(A/N)

So… Been a minute.

Russia invaded Ukraine. Kendrick and Pusha are dropping again. Crazy times.

Sorry for the wait. University has started. Again.

Plus, it was a bitch and a half to write something I was satisfied with. And lore.

New cover art too!

There's a scene I didn't particularly want to add, but people have been wanting it for a bit, so I thought I might as well.

Thanks to Fallacies, He Who Shall Not Be Named and Fluflesnufaluphagus for being the best betas one could ask for.

And KireiSimp, if you're out there reading this, come back to the discord. We've got prayer circles assembled. We hope you're alright, wherever you are.

"I know I said I'd join you, but I was in a very vulnerable place at the time."

"Yeah. People usually are when they meet me.

- Snake, Emiya

"Ok, so get this. Everybody loves Siegfried, right?"

"Not everybody."

"Just bear with me for a bit, alright? Let's just say, for simplicity's sake, that everyone knows of his legend."

"Ok… and?"

"Well, I was thinking of continuing that story from where it left off."

"Bold move considering nearly everyone of importance had shuffled off their mortal coil, but sure, go on."

"That's the thing. I was thinking of reincarnating Siegfried's soul into a completely different situation."

"As a dragon?"

As an elephant."

"..."

"..."

"... ok… Color me intrigued, if mildly disturbed. Go on."

"Right. So, it's just Siegfried, and Brunhild's not been reincarnated with him, since when you're writing a story of this kind more than one change would be difficult for the reader to swallow."

"Undoubtedly."

"The thing is, he's reborn as the star elephant in P.T. Barnum's circus show."

"What, you mean Jumbo?"

"Yes, Jumbo. The largest and strongest elephant known to man. I think it'd be nice to include that the reason why he's so special and huge is because of his inherent powers from his past life."

"Powers? You mean, invincibility save for a spot on the small of his back?"

"And he can fly."

"That- Siegfried can't fly!"

"He can, as an elephant."

"But that-"

"Just, bear with me, alright? Just assume that he can fly for now, it's going to be of significance to the plot."

"Well yeah, when you give an elephant wings it'd better be adequately explained-"

"Oh no he doesn't have wings."

"Then?"

"He flies with big flaps of his ears."

"..."

"... Well? Can I go on?"

"I'd really rather you didn't-"

"The story details his liberation of the circus animals and freaks after one punishment and whipping too many. As befitting of a hero, he takes on the punishments with grace, especially with his hardened skin, but retaliates when he sees other innocent animals going through such brutality."

"How does the flying factor into this?"

"He flies them back to his home of Sudan at the very end."

"... you might want to dial down the power thing, it's not a particularly good story if the hero's challenges are too easy."

"No, they're necessary, a mini-arc within the story is that he eventually teaches his love interest how to fly as well-"

"There's a love interest?! In a story about Siegfried reborn as P.T. Barnum's elephant?!"

"Yeah. Historically, when the hunters killed the elephant's mother, they brought back two calves, one male and female. I'm thinking of having his sister as the primary love interest-"

"Jesus fucking Christ-"

"Before you get all rational with me, it wouldn't matter to Siegfried, they're not related anyway."

"You just said the sister's the love interest!"

"They're not related in his head, I mean. He's still Siegfried at the end of it all."

"How the hell does that matter- you know what, I've had nightmares that made more sense than this, let's just all agree to just stop talking for the rest of our shift."

"Oh, there you go judging me again. At the very least, I'm trying to create something fresh and exciting when all you do is criticize, complain and condemn."

In the middle of the compound, on the observation deck, schmuck A on guard duty turned to his fellow schmuck B with a look one could politely describe as 'unamused'.

"... Are you honestly still mad that I shot down your previous pitch a week ago?"

"Oh no, no, perish the thought, Fischbach. Although I admit, when one spends weeks thinking of an idea good enough to be put onto paper, and when one dares to show and describe the first draft to his best friend, one hopes one's friend might treat it with more enthusiasm than with a half-hearted "your penmanship is fantastic"."

The now-named Fischbach put on his best look of innocent hurt. "I complimented that idea, and at the very end, I at least said it was nice.."

"'Nice' is a region in France. It's also the little sister of 'shitty'. It's like when Larsson said that Heidi had a great personality and promptly changed the subject."

"Günsche." Fischbach crossed his arms, ignoring this barb against his wife. "Considering the subject matter, I daresay 'shitty' is an appropriate descriptor. And if I were to allow my innermost thoughts on your draft to surface, you'd accuse me of being too narrow-minded to appreciate it once again.."

"I resent that accusation."

Fischbach raised an eyebrow. "You told me to go fuck a duck when I pointed out the impracticality of your personal hot air balloon for long-distance travel."

"One day the skies will be full of them, mark my words…" Günsche muttered darkly, "You're just too blinkered to entertain the possibility of greatness."

Fischbach sighed.

"You really want to hear what I think of your pitch?"

"Please." Günsche shrugged. "I always welcome constructive criticism."

"That's what they always say," he muttered sotto voce, before clearing his throat. "Well, first of all, the best thing about that draft was the title."

"It was good, wasn't it?"

"I did like the imagery that it conjured. It was graphic, unsettling, and it prepared the reader nicely for a bit of Gothic fiction."

At this, Fischbach took a deep breath.

"However, that's about all the nice things I can still say about it. The plot is, in a word, lacking."

