.

It should have fallen.

'██████'

A distorted chorus rang out from the titan's body. Even without a mouth, it was made of a multitude of voices that gave it the reason to keep moving. They sang of the world they desired from the bottom of their hearts.

When the force of the Moonchild's attack ought to have knocked it over, the Unborn manifested a pair of wings. Or rather, two stream of jet black mud erupted from its shoulder blades, raining poisonous curses over the mountains. The intense burst cancelled out the light's brunt and pushed the Unborn. All of sudden, it was jerking forward with its arm outstretched like a flail; a massive, bony hand combed through the night.

But it still wasn't fast enough to take her off guard.

She focused the light on herself and turned it solid to project it as a wall. However, although the method was still effective, the sheer power it had to contend with was more than she had expected. How much harder could that thing hit? Would it keep escalating until it had figured out the right amount of violence to employ?

No, more importantly... the one that was amiss here was her own defence – the barrier she had created this time was not as sturdy. There was an interference with the Temple in this area. That hadn't stopped her from coming all the way of course, she could project her influence even outside the boundaries set by Caster. But by all means, she should still be inside the latters.

The output of her Will was unstable – when the Unborn's fist rammed into her shield, there was an air-shattering bang. The hand was driven away by the impact at the same moment the solid light broke apart. While the Moonchild herself had not been reached directly, the damage rippled onto her: her pale blue silhouette convulsed for a moment while her resilience was put to the test. Aleister's spells would have protected her from this kind of pressure, but she had gotten rid of them to move here.

It was barely if she mused about it though.

The pain was diluted too thin for her to feel it.

This was an exchange in her favour; she had to keep attacking that creature until nothing was left.

'_'

'E_n'

'Evan!'

Ah, that voice again.

She could hear Anastasia somewhere. Where...? That girl existed here for certain, yet the Moonchild couldn't see her. Her 'Eye' was embracing Fuyuki as a whole the same way one could feel their own body. No matter how closely she searched however, she couldn't seem to notice the ghotly figure who had flown up to her level and was waving her arms desperately in front of the crystal statue. Her existence was not the same as the humans running around on the ground; the Moonchild realized this after searching among them several times.

Why?

How could she not be with them?

She was alive, wasn't she?

"..."

'Evan, can you hear me?!'

Anastasia's voice was pleading to her.

In truth, she had heard it numerous times before. She could never tell where she was calling from. As for answering... how was she meant to do that, again? They hadn't talked since Anastasia had been stolen away. How long had it been...?

A sluggishness was drowning her thoughts as soon as she tried to leave the etherial plane. In this state, she was free – liberated from the pitifulness and aching of her mortal vessel. It didn't matter if she couldn't call out to her... if that girl's voice could reach her, it meant she was fine.

She had an enemy to destroy.

The glasslike body of Evangeline wriggled back into place, her empty face turned toward the Unborn as light coursed through her limbs. She wasn't even paying attention to Anastasia in front of her. The latter knew what Evangeline was going to do, and it filled her with horror.

"No!" Anastasia put her hand against the translucid shell, although she lacked the physical strength to hold her back. "Evan, stop! It's hurting you, right?! You can't do this!"

Under her touch, Evan's body was colder than the snow. If not for the familiar figure of her surrogate mother, it would have been hard to see her a living being. But there was still life within her without a doubt; she had wilfully come to face against the giant attacking the mansion's ruin. She was also the one keeping Anastasia anchored in the first place, which meant she had to be alive as well.

Then why? Why wouldn't she answer? Why was she putting herself in so much danger?

Evangeline had always been strict and a picture of humorlessness, but Anastasia didn't think of her as someone who enjoyed fighting and hurting other. All she could remember was the girl who had taken it upon herself to take care of her. Someone who would save a person she had met for the first time.

The circumstances surrounding both of them now – this lethargic city where no one opened their eyes, her new inanimate appearance, the fight she was leading against a nightmare incarnate – none of it felt right. That wasn't Evangeline Golodïaiev.

Evan was... someone Anastasia had known for nearly her entire life. But from Evan's perspective, the time they had spent together was but a fraction of what she had experienced. In truth, Anastasia knew very little about her. Evan had rarely spoken about her life; even when asked direct questions she would find a way to avoid the topic. Anastasia had noticed, and so she had probed as little as her curiosity had allowed.

It was presumtuous to assume she knew who Evangeline was deep down. A part of her knew that. But still, she couldn't stand back and do nothing.

