Chapter VIII: A Soured Deal
In the clubroom of the old school building, Artoria sat at the window sill. Her gaze lingered on the now set sun as the town's street lights slowly banished back the sky's encroaching darkness. The town's streetlights lit with a flicker, dim and inconsistent, in ones and twos as the sun dipped entirely behind Kuoh's hills. The orange sky soon bled into a deep violet before even that left with the sun's departure and all that remained was the black clouded sky.
In the now darkened room, she was left alone to her thoughts. The devils had proved amicable enough hosts yet, or perhaps despite that, Artoria could not help but feel suspicious. She felt adrift in a sea of knowledge and what limited supply she had was already proving contradictory. Ddraig was perhaps her most trustworthy source but what information he had was limited. Yet in the privacy of her mind, she could not help but ponder on his nature. Perhaps it was due to the dramatic nature of recent events, where each day it seemed the foundation of her world was rocked further, but Artoria could not help but wonder whether even the seemingly loyal Ddraig might have his own agenda.
Forced to play catch-up and at the mercy of Fate's winds, she needed independence, she needed to enact her will on the world and decide what it was she desired. She was searching for power, but power without a goal was useless. It needed direction and she needed her will, her wish, to be one she could fight for. When facing those who sought to pervert her and use her, those whose strength she could not match she needed to have the strength within herself to overcome them. She knew she had a dream, she could feel it at the borders of her psyche. She simply could not fully recognise it. And if she herself could not see it, then her chances of realising it were next to nill.
Her attention left the window's view upon hearing the wooden door to the clubroom squeak open. Her gaze shifted to the figure standing in the door and judging from the figure's size there was no mistaking their identity. Artoria was not by nature a tall girl but the white-haired girl that stood in the doorway had a particularly petite stature.
Artoria had heard of Koneko, the so-called mascot of the school, but besides that, she knew next to nothing regarding the girl.
"President says you're coming with me," stated the white-haired girl stoically.
"I suppose I am, then let us proceed and see what your devil contract entails," Artoria replied after momentarily considering her partner. Standing from her position she slung her bag over her shoulders before following Koneko out of the building to its surroundings.
The two walked through the streets of Kuoh silently. Artoria's gaze often drifted towards her temporary companion and yet there was little that she could think of to discuss with the white-haired girl. It hardly helped that Koneko had seemingly little desire to express herself outside of monosyllabic answers. In truth, it was quite the jarring change after Rias' far more verbose nature.
The darkened streets were illuminated solely by interior lights shining through windows and the occasional orange-tinted light of a street lamp. The evening larks and autumn cicadas filled the brisk air with their songs and chirps. The sky was mostly without clouds and the moon's light had just begun to beam across the ground.
Eventually, the pair found themselves standing outside of a small suburban house. Little about its features differentiated it from the neighbouring buildings save for its sparse lighting. And if Artoria were to look at a photo of it amongst others she would not be able to distinguish anything to draw her eyes. And yet as she stood there, observing the house, she felt a foul presence in the air. A murkiness clung to the building dissuading her eyes from giving it any note. Of course, such a dissuasion only invited her curiosity.
Turning to her companion Artoria spoke, "There's something wrong with this house. Are you sure your client wasn't up to something nefarious?"
"Pervert," was the unhelpful reply of the white-haired girl. Although Artoria noted that a wariness had taken to Koneko's movements.
Opening the door to the building, she strode purposefully inside while her hand rested lightly on the pommel of her sword. Her left hand hung loosely at her side and yet it was ready to summon Ddraig at a moment's notice.
The house's interior was entirely dark save for the moon's light drifting through the windows. The corridor was cramped and at the porch, a pair of shoes carelessly lay turned over. A kitchen stood to her left, its door open and yet no light came from within. A wooden chair sat next to the table while dirty dishes were scattered across the worktop.
But there was a smell that clung to the air, a smell that she herself had only recently smelled before but a visceral part of her recognised it. The stale air and unkempt room were not the cause of it, neither was the occasional fly that journeyed from plate to plate in search of food. No, it was the smell of blood. The stench of a battlefield and yet no battle had taken place in this house. Of that she was certain, the front door had not been forced and despite the state of the house, Artoria expected that was more due to poor hygiene than any confrontation.
No, this was the smell of murder, of the silent knife in the dark.
Further down the corridor, a dim flickering light, candle-light, shone through an ajar door. Her footsteps light, Artoria crossed the wooden floorboards; she would risk no sound betraying her presence to whatever awaited her.
For a moment her hand rested on the door's handle before her hand gently pushed the door open.