"Lacking?" Günsche stood up straighter, affronted. "The plot's the best part of it! A Jewish scientist kidnaps two German women and an Oriental, removes their front and lower teeth, vivisects their buttocks, and connects their heads and posteriors to form a grotesque, twelve-legged monstrosity. It's the stuff of nightmares. It's a plot for the ages! What could possibly be lacking about it?"

"Well, to state the obvious," Fischbach pinched the bridge of his nose, "there was so much you could have done with the material. But instead of giving more attention to the psychological aspect of this horrifying ordeal, or even find a way to wrap things up in a satisfying manner, you decided to focus almost exclusively on the…" he stifled a retch, feeling a little green, "on the coprophagic implications of such an arrangement."

"But what else could I do! When you attach someone's rear-end into someone else's mouth, you have to mention the fact that what comes out of them isn't necessarily chocolate pudding. It's not believable otherwise."

"Right. Because when you write a story called 'The Human Centipede', THAT's what you really need to focus on. People eating shit." Fischbach looked ill as he gingerly loosened the strap of his rifle. "Besides, that act itself takes up twenty pages of your draft, Günsche! You even had the scientist force-feed the man in front with laxatives just to really hammer the point home that the two women behind him are eating his shit!"

"To be fair," Günsche muttered with commendable blasé, "when the beatings don't work, there's not many other ways you can realistically torture the three abductees in their condition. I mean, I could always includes something about their families who are worried sick and who are in their thoughts, but that means I'd have to go back to the drawing board, and that'd detract from the main focus of the story-"

"What focus?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play dumb." Fischbach shook his head reproachfully. "What I meant was, I don't see the overall point your story is trying to make. Sure, the premise is horrifying enough, but there's no takeaway for the reader at the end, beyond being wary of strangers, I suppose."

Günsche crossed his arms a little defensively. "Not all stories need to have a point. Look at Alice in Wonderland."

"Alice in Wonderland didn't include such gratuitous gore."

"The Queen of Hearts-"

"The Queen of Hearts was certainly trigger-happy, but you don't see Lewis Caroll describing the decapitations in detail." Fischbach pointed out. "You don't see him going on and on about, say, lumps of flesh and spurts of blood bursting like a geyser from his neck, the decapitated head's teeth bared, mouth stretched wide open as if in a shout, two little holes all that remained where the nose had been removed-"

"Fine, fine, bad example." Günsche raised a hand in surrender, before brightening as another one popped into mind.

"Sade." He snapped his fingers. "The Marquis de Sade had conjured some of the most disgusting filth ever put on a page, and now people in academia study his works."

"That's actually even worse." Fischbach looked incredulous. "Napoleon himself did one reading of 'Justine' and 'Juliette' and promptly flung him in prison without trial, so deep was his disgust. Had he lived to finish 'The 120 days of Sodom', he might have just had his head flung from his neck."

"None of this detracts from the fact that people in universities still read-"

"Nothing – even in art – is completely without merit. Something as awful as 'Justine' can always be used as a bad example." Fischbach sighed. "Besides, I have it on good authority that when people say they study his works, what really happens is people study his brand of extreme individualism, and his belief that every individual should do whatever it is that brings them happiness, that no one has any right to tell them otherwise, even if it were taken to the extent of causing others harm. The books are just a consequence of studying him."

He returned his attention to the hapless author-to-be beside him. "However, as it stands, your story will have no readers, but victims. I mean, sure, 'Justine' was soul-destroying and it gets predictable quickly after the 3rd orgy, but at least it's written decently well. But this? The prose is insipid, the subject matter disgusting, the plot thoroughly unsatisfying, and the characters are as exciting as yesterday's leftover tea. It's difficult to be invested in the story and care for the characters when we don't even have a clear understanding of who they are and what they're after."

"I already said that the doctor had a singular obsession with siamese twins-"

"Yeah, I'm going to need more than that." Fischbach shook his head. "I mean, I myself am obsessed with a good slice of sachertorte, it doesn't mean I'm going to open my own bakery anytime soon, much less kidnap three different people into my hovel in an operation that'd take months of planning." He hesitated. "I suppose you've been inspired by those twins that tour with Herr Barnum?"

"Chang and Eng Bunker, yes. It's not like there are many famous Siamese twins around."

"So why not build upon that? Say this guy is a doctor who attended one of his circus shows and wanted a siamese twin of his own." Fischbach chewed his lip, considering it. "On the other hand, that sort of backstory has the drawback of people wondering why he didn't do the logical thing and just kidnap a siamese twin for himself."

"That's easy enough. I'll just write that the doctor has pride in what he does, and sees this opportunity as a means to challenge himself, making something more grotesque and fascinating than what Barnum has to offer."

Fischbach turned to look at him, frowning.

"I've been meaning to ask," he ventured, "is it a coincidence that the doctor's name is Heiter?"

Günsche shook his head. "It isn't."

"Huh. That's someone I haven't thought about in a bit. What's he doing now?"

"Abroad." He shrugged. "Apparently, some well-paying client commissioned him on a secret project that pays well enough for him to continue with his medical breakthroughs, though with the length of time he's been gone, I'm inclined to believe he retired from a life in medical research and became a doctor to some uppity noble house."

Fischbach considered their current circumstances – stuck in guard duty for the night after drawing lots, confined to the compound, that had the added inconvenience of being a smoke-free zone after what had happened with the platypuses last month – and sighed. "I can't say I blame him."

"He always managed to give me the creeps, that man." Günsche muttered.

For a moment, a contemplative silence was shared as they watched the hexagonal fractals a little way off shimmer and ebb.