She belonged neither with the living nor with the dead. Because she couldn't completely let go of her short existence, she had to ask herself the question: what did it mean to be alive? She couldn't keep fighting like Leo was... but she could no longer accept to wallow in passivity.

To Anastasia, being alive meant being with Evangeline. Her life hadn't truly started until she had been found that day, stricken by hunger and the cold. Right now, Evan was all alone, embroiled in a battle she didn't have to wage.

"You can't go!" Ana feebly bashed the crystalline vessel of the Moonchild. "You've done enough already! Please!"

Knocking earned her no answer. Maybe that was a punishment; she had often ignored Evan's warnings, sometimes solely to make her pay attention to her. Now she was the one being ignored, without so much as the comfort of words. Evan's face was frozen in an expression of shock and confusion, stripped of all liveliness. And Anastasia could stare into those empty eyes all she wanted, not a trace remained of the exasperation and concern she had come to adore.

'██████'

The Unborn had been stunned, but only for a moment. When its foot stepped back for stability, in the same motion it pushed for another assault. The titan's other hand swung toward Evan in the same manner as before, a concentrated outburst of rage and ardent desire.

This time however, Evan decided to reply with offense instead of defense – the light amalgamated around her and Anastasia, converging into solid spears. She had made two of those on a smaller scale than her previous attempt, and she fired them at the Unborn's arm rather than its body. There was some strategic intent to it: one of the blasts hit the enormous fist directly whereas the other struck just under the elbow. The combined impacts slowed the attack on top of scorching through the Unborn's limb, a better result than previously.

However, the Unborn did not stop.

The flesh around its arm had been vaporized for the most part, revealing obsidian bones sculpted by the deflagrations. Despite the loss of momentum, this new, thinner shape allowed it to shift from a swing to a stabbing motion. In contrast to its sluggish movements, the precision with which it aimed at Evan was frightening. The tip of its arm looked like a jagged dagger – Anastasia had an ample view of it, because she too was standing in its path.

"...! No...!" She gasped and froze up.

There should be enough time to get away before impact; there was no lack of sky to escape to. But Evangeline showed no sign of moving and making her budge was an impossible task. Anastasia didn't even think of leaving her behind, and so she was now staring wide-eyed at the ominous awl about to strike both of them at once. She wondered if she could be killed again while in this transient state, at the border between life and death. Considering she could interact with the material world, it stood to reason the latter would affect her as well.

She winced, expecting pain at the very least.

But at that same moment, when the shadow of the Unborn's arm was looming over them, Anastasia felt a movement.

Quietly, Evangeline soared forward. The only sound that accompagnied her movement was a crackling note: her arms moved and swiped the air. Anastasia was caught off guard and even forgot their approaching demise. When her mother glided forth, she was pushed aside before a burst of wind washed over her. Since she was lighter than a feather, that was enough to repel her even further away. The next second, a resounding crack dispelled the relative silence of the sky.

"...!" Anastasia looked up, burning with alarm.

She found Evangeline's translucid figure pierced by a bone shard as large as her abdomen.

Instead of moving to avoid the Unborn's thrust, she had ran to stand in its way.

The moonlight waned.

"Evan!" The ghostly girl desperately clawed the air to rejoin her. Though she flew up, her body had never felt so heavy and slow. "No... no! Evan!"

But while she cried out her name, the light once again coursed through the Moonchild. It focused around her injury and flooded the sharpened bone impaling her. Then, with a mighty whiplash, the entire arm was blown away and the titan was made to bend backward. She had no intention to end it here though; strips of light ran across the sky and surrounded Fuyuki like a birdcage. In reality, all of that power was converging towards Evangeline.

A clear sound filled the firmament, like the elegant whistling of a flute. It was the warcry announcing her counterattack.

The hoarded light was released in a myriad of beams which only went intensifying. From ground level, it must have been as mesmerizing as a meteor shower, but from up close one could feel the searing heat. All of them without exception hit their target, some landing on its upper body while others aimed for the legs supporting its cadaveric body. In exchange for spreading her attack wide, the damage was lesser overall; but the intensive fire had left deeper mark in some places.

The Unborn finally stumbled and fell to its knees. It was far from being out of the race though. The cursed blood was writhing under its skin, filling the gaps in its flesh. At a lower level, the horde of lost souls were climbing out of the tide to merge with their nest.

But none of that mattered – Anastasia hurried to Evan's side.

True to her unnatural appearance, her injury was more akin to cracks drilled into stone. Like a mirror with a missing piece, leaving a gaping hole in her body. Even without blood spilling out, that sight was too much for Anastasia to bear.