Her white-haired devil companion standing behind her tensed and her already stoic features furrowed in disgust. Artoria's own features turned grim as she surveyed sight before her. The remains of a young man lay scattered across the living room's floorboards and hung from the wall, his blood slowly seeping through its cracks.
Yet despite the sight before her, Artoria's gaze was not distracted and immediately sought the perpetrator. She found him, a young man no older than mid-twenties sitting comfortably on the room's sofa. His blond hair was unstyled and messy yet that would not prevent some from calling him handsome. But to call him a man was an injustice to those she wished to protect. No, this creature, this monster, sat happily admiring his work.
The beast turned to Artoria, his eyes filled with nothing save debauched decadence. His gaze reminded her far too much of another. His hair may have been blonde rather than black, yet there was no mistaking the manic look in his eyes. Flashes of mass tentacled monsters filled her mind and the bloodied corpses of children. Despite the memories that clung to her mind it was the haunting laugh gripping her ears that disturbed her most of all.
There was no time for words of honour or duelling etiquette, such acts were reserved for men of honour. She would give this beast no time to talk, no chance to twist the air against her. Once she had been too slow, not today. Her light sword was already alight in her hand as she struck forwards, the blade slicing through the sofa upon which the man sat with ease.
Despite the man had looked ready to monologue he narrowly, albeit clumsily, avoided her initial strike, even if it cost him his black outer jacket. His ivory under-robes flickered back as he drew his own blade and gun, feet striking the ground as his catapulted himself from Artoria.
Bullets peppered her form, yet Artoria's speed suffered little despite the aggravating projectiles. With elegant ease her body darted through the room, avoiding the paths each bullet took, those few that she could not avoid were dispatched quickly by her blade. Even as her target sought to escape her attack, her foot struck the wooden floor, splintering as mana filled her body obliterating the floor further still, as she propelled herself faster still towards her enemy. Only through sacrificing his blade and gun was her quarry able to prevent her own blade from striking true. Instead of her sword burying into his chest as desired, it struck his side sending him flying through the wall into the nearby kitchen.
Artoria's gaze watched the blood seep from his side and escape from his mouth. His gaze matched hers and despite seeing the visible pain in his features, the tightening of the skin around his eyes; despite the fatal wound inflicted upon his body, a grin remained upon his complexion.
A blast of light filled the room as some form of flashbang dropped from his side. Recovering his breath even as he closed his eyes and prepared to escape, he spoke one final line.
"Well as fun as this has been-"
"BOOST."
Even as his body had begun to rise and seek the kitchen's window in the flashbang's wake. It proved fruitless, the creature never finished his words, what he had no doubt thought a witty and clever escape proved fruitless to Artoria's inherited instinct. Artoria's eyes had closed of their own volition as the bright light had sought to blind them and in the darkness, her senses had still found his body and the fury of the dragon would not be so easily sated.
Her light sword had struck true, buried to the hilt in the monster's chest as she stood over his body. There was no hope for the man to survive such a blow. The red flow of his blood erupted from the wound spraying across the kitchen's floor and some reaching the worktops and rubbled wall.
Yet Artoria gave the creature no quarter, no chance to act, as she deftly withdrew her blade from the man's chest and with but a glance and a thought decapitated the man. The blond head falling to the ground, a mixture of puzzlement and hatred adorning his features.
Silence filled the room. The dust of the room, displaced by the brief moment of action, slowly fell back to its hidden homes. The dripping of blood echoed in the room's emptiness like a frustrating tap that refused to close. All the while, the light in the room flickered creating shifting shadows as the electricity gently hummed in the air.
The blade in her hand seemed to grow in weight as the corpse of the priest chilled. Her left hand, normally filled with the power of the dragon, felt weak. She felt her fingers trembling ever so slightly, shaking as if they were but dead leaves on a bleak winter's night. For a moment she felt a whirl of emotions lay siege to her mind. The priest's gaze refused to break eye contact with her and yet in her pride she refused to look away, searing the man's expression to her memories. She had killed a monster before, but never the life of a man.
It was all too easy to lay claim to the mantle of kingship, to believe herself better and more righteous than any other. And yet here she stood atop the corpse of a man and she felt a weakness that had never touched her before. A weakness in the mind, in her soul. Taking his life had not been difficult and she felt no remorse for her actions but had she acted as a king ought to? Or rather had she acted as the king she wished to be?
What did it mean to be a king?