"You know," Fischbach ventured, "with a title as striking as 'The Human Centipede', I really had an altogether different story in mind."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Keep in mind, this is just off the top of my head, but,like, I was thinking that we could have our protagonist suddenly turn into a large centipede, and the rest of the story details how he and his family deal with the circumstances."

Günsche squinted, frowning as he considered the pitch.

"... Is there any maiming involved?" He finally asked.

"No."

"Does the protagonist suddenly have a craving for human flesh? Does he attempt to eat a family member?"

"No, no, it's not that kind of story. I was thinking of something along the lines of him having a craving for rotting flesh, but nothing that would cause him to attack his family."

"Then what's the arc? Because this sounds awfully boring."

"Well, that's the thing. The guy's the sole breadwinner of the household, he prides himself on being able to support his family. Then the metamorphosis happens, he's grotesque, he obviously doesn't work in his own wretched state. All of a sudden, the roles have reversed. He's being taken care of, and to his mild horror, he notes that his family are moving on, and seem happier all of a sudden, and through a series of events he realizes that his family weren't as dependent on his work as he thought. He regresses, he feasts on rotting flesh, his… sister gets married off, he wastes away, he's locked in his room when guests arrive, he feels miserable, he feels impotent. And then he dies when he tries to resist being locked away and through an unfortunate act of violence. Concussion, maybe. The family members get their happy ending, and he gets forgotten."

"... that's it?"

"You don't like it?"

"What I mean is," Günsche shook his head, "when you already have something as fantastical as someone turning into an honest-to-god monster, it feels like a bit of a waste for the writer to not capitalize on the situation, and decide to have no maiming, no killing, no senseless acts of violence. Add a bit of that, and you'd have a real page turner for sure."

"But that's not the point of the story." Fischbach pointed out with a fair bit of indignation. "Anyone can imagine the implications of becoming a monster, like in 'Jekyll and Hyde', it's a story that's been done so many times before by better authors. What people don't consider is the more…" he snapped his fingers, searching his mind for the right word, "the more existentialist implications of being a monster, and the feeling of being unwanted and unneeded, and having one's station in life upended all of a sudden. That's more relatable to the average reader than wanting to go postal all of a sudden, I'm sure you agree."

"Once again, you put too much effort in making a story more convoluted than it has to be. Most readers just want to engage in a story that's exactly what it says on the tin, written well."

"Not many readers want to read about people eating shit, take my word for it."

And with that, the two descended into a comfortable silence.

"Right, I'm gonna go take my smoke break." Fischbach stifled a yawn, standing up with a wince. "Maybe spend a pfennig with Sissy whilst I take my mind out of this literary verbiage."

"Alright." Günsche waved him off. "When you come back, we'll keep discussing Shumbo."

Maybe I'll spend the whole mark, Fischbach amended wearily as he clambered down from the observation deck.

"If I take too long don't get worried, I need some time to myself."

Günsche made a half-hearted noise of acknowledgement, and the scientist-turned night shift guard made his way towards the compound's exit, yellow fractals giving way to an exit such that the facility's staff could venture out when needed.

God knows I need it after that blasted excuse of a conversation.

He ventured off the beaten path, slipping a thin stick of tobacco between his lips as he rummaged through his pockets for a box of matches. Adjusting the rifle strap's position on his shoulders, he made his way deeper in, boots brushing past mulch and errant mushrooms as the warm glow of the bounded field gradually disappeared behind haphazard rows of linden trees, before arriving at Sissy itself.

'Sissy' being a pedunculate oak tree Fischbach had gotten to know intimately well for the better part of a decade. A magnificent specimen, resilient roots crawling into the dirt, sand, slithering reluctantly into water; gnarled was her armor, thick and porous. Her arms – embellished with vibrant leaves – bent and stretched, taut towards the moonlight and back again, mirroring her arms that drank deep into the soil; as above, so below. A little way above his head, a crevice was bored in Sissy's very center, within it a jumbled mess of twigs, moss and long discarded baby-blue egg shells, acorns patiently waiting to fulfill their true calling discarded around her. She was vibrant. She was unyielding. She was full of life.

Once, many years ago, he had wondered how long it would take for the oak to reach a point of no return, for the oak's great big branches to collapse, no longer bearing seeds, waiting for an ignoble demise.

The doctor unbuttoned his trousers.

Under Sissy's scaly armor of bark was a layer of cambium that helped her accumulate layers and rings within its hull. As a little side project to occupy his time, Fischbach had been serving it an acidic melange of salts and nitrogen in the same spot – a little nook tucked between two raised roots – for the better part of a decade, to slow but conclusive results: the soil around the nook was ruined, unfit for grass, and as urine trickled in a steady stream Fischbach noted with some satisfaction that the hole he'd steadily bored with his refuse had grown a tad thicker since he last saw it.

It was petty. It was frivolous. It might not amount to much. But as with all human beings, Fischbach wrestled daily with the pathological need for destruction, and the sense of control it brought; this seemed as good an outlet as anything.

And though the task seemed Sisyphean, he was pleased with how far he'd come.

Shaking himself dry, he pulled up his trousers, before turning around and extracting the box of Lucifer matches from his pockets.

Mouth wet with the pavlovian expectation of what was to come, Fischbach took a match out and lined it against the box with practiced ease.

CRACK

A sharp stench of phosphorous, a warm glow, red and black in the corner of his vision-

Fischbach whirled around in time for his nose to cleanly intercept the blow.