"Why...? You didn't have to do that! I don't want you to hurt because of me! Not anymore! So please..." She approached the cracks with her hands but there was nothing she could do to mend them. Tears welled up in her eyes; just like her, they lacked weight and drifted in the air. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... you don't need to do this much for me... I just didn't want to make you sad..."

This was her fault.

Although she had never been given a choice in any matter, Anastasia held that conviction. She understood to an extent why Evan had become like this. She couldn't stop looking after her, like she had always done. Even when she would get angry, even when she would look at Anastasia with that conflicted look of hers, she didn't stop being her overprotective mother.

But that wasn't what Anastasia had wished for. The thought of dying had terrified her to the core but she hadn't wanted anyone to grieve her. She had concealed her fears and the pain tearing her apart inside, hoping that Evan wouldn't be sad if she smiled. But she had hurt her, again and again. Because of Anastasia, someone who shouldn't have existed in the first place, Evan was maimed and fighting still.

"I lied! All this time, I was lying to you... I'm sorry..." She fought through the tears to look at Evan's frozen face, crossed by a single fissure. "I didn't know what to do! You did everything for me. You gave me a name and you stayed with me, but I didn't know how to make you happy and it made me scared! I thought you might abandon me after all! I'm sorry for making you worry so much! You don't have to take care of me anymore, so please... it's okay... I was already gone but you gave me so much..."

"..."

Evan's hands moved.

They waved haphazardly in front of her, as though she were searching her way through the dark. It occurred to Anastasia that she was the one they were looking for. Without losing a second, she grasped her hands and tried to reassure her. They were so hard and cold, maybe they couldn't feel her touch. Evangeline was still searching with quivering arms, oblivious to the girl in front of her.

"...Ana...?" A disembodied voice arose. "I heard Ana's voice... Where is she? She screamed..."

"I'm here, Evan." She passed her arms around her. Her entire body became frigid and she shuddered. It reminded her too much of her final moments. "I'm okay, you're... You're not alone."

"Ana?" Though her face was immobile, her voice convinced Anastasia that she had to be in there. "No...!"

She had intended to stay with her until she came to her senses, but the one who made her let go was Evan herself. The latter had finally realized that her protégé was in her arms and she shouted. Before Ana knew it, she was pushed away by the energy expelled from the Moonchild. It didn't harm her but she couldn't resist it either. It had become impossible for her to reach Evan, who was surrounded by a swirl of mystical wind.

"Don't come near me!" Her crystal body curled up; the slightest movement made a dry sound. Her hands were feeling around the hole made in her chest while her face was twisting in agony. "You have to hide, Ana! Kh... hh... ... ... you can't be with me... ... ... I... ... I don't want to kill you again!"

"What are you saying?!" Anastasia paddled against the current with all her strength. "You didn't do anything to me!"

"I'm cursed! Wherever I go, I always bring the worst with me. All I can give is a fake, ephemeral happiness! It doesn't matter where I stay or who's with me, it always crumbles in the end! I should have known better, I should have known that I can't keep you with me...!"

"My happiness wasn't fake!" She cried out. "Let's go back, Evan! I wanna be together, just like before!"

"Stay away!" The forcefield strengthened. "Forget about me, Ana! You won't have to worry about anything anymore! You're free now! You can forget about your illness, the Holy Grail War and everything that tried to harm you – I'll get rid of them all. I made this new world for you. As long as you're here, you can live in peace..."

"I don't want it!"

It was no use.

Anastasia was too weak, she couldn't make it. Nonetheless, she didn't stop; she didn't have the luxury of giving up, not with this body that didn't feel fatigue. If it had been her old self, her limbs would have lost their strength and she would have lost consciousness. But even if she could push on forever, the result wouldn't change. Why had she been saved from death, if she had to be helpless again? Right now, Evan was saying terrible things. She couldn't let her.

"I was really, really happy, you know?! When you're with me, every day was so fun! I didn't mind when I was hungry or when I was in pain, because I knew I wasn't alone! Because you helped me live! Everything you showed to me, I loved it! I love the sun, I love the rain, I love the sky, I love waking up and sleeping, the day and night! I met people I love to talk and be with! If there's a new world that will take all of that away from me, I don't want it! I want the world that gave me Evan!"

Unfortunately, someone else reached Evangeline before she did.

Abruptly, two large hands appeared in Anastasia's field of view, and they buried the pristine light of the moon.