Thankfully she had yet to fully take the reigns of kingship. Like her training with the blade, she would simply have to perfect herself further. She had been lax, proud of her past life and that pride had been unearned. She had been born with a talent for the blade but had dedicated her life to mastering it and continued still to hone her skill, she would do the same with herself. Transform herself from a swordswoman to a king and such a transformation would require her whole being.
The weakness that had lay siege to her body soon found itself swept away by the tide of her newfound resolve. The power of the dragon within her hummed with approval.
Artoria's gaze finally left that of the priest's corpse before a dismissive flick of her hand saw her blade cleaned and returned to her side.
Leaving the body, Artoria's attention returned to that of the long-dead homeowner's. Despite the gruesome nature with which the corpse had been treated she was surprised by how mundane the man seemed. He wore no obvious cult-like or devil-inspired pieces of clothing and his body seemed clear of any discernable marks. In truth, if she were to walk past him on the street Artoria doubted she would notice anything wrong with him. Of course, perhaps that was simply due to his now being dead, perhaps if she'd seen him walk she would have felt a miasma of evil or noted an oddness to his stance. The more attention she gave him the more uncomfortable she felt regarding the nature of devils as a whole. Ddraig had proved fairly useful in his knowledge of the devils but there seemed to be something she was missing.
Turning to the still silent white-haired devil she spoke, "What do you plan to do now?"
Koneko paused for a moment before lifting her phone, "Text president."
Considering how silent and dispassionate the devil had been regarding the situation Artoria could not claim to be entirely surprised. Still, a part of her had expected the devil to show some care regarding the death of her potential client. Instead in the devil's eyes, she saw nothing more than utter boredom. But perhaps that was due to the client's lack of importance?
The impression she gained from Rias was that the devils had modernised, become almost industrial in their acquisition of power. Foregoing the devouring of a full soul for the minor corruption of a thousand souls. What such a thing meant spiritually, Artoria was not quite sure. If she was to fulfil her duty as king she would need to find out and almost certainly be wary of seemingly harmless deals.
"Artoria?" The cry of her name cut through Artoria's musing. Turning to the sound she was quite rightly surprised by the young figure clad in her familiar habit. After all the surprises that had assaulted her life since returning to her hometown she had thought herself unlikely to be further surprised, she was wrong. Asia Argento, with horror-filled eyes, stared at her and the two corpses that lay next to her.
"Asia, I have to say I'm surprised to see you here," even as she spoke Artoria's grip tightened around her blade's handle even as it rose to point towards the young nun. "Would you care to explain why you are here and your relationship with that monstrous priest?"
Alas, it seemed that the sight of the corpses next to her had proved too much. Rational thought left the young nun and her breathing quickened to dangerous levels. In response, Artoria shot forwards even as the young began to faint and fall towards the ground, thankfully she fell easily into Artoria's arms. The young nun weighed little and fit comfortably into Artoria's grip even as she returned her blade to her side. Considering her reaction to the sight of the corpses, Artoria thought it rather unlikely the young nun was an accomplice of the priest.
Still, her presence brought with it valuable information. Raynare was somehow involved with the situation, the main question was how involved? Once again Artoria found herself with little knowledge regarding the foundation of the world, she had enough knowledge to utilise Ddraig's powers and her own but no knowledge regarding the holy and demonic powers. Both were seemingly dependent on humanity whether through worship or deals but beyond that Artoria knew little. Was there an inherent morality to the two powers that she was unaware of or was the matter more subjective as Rias would have her believe?
In her current predicament it mattered little to Artoria, she would have the answer to her questions soon. Asia had lost consciousness at a fortuitous moment. The already dim living room darkened further as the power of the abyss manifested itself. A stench filled the air as crimson runes belched forth from the shadows draining the natural light from the room only to emit its own sinister illumination. The runes quickly multiplied as they grew in number dancing in the room's corner, circling faster.
It seemed Rias had decided to make her appearance.
Author's note:
This chapter was a real pain to write as the whole Covid situation made finding motivation a challenge. We're nearing the end of the first arc which is great as it means Artoria's going to soon go off and do more of her own thing rather than sticking around in Kuoh and following the staples of cannon.
I noticed that there was some confusion from the last chapter regarding Kiba's sword technique. Many of you thought it was Sasaki Kojirou's technique he imitated but as rapidmaelstrom1220 pointed out Okita has a very similar but distinct technique involving three simultaneous thrusts of the sword rather than three simultaneous slices. Hope this clears up any confusion. In Highschool DxD Kiba was taught by Okita so I wanted to show how he might have tried to mimic the technique when facing someone of Artoria's calibre.
Anyway, hope you're all doing well with the crazy nature of the world at the moment.
Stay safe and talk soon.