CRACK

The doctor fell back-first into Sissy's little nook.

"Hello, Herr Fischbach."

He'd scarcely managed a yelp before another blow was struck, head crashing onto the oak's crumbling armor.

"We're going to talk about your future today. Don't worry, unlike your intellectual prattle with that idiot over there, it's going to be a very, very short conversation."

The voice was gruff, if pleasant, and yet he could not place the man as his vision swam with stars and the world lurched under wet soil.

"Please," he swallowed, wincing as he tried sitting up, "there's been some sort of mistake, you're barking up the wrong-" he paused, reconsidering his choice of words, "I'm sure we can settle whatever this misunderstanding is peacefully-"

The backhand connected cleanly with his temple, barreling him over gnarled roots once more.

"I think the both of us could save a great deal of time if we both agreed to not lie to one another, don't you agree?"

The doctor hacked, blood dribbling down his nose as he jerked his head downward in a facsimile of a nod.

"Good. We can do this the easy way or the-" The disembodied voice paused. "... we are currently doing this the easy way-"

"Get on with it!" Another voice snapped.

Fischbach attempted to see who the new voice belonged to before a hand wrenched his head back, and met his captor's unflinching gaze.

Blue eyes met steel.

"Master," his captor muttered in crisp English, his eyes never leaving his, "I'd rather you leave this to me-"

"In case you haven't noticed, we're on a bit of a time constraint." The voice returned, anxious and impatient. "I'll give us five minutes before his friend comes over to see what's taking so long, or sounds the alarm, so by all means, continue dilly-dallying."

The man shot a sour look to the voice's location, before returning his attention to the petrified doctor.

"Don't worry," he snarled, "I'm not going to kiss you, I just have a few questions before I let you go."

"I-If you're with the Einzberns, you must understand, we didn't use your knowledge beyond what was already readily available. Put me on a stand with a bible, I'll swear it."

At this, the man blinked, the barest hint of shock flitting across his features before he collected himself.

"... let's circle around to that later." He finally said, all businesslike. "We've received reports of missing children around this area, you wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

"Children go missing all the time," Fischbach muttered, looking evasive, "you're going to have to be more specific-"

Without missing a beat, the Counter Guardian stretched the doctor's pinky towards his wrist, eliciting a yelp barely quaffed with a well-timed chokehold.

"I'll remove your fingers one at a time until you start speaking clearly, is that specific enough? If you don't start providing some answers, I swear to fucking God, I'll stop being so fucking polite."

Through his grip on the doctor's throat, Emiya felt him gulp.

"The children." He pressed. "Are they in that compound?"

Cowed, the doctor could do little but nod.

"How many are there?"

"S-six, sir-"

"Only six?!"

"We s-started with five a decade ago, it's true!" Fischbach hastily amended, and the pressure against his fingers mercifully halted. "But after the deaths of two of the subjects and the lack of progress on the other three, we saw fit to collect three more."

"What exactly were you hoping to accomplish with them?" Emiya pressed. "Doesn't seem like your employers would go all this way to build a brothel in the middle of nowhere, though I wouldn't entirely discount the possibility-"

"What do you think we do with them?" He gestured helplessly. "We're scientists, we have better things to do than engage in pedantic immorality-"

"Scientists?" Emiya repeated incredulously.

"Yes, what's so unbelievable about that?"

"Gee, I don't fucking know." The counter guardian jerked his head back towards the compound. "The presence of the big fucking barrier of a fucking bounded field seems like a pretty big fucking red flag that this isn't some fucking ordinary operation."

"That was all the work of our employers, and they've got better things to do than to watch us do our research. We are, after all, just one of their many avenues towards their goal, nevermind that we seem to have been shafted lately." Fischbach muttered.

Emiya tilted his head.

"Are you seriously saying," he said slowly, "that none of you within that compound are actually magi?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." The doctor eagerly nodded his head. "I assure you, we're not what you're looking for, there's nothing here of value to a magus like you-"

"Why should I believe you?"

Sighing, the doctor indicated the rifle slung across his lap. "Do you really think any self-respecting magus would use firearms?"

"I assure you, it's actually more likely than you think, lack of self-respect notwithstanding." Emiya muttered, suddenly distant.

"Well we're not." Fischbach insisted. "We're just normal, hard-working scientists, enlisted to embark on a research project in an exciting new field. Our employers just happen to guide our research in the right direction-"

"Your employers." The Counter Guardian repeated. "Magi?"

Shakily, the doctor jerked his head twice in assent.

"Why, pray tell, the fuck, would a magus be so eager to divulge the mysteries of the moonlit towards the mundane?" Emiya shook him in disbelief. "Especially given what had happened to Paracelsus."

"It wouldn't matter." Fischbach shook his head. "From what they've said, it's only a matter of time that what we're working on cannot strictly be considered magecraft. It's the only reason why we're allowed to work on this in the first place."

"... Go on."

The doctor sighed.

"If I tell you, will you let me go?"

Kanshou materialized in his hand in an instant. "Does it look like you're in any position to be making demands?!"

Fischbach eyed the sword warily.

"... Can I at least smoke as I explain?"

Emiya blinked, before rolling his eyes and giving him a lazy nod.

The Counter Guardian watched as the doctor lit a cigarette with trembling hands, rapidly puffing smoke and tar as if his life depended on it.