The Unborn had not completely recovered from the wounds it had received, but its arm had healed the fastest and so it sprang up. No barrier stood in its way this time, nothing prevented it from catching the Moonchild who had repelled it without fail before. The forcefield Evan had set around herself resisted nonetheless, the Unborn visibly struggled to crush her. Yet it couldn't hold up for long – the titan's grip hardened and reduced her struggle to nothing.

Between its palms, there was the muffled sound of something breaking.

"No..." Anastasia's lips trembled. "No, no, you can't... Stop! Leave her alone!"

There was no wind hindering her now, she could fly up. The closer she got to the Unborn, the more her stomach twisted. The mere presence of that thing near her inspired terror and screamed to her that she would die.

But she had already faced death once.

"Let her go!"

Snuffing her fears, she approached the titan's joint hands. The curses wriggling beneath its skin sent shivers down her heart. But it would be fine. She went for the interstice between the two palms and shoved her arms in it. She wished from the bottom of her heart that she could pry them open and rescue her. Sadly, the reality was as one could expect.

"She doesn't deserve this! She didn't do anything wrong! Let her go!" She persevered, even if it was in vain. Pushing on both sides of the trap clamped around her mother, she forgot about her weakness and cared only to save her. "Evan!"

When she called out her name, as though in answer a beacon of light shone from between the Unborn's hands. Anastasia only had the time to blink before the light overflowed. Its radiance swallowed the hands that would keep it trapped and burned them to ashes. Evangeline's austere figure reappeared, fragmented but brimming with an aura of fury. She called upon the power of her domain once again; the light had trouble coursing through her broken body. Nonetheless, she unleashed her wrath as a deluge of glacial moonshine.

The outpour knocked the Unborn back and punished it for attacking before healing completely. On the other hand, it was clear how unfocused her retaliation was: most of the damage was superficial, not nearly enough to deter it. In the end, the one who had lost this round was still the Titan who was forced to collapse, but the winner didn't look much better off.

"Evan, Evan!"

Anastasia rushed to her side, grieving to see her in that state. Evangeline had been smashed in several pieces. The latters were sticking close together so that her silhouette was more or less the same, but there was no doubt that the damage was deep this time. Her unmoving face didn't show the pain. Each piece was trembling even though the Moonchild herself was lost in a weary daze.

"I don't understand..." When Anastasia was in front of her, Evangeline looked at her. "How can you love this world? Why won't you hate me?"

"You're saying weird things!" The ethereal girl waved her hands to reject all of it. Despite the dreary sight she was faced with, she did her best to smile. "There's no way I would ever, ever hate you."

"I'm the one who dragged you within my circle of misfortune. If I had never found you, you wouldn't have had to wait while your body slowly wasted away. You only had a short life, abd I filled it with battles and misery when you should have been free." These words contained a bitter poison, but it didn't sour the look on Anastasia's face. That seemed to trouble Evangeline. "Have you never cursed the world? You were forced to bear such a terrible life. From the beginning, there was no hope for you. How can you accept it with a smile? Why don't you get angry? Why won't you hate anyone? Why did you apologize to me...? ... ...I don't understand..."

"I was angry."

Anastasia shook her head slowly.

"I was so sad I couldn't believe it. And it felt so unfair. All I did was being born and I was gonna be killed over it. I didn't even get to celebrate my first birthday. But I was happy. I wanted to be happy. That's why I was sad – it hurt because I didn't want to lose you and everything I saw since you found me."

"..."

'██████'

An unsettling growl echoed from the earth. Their respite had come to an end, their enemy was rattling and set into motion again. Already its bottomless eyes were devouring the target it desired so; ominous arms were reaching for the heavens.

"Ana..." Evangeline whispered hoarsely. "I can't see you very well..."

Anastasia put her hands in hers. The sensation they gave was still inorganic and they were no longer connected to the rest of her body. Regardless, she squeezed these cold fingers as hard as she could to show she was here. Evan must have gotten the message; there was a sigh on the wind. In turn, her glass fingers closed on Ana's hands and embraced them. The Unborn was approaching them, yet Evangeline only looked at her. As though to burn this sight into her memories.

Then, there was light.

Not only from within the Moonchild – incandescent rays streaked the sky and converged onto them, from every corner of this small world she had cradled.

"Please, say it again." Evan closed her eyes, while tears escaped in the form of glass shards. "What you saw. The life you wanted so much. That... that you love me..."

Thank you for reading.

It's getting closer.

~Legends Storyteller