"... Some twenty years ago," Fischbach began, "a certain friar in the Austrian Empire published a series of papers that spelled certain death to a branch of magecraft. It wasn't particularly well received, and thankfully didn't manage to catch on, but in my employers' eyes, it would only be a matter of time before the mysteries surrounding that particular branch of magecraft would peter off."

"And thus your employers saw no harm in allowing you people access to this line of magecraft?"

"That is correct." The doctor nodded. "They saw the opportunity to allow more people into research for their common goal. More hands on deck, as he said."

"Your employers must be fucking insane, actively sabotaging their path to the root." Emiya muttered.

"Who said anything about the root?" Fischbach shook his head. "And besides, their field they specialize in is alchemy. No, what my employers wanted was to replicate another family's secrets. They imagined that a scientific approach might shed some light, especially when their previous efforts were for naught."

"And what exactly were you trying to replicate?"

"You mentioned Paracelsus, earlier. I take it, you know what Homunculi are?"

Emiya stared.

Unbidden, he was back in the moonlit town, watching as a silver-haired girl descended the hill, ruby eyes shining with mirth.

"You'll die if you don't summon it soon, Onii-chan."

A little shaken, the Counter Guardian collected himself.

"... Intimately." He managed.

"Well, there's this family of magi, the Einzberns-"

"I know who they are." Emiya interrupted hastily.

"Oh." Fischbach nodded, taking another long drag. "Well, simply put, our employers have been trying to replicate their homunculi for centuries to no avail."

"Obviously. And your employers are fools if they think they can manage to uncover their secrets with science."

"They were desperate, at a point where they viewed that it couldn't hurt to try to take a different approach when Mendel published his papers-"

"Wait a minute. Mendel?"

"That's right."

"The Mendel that published his experiments on the pea plants?"

"Exactly." Fischbach nodded eagerly. "And with those publications, Genetic magecraft would soon be a thing of the past."

Emiya looked lost in thought, reeling with this influx of information.

If his suspicions were correct, what had happened here was only possible due to humanity being on the cusp of a new branch of science whose details had yet to be properly established and pinned down, and there was enough leeway for a rounding error.

It just so happened that the Counter Guardian had landed in the short window of time where it was plausible for genes to be manipulated in ways that modern genetic science could not. And mundanes, given enough knowledge on the subject, could use pseudoscience and the death throes of genetic mystery to achieve the impossible.

Hypothetically, Emiya mused, it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility that scientifically-rendered genetic engineering could result in genetics that produce better circuits.

But the very idea of clock tower magi willingly attempting this defied belief. Allowing anyone – let alone mundanes – access to the genetics of their lineage was unthinkable.

That being said…

"Why do you need children to conduct your experiments?" Emiya returned. "If you were aiming to replicate Einzbern homunculi, it would make more sense to begin from the ground up with sperm, perhaps spliced with whatever samples of homunculi you could get a hold of."

"The children were part of the first experimental stage." Fischbach explained, feeling marginally calmer with a half-burnt cigarette between his lips. "Before we began our efforts in earnest, we needed to see if it was possible for homunculi genes to be edited into the cells of children."

"... and did you succeed?"

"Results varied. We've seen the strength and speed of certain subjects increase in leaps and bounds, but nothing indicated that there was any increase in the quality of circuits."

"Obviously." Emiya snorted.

Even he knew that circuits existed in the soul, with the vessel shaping the soul and the soul shaping the vessel in a mutually defining relationship. Genetics of a magi bloodline produced through centuries of selective breeding was what defined the specialized odic pathways magi had referred to as circuits.

Whoever the mystery magi were, they had to have known such an avenue was unlikely to succeed.

Emiya jerked a thumb towards the compound. "That bounded field, what's it capable of exactly?"

"The bounded-" Fischbach coughed. "What else are they meant to do? It's meant to keep animals and people away from the compound-"

A ray of moonlight ran silver along Kanshou's edge as it came shivering down, almost too fast to see, and the doctor screamed against Emiya's fist, struggling mightily as the counter guardian held up the severed finger with a detached calm.

"I don't make threats I don't follow up with." He warned, tossing the digit carelessly to the side. "I'll ask again, is there a tangible barrier to it?"

Wheezing, trembling from the sheer pain, it was all Fischbach could do but shake his head.

"How exactly are you unaffected by its properties, then?"

"T-the man who designed it took us into consideration, and figured out s-some sort of way for it to recognize authorized personnel."

Emiya looked mighty unimpressed. "How?"

"I swear to God, your guess is as good as mine." Fischbach groaned. "Some sort of token, I imagine, though for the sake of operational security, he never elected to tell us what it was."

"... I imagine if someone without this token was to enter, an alarm would ring?"

"How many intruders do you think we've encountered?!" Fischbach snarled, face shining with cold sweat. "You're the first one we've seen in a decade!"

The Counter Guardian's gaze flickered to the rifle, perched precariously on his lap. "You've never met other intruders, and you have people guarding the compound regardless? Seems a bit redundant, if you don't mind me saying."

At this, the doctor guiltily looked away.

"Unless…" Emiya muttered, squinting, "there's something else you're not telling me."

"I'd really rather not-"

"Would you prefer the next finger to be removed from your other hand?"

"... Our employers recently cut us off." He finally admitted.

"Cut off-" Emiya blinked. "What do you mean, they cut you off?"

"Without a word, a few weeks ago they told us that our services were no longer needed and cut off our monetary support. They neglected to explain why, but I'm inclined to believe they'd acquired something that made our efforts superfluous."

"... And you took the statement of you all being obsolete to the logical extreme." Emiya finished.

Fischbach sighed. "I'm not an idiot. We were keenly aware we were disposable should they choose to liquidate us, and decided to put people on guard duty in the meantime whilst we continued our work."

"You're still going on with your research? To what end?"

At this, the doctor looked at him like he would a simpleton. "Knowledge is its own end."

"... and?"

"... We decided to refine our findings with new data and control groups, before potentially publishing the results." He finally admitted. "That's why we needed more subjects."

Emiya pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

The doctor took the time to stick the cigarette butt deep into the soil.

"... Alright. I have one final question, and we'll be done with this." He gave him a searching look. "Who's your employer?"

"That, I cannot say."

SMACK

Fischbach hurled to the ground, head swimming under the force of the servant's backhand.

"Get up. You've done a good job of explaining things so far, let's not start getting evasive-"

"You don't understand." The man hacked and coughed, dizzily trying to right himself up. "You can break and sever all the fingers you want, but I simply cannot afford to tell you who hired us."

"... Can't or won't?"

The doctor shot him a hateful glare, spitting out a glob of blood.

The Counter Guardian sighed.

It seemed that he wouldn't be getting anything else out of him.

"Alright. I understand."

"Thank God." The doctor relaxed, reaching into his pockets for another cigarette. "So, what happens now?"

Emiya snorted. "Come now, doctor. Surely it must have dawned on you where this conversation is headed."

"B-but I answered you to the best of my ability!" Panicked, Fischbach struggled against his steely grip to no avail. "Can't you just let me go? I won't say a word, please, I'm appealing to your better nature!"

"Yeah…" The counter guardian shrugged, raising Kanshou high above him,

"I don't have one of those."

SQUELCH

The little stick of tobacco fell to the ground, and the doctor was no more.

"Well then, this simplifies things a bit." Archer muttered, watching with disinterest as the man twitched in a puddle of his own blood and indignity. "So, good news, the plan can still carry on ahead, though the matter of the missing children might be difficult to resolve, depending on the state of them after such experimentation. We'll have to take a look at them in detail before I can make a decision-"

"Just a moment." Ciel interrupted, walking over from where he hid a little way off. "What exactly did you learn?"

"Nothing you need to know, beyond that the plan hasn't changed." Archer's trademark swords dissolved back into non-being as the counter guardian nudged the body with his boot. "I'd go into detail, but as you've mentioned before, we're under a bit of a time constraint, and the sooner we get underway the better-"

"Emiya." His master's tone brooked no argument. "Explain, now."

With a commendable amount of patience, Archer glared at the little Earl. "Why should I?"

"How do you expect me to make an informed decision on what to do if you don't tell me what's going on?!" Ciel crossed his arms. "I got the general gist of things, but I need to know more before I can choose the best course of action."

Archer acknowledged his master had a point.

"I understand. But this situation has turned into a matter adjacent to the moonlit world, a situation that you are unprepared for, one that would take more time than we can afford to explain in detail. To make an informed decision as it were would require me informing you of concepts like mysteries, circuits, and homunculi-"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child, I'm aware of what a homunculus is." His master interrupted impatiently. "A being born out of putrefied sperm."

"That's an outdated definition- wait, that's not the point." Archer sighed.

"I understand your need to know more. But I am asking you to trust that I can handle this for you, without your input. You don't see me advising you on matters regarding high society and the criminal underworld. Conversely, I am asking you to leave such matters to me. The fact is, the moonlit world is not something you are equipped to handle, and I daresay you have enough on your plate as is, officially and unofficially as the Queen's Watchdog. Please, master, in matters surrounding magecraft, defer to my judgment."

His master scowled.

"I know you don't like being kept in the dark," Archer admitted, "but trust me when I say that concerning magecraft, the less you know, the better."

He held his gaze for what felt like minutes before looking away with a huff.

"... Fine then. What now?"

From motes of light came a sleek black bow.

"Well for starters," Archer smiled, "let's do the world a favor and ensure Shumbo is never written."

The subjects had scarcely begun packing their toys away – readying the center of the room where they slept underneath the foam castle – when they heard it;the familiar strings of Ode to Joy's final movement began to play for the second time in a day, and that was the first sign something had gone terribly wrong.

Then came distant yells, and curses, great terrific bangs, exclamations of 'the wrong button, you [unintelligible] idiot', and then came an ear-splitting siren, as pandemonium broke loose.

From where the three sat, they watched transfixed above them as the doctor panicked, hurriedly stuffing papers into trolleys, upending beakers, all whilst the loud pops and screams continued in the background. Chemicals splashed from where dishes and receptacles shattered, a great orange glow accompanied the rumbling of the furnace as papers, tomes and half-formed organisms were unceremoniously chucked in. And throughout the madness, the panic, the screams, the sirens, the music continued on.

"What's going on?" Subject-11 pointed, expression blank.

"Upstairs…" Subject-13 trailed off.

And as for Subject-12, well… subject-12 just listened.

"Get rid of that! Make sure none of it–"

"- don't know who they are, just go and–"

'Joy, bright God-spark born of ever, daughter of elysium–'

"-all the files! Careful with that, it's–"

"-down the drain! Run for it, he's coming–"

"-where you walked once now walk rancor, Greed, suspicion, anger, fright–"

"The specimens! Don't forget the specimens-"

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, the great iron wheel in the middle of the padlock door had jerked, turning in short, hurried bursts, and the doctor with horn-rimmed glasses burst through, panic etched in every fiber of his being.

And in his shaking hands, a rifle.

"-thy magic reunites all that custom has divided–"

Subject-12 blinked, lips suddenly dry.

"Doctor-"

BANG

Blood erupted in a great misty burst from the ruin of Subject-11's forehead.

Numb, Subject-12 dabbed at his face, suddenly splattered with moisture.

"... Eh?"

"Our results…" the doctor murmured, face wracked with grief, "our results we've worked so hard to cultivate…"

BANG

Another pop, another jet of blood, and Subject-13 collapsed, a gaping maw where his right cheek had been situated.

"Doctor," the boy whispered, stung with betrayal, "why-"

"I'm sorry," from where he sat, he could make out tears shining behind the doctor's horn-rimmed glasses as the hollow of the barrel came into view.

And the little boy thereafter known as Subject-12 knew he was about to die.

Without seeing the outside world.

Without feeling grass against his fingers.

Without hearing more of Beethoven.

Without-

BANG

The bullet ricocheted, trajectory altered as the boy leaped, knocking the rifle out of the doctor's hands, and before he could scream he felt more than saw his hands clap either side of his head, squeezing, watching in a matter of seconds as the doctor's eyes popped, the glasses frame bend, a trickle of blood from his nose, pressure giving way as his skull cracked, and cracked, and-

His hands met.

SQUELCH

All of a sudden he was holding nothing but thin air, as great chunks of the doctor and his glasses splattered around him.

"Joy, the breeze off all that's holy, Pure with terror, wild as flame."

And then came the screams, and the boy ran, limbs awash with blood, ripping and tearing at those bags of flesh that stood in his way, feet wet with gore, tractioned with papers strewn about, pandemonium reigned as he flung a severed arm behind him, colliding headfirst with the shelves that crumbled at the impact, hands wiping his face caked with shards of glass and he roared, delving into their abdomens, he was sorry, they were in his way, he needed to run, he needed to run, he ran, past the room that was his world, he ran, he ran, he ran-

From where he stood in the middle of the expansive compound, the Earl of Phantomhive watched as his servant emerged, shroud wet with blood and gore, the sedated forms of three children tucked under his arms. Nonchalantly, as if he hadn't wreaked havoc on countless lives just moments before, Emiya headed over, his face a mask of indifference as he gently set the three sleeping forms on the ground.

Ciel gave him a once-over, unimpressed.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's bad form to be in such a state of disarray in front of your master."

Emiya's eyebrows twitched, but otherwise gave nothing away as he vanished before reappearing once more, bearings fresh and pristine once more.

Earl Phantomhive looked around.

"I must say, Beethoven was a nice touch."

"Unfortunately, I had nothing to do with that." Archer shook his head wryly. "Apparently someone pressed the wrong button in their panic."

"Oh of course." Ciel nodded. "My mistake. I guess I expected too much of you, hoping that you'd have some semblance of good taste."

His servant scowled.

Ciel Phantomhive hid a smirk.

"The scientists inside are all taken care of." His servant went on, affecting an air of nonchalance. "But when the bounded field collapsed, someone took notice. From then on, it was a race: me killing them, them destroying everything they could get their hands on. Papers, notes, chemicals, books-

"And children." Ciel finished.

Emiya fell silent.

Ode to joy sputtered to a stop.

Ciel Phantomhive sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, as if he could wipe the exhaustion away.

"How many?" He finally asked.

"Three." Emiya supplied shortly. "Two shot in the head, and one missing, but unless you saw someone escaping out of those doors, I wouldn't get my hopes up."

He hadn't.

Damages. There was always bound to be damages.

Critically, Ciel gazed at the children, out cold.

"How are they?"

"Sedated." His servant said simply. "The doctors keep tranquilizers on hand, and after dealing with the scientists in the rooms, I made sure to secure them before I went on."

"And this gave them enough time to liquidate the others." His eyes narrowed.

"The circumstances are regrettable, master, but I'm not a miracle worker." Emiya sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Considering the fact that just an hour ago we were unsure if this was even a magus' workshop, I'd say that things went better than expected, all things considered."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Considering there were mages involved, we're lucky that we're even able to produce a… somewhat redacted version of what happened here. You'll be able to say that this was all the product of German scientists, who took their pursuit of knowledge to the logical extreme and kidnapped children for experimentation. Minus the bits about homunculi, backstabbing, magical mysteries, and me being here, it's basically the truth."

Ciel gave him a withering glare. "And are you in a celebratory mood, Emiya?"

The Counter Guardian looked tired. "In case it didn't hit you during your stint underneath the abbey, I'll say it again: I learned a long time ago that it's impossible to save everyone."

The little Earl scowled.

The servant, unrepentant.

If you want to get into a staring contest with me, you will lose.

For a spell, Master and Servant glared at one another.

Emiya finally looked away. "The children that died were part of the group kidnapped a decade ago. If you're concerned about what dear Vicky would say, you can always report that they died in captivity and leave it at that. The ones we have here," he gently nudged a sleeping child with his boot, "are those taken recently, so it's not a total loss."

"Really."

"Really. Especially given what they went through – or were about to go through – they're lucky I don't have to put them down."

Ciel blinked. "Why would you need to-"

"I don't think it needed to be said, but having super-powered individuals running amok and trying to fit back into modern society are exactly the kind of matters that would attract intervention from the Clock Tower." Emiya muttered. "From what I've gathered, these kids are still safe, with little effects of experimentation so far, and I'm willing to bet that even if they do exhibit inhuman traits, the traits themselves won't originate from any mystery whatsoever. As long as they keep their heads down, the Clock Tower would probably leave them be."

The Earl of Phantomhive crossed his arms. "I take it these people don't take people knowing the veracity of the supernatural well."

Emiya shook his head. "Policies will always eliminate offenders like spit on a hot skillet."

Silence once more.

"Just as well." The counter guardian sighed. "Nobody likes killing children."

Ciel looked at him appraisingly. "But you'd do so if commanded?"

Unamused, Emiya shot him a dirty look.

"... you are my master." He finally said.

And that was all it took.

An owl, no longer repelled by the field, hooted close by, and the forest of Beruser Wald was once again awash with the sounds of nightlife. Ciel took it all in, frowning deeply, before turning away in a huff.

"So what happens now?"

"... When we get back to Paris, I'll draft a letter to the Clock Tower informing them of what transpired here tonight. As long as local superstition persists, it should give them enough time to take care of this mess, make it look like it never happened."

Ciel nodded. "Do you have what I requested?"

Wordlessly, Emiya handed him a collection of notes he managed to salvage. "That should be enough for Vicky to get a general idea of what they were after. I'd recommend you spare the details, leave things to her imagination as much as possible."

The Earl of Phantomhive tucked them away, satisfied.

"And the children?"

"I was thinking we would leave them in the nearest town center. Metz, perhaps. Let the local populace handle getting them back where they come from." Emiya checked his pocket watch. "As far as we're concerned, our work here is done-"

CLANG

Emiya cursed, and the two whirled around to investigate the commotion, and stilled.

Staring back at them was the oddest specimen of a human being the little earl had ever laid eyes on. Bald, pale, with wide, emerald, unblinking eyes, it was as if this boy came from a completely monochrome world. Were it not for his hands caked with dried blood and shards of glass, he would have gone so far to say he was devoid of color. Like a rat borne from the deepest annals of London's sewers, it was as if he'd been untouched by the world at large.

A little way off, the lid of the manhole crashed from whence it flew, bent from the impact of the boy's fists.

'Two dead, one missing', Ciel remembered his servant's words with a start. He must have hid when Archer had gone about his business.

Beside him, his servant tensed, and the Earl watched with some consternation as the solid steel surrounding the manhole bent and gave way under the boy's fearful grip.

"... Give the order, master." His servant muttered, hands already in position to summon his swords.

"No."

Emiya blinked, turning to his master, brows raised.

Boldly, the Earl of Phantomhive stepped forward, coming to a stop a little way off as the boy seemed liable to flee back from whence he came.

For a moment, the two regarded one another.

He cleared his throat.

"... What's your name?"

"Rudolph Günsche. Cause of death, blood loss from traumatic head injury. Today, the 9th of May, 1886. Further notes, see above. Judgment is complete- will you stop bloody humming, Sascha?!"

A little way off from where he was perched, the man's subordinate, looking far too cheerful for his own good, sheepishly ambled over, still humming a jaunty rendition of Beethoven's 9th.

"Why the long face, Ludger?" Sascha grinned, ducking under a rapidly spooling cinematic reel. "There's no need for you to be so down. You ought to feel lucky!"

"I just got called down for 'emergency overtime'. Lucky me, indeed." Ludger gruffly stamped Günsche's entry in the ledger before snapping it shut. "It's bad enough that I'm called in on my day off, and the one time I leave you to handle things alone, you send a message requesting further backup, stating that the list had been updated with more souls than you could handle."

"That's true, though!"

"I am aware. But you could have gotten a head start on all of them. Instead, I find you twiddling your thumbs, whistling dixie and slacking off." The man cursed, leaping off the observation deck with a huff.

"The only reason I requested for you was that I thought you'd be interested as well!" Sascha called. "You would have liked to see them, I think."

Incensed, Ludger waved a hand around the compound, long deserted. "See what? They're gone, and now we're just here just picking up the pieces, like bloody always."

"True." Sascha looked glum, tucking his hands into his cardigan. "It's a shame, though. They left in an awful hurry, the three of them. I was thinking we could have gone around and said hello."

Ludger gritted his teeth. "Honestly. It's as if you want more paperwork to be filed. You know perfectly well we're not to interact with the living barring extenuating circumstances. Even more so in the case of people like him."

"Oh, phooey. You know as well as I do that we'll just be chewed out, and we've been chewed out before." Sascha waved him off, before his attention drew elsewhere. "There's one right there, Ludger."

Sighing, the bespectacled man opened his ledger, as the telltale sound of reels unspooling engulfed them once more. "Lukas Weber. Cause of death, infection from perforated bowels. Today, the 9th of May, 1886. Further notes, see above. Judgment is complete."

The ledger snapped shut.

He turned to his companion, still looking insufferably happy despite the situation they were in.

"We'll be up all night." Ludger sighed. "And somehow, the sight of you with that stupid smile on your face just makes everything worse."

"Oh, Ludger, I can't help it!" Sascha beamed, hot on his heels like an overactive beagle. "You hear stories about them, you hear the legends, but no one ever can ever really boast they have an eyewitness account!"

Not for the first time that night, Ludger sighed and pushed up his spectacles. "You seem awfully excited by the prospect of overtime."

"Come now, Ludger. You know what I mean!" Sascha's chartreuse eyes shone with excitement.

"It's a rare thing indeed, for a Grim Reaper to get to see a Counter Guardian in action!"