Chapter Six: Dreadspawn, Part One

A horde of yoma descended upon Doga in the dead of night, hissing and screeching. Raki emerged from his room to see a monster in the shape of his older brother tear his uncle in half. The nightmarish sight snapped the boy awake, and he ran out the door before the monster could capture him.

When Raki stepped into the street, smoke filled his nose, warning him that everything was very wrong. As he ran, he passed disemboweled corpses, organs, limbs and heads. His footsteps squelched in blood-soaked dirt. When he ran into the village plaza, acutely aware of the creatures pursuing him in the shadows, he encountered a monument of mangled flesh standing over the village. It writhed, swayed as if it were alive. Then, with a sickening twisting motion, it oriented its body to face the boy, its face like that of a leech's. Raki's heart leapt out his mouth as the monster, rooted as it was to the ground, toppled its mass in his direction.

A pair of hands lifted him from beneath his arms and propelled him away. The wind swept by his hair; when he looked down, his heart jumped again. He was flying!

It was from this view that he saw the leech monster rise. It stood perhaps a hundred meters tall, much of its skin wrinkled like a fat worm. The pull of gravity reached him then. Raki let out a terrified scream as he fell, only to be silenced by a hand covering his mouth. It was a soft, feminine hand.

"If you scream, they will find us," said a woman in his ear.

It was the silver-eyed witch from that morning, except uncomfortably close. She was a lithe woman if the contours of her leathers could be trusted, and yet she handled him as if he were but a bundle of sheets.

The abrupt impact of the ground, followed by her immediate release of him, left the boy sprawling on the ground. They were just outside the borders of the village. The witch remained tense, her hand on the handle of the large sword strapped across her back, her eyes searching the night. All Raki could hear was the haunting sounds of the yoma, punctuated by the anguished screams of villagers. People he knew.

Between panicked breaths, Raki spoke. "E-everyone is—"

"Dead," the witched finished. She began walking, and Raki sprang to his feet to follow. "There are too many yoma for me to handle normally."

"Then why did you save me?"

"You were easy."

Out of the darkness a shadow struck at him. The witch reacted first, pulling him aside and bringing her sword down. There was a meaty thump. By the time Raki climbed back to his feet, the yoma was already dead.

"Come," said the witch.

Raki was frozen, overcome with fear, grief, and denial. Only hours ago his brother tucked him into bed after a humble meal of bread, cheese, and milk. His brother was dead now, a monster. A yoma. As was his uncle. And the man across the street. And Tess. And Simon. Everything was happening so fast he wanted to turn away from it all, believe it was a dream, a nightmare, and wake up from it.

A hand grabbed his and pulled him forward. Raki cried out, protesting as the witch led him away from home.

"Let me go!" he screamed. "I want to go home! I, I—"

"Don't have a home anymore. The yoma have taken it." The witch was blunt, unsympathetic. But she was right. "There is nothing you can do but leave or die. Do you want to die?"

Raki quivered. "No."

"Then come with me." She stopped suddenly again. "We're surrounded. Hold on to me."

"What?"

"Hold on to me."

Raki hesitatingly stepped closed to her, closer than they were before, and wrapped his small arms around her midsection. His eyes darted about the night, finding monsters closing in on them from all directions. He was scared. The witch told him to hold on to her tighter or he would fall. He flushed, but heeded her words. His face pressed against her breasts before the ground fell from beneath them once more.

"Where are we going?" Raki asked, the wind in his ears.

"Rabona," the witch answered immediately. "It is the only place safe from the yoma now."

Raki watched Doga burn from afar. The shapes of monsters moved like silhouettes against the fire, desecrating what used to be home.

In the months that followed his promotion to captain, Shirou found himself caught in a flurry of activity. There was paperwork. There were meetings. There was training.

Then there was Shirley.

The girl left her melancholy in weeks, attaching herself to Shirou and not letting go. With her family's bakery in ruins—and without the resources to rebuild it—Shirley found herself with nothing to do save attending to Shirou's needs. It became a common scene to see her at the barracks assisting Shirou and the rest of the guards with anything save fighting, or scolding Shirou for missing a meal. And while the girl seemed to have recovered, her guardian did not believe so. It was a problem that he found incapable of approaching despite all of his prowess.

The sun radiated heat the day Harold shared his reports to the rest of the captains in one of their weekly meetings. Three tables and over a dozen chairs adorned their meeting room at the barracks. Oil lanterns lit the room, where the smell of smoked meat and alcohol hung lightly in the air.

"Merchants have been comin' in with refugees. Sayin' the yoma have been at their throat, burning villages and all. They come from Lautrec mostly."

"And this information is reliable?" Galk asked, scanning a paper in front of him.

"Think so. Most of it comes from our usual lines."

"If this is true," Guard Captain Mattias said, nursing a flagon, "then we should shore up our defenses in case the yoma come to our doorstep again."

"What about the refugees?" Captain Tomas asked. "If they are coming to our city, we must consider securing more food. And with the pilgrims—"

"We do not have the resources to do so much," Sid said. "We will need more men. More supplies."

"Hmm." Galk pondered before looking at Shirou. "What is your opinion, Captain Shirou?"

"I agree on the fact that we would need more manpower to appropriately protect both the city and the influx of refugees," Shirou said. "Once we get more soldiers, we can consider expanding our reach."

"We can't train more soldiers without getting more supplies."

"Then maybe trainin' the refugees? And the people while we're at it?" Harold suggested.

"That would be difficult," Tomas remarked. "And unreliable."

"But it could work. It would maximize the potential of our entire population. We don't use any more food that we already are."

"It would take decades."

"It will already take decades."

"I do believe Captain Harold has the right idea," Sid interjected. "If the civilians can defend themselves to a degree, then we will have spare manpower to commit elsewhere. To circumvent the time needed to train them, perhaps we can train them in specific tasks. Specialize them, though not too heavily."

"Then the guard can be fully assigned for work outside the walls," Galk continued.

"The guard has better training. It is the most suitable balance of duties."

"But it doesn't solve our problem with supplies," Shirou said. "Even if we set up a militia, we still lack the equipment to arm them."

"Can't you?" Tomas asked. All eyes turned to Shirou.

"Not everyone, and not all the time."

"Then the merchants," Galk said. "Ask them to get us what we need: weapons, armor and food."

"We should be capable of it, but the cost would be high."

"Then do it in exchange for their safety," said Tomas. Shirou leveled a blank look at him. "Look, if we're going to set up the civilians as an armed force, we'll need all hands to bear combat experience regardless of other occupations. If the merchants aren't willing to contribute their share, then we have no reason to invest protection to them."

Shirou bit back a retort. Sid sensed the tension in the air and cut in, "Perhaps we should consider the merchants' inventory first. Can you get us a list?"

Harold nodded.

"We'll need a census of the population before delegating duties to everyone," Galk said. "Ideally we can assign an officer to every hundred people."

Shirou kept his mouth shut for the rest of the meeting.

"How can he even consider something like that?" Shirou roared.

"He's jus' being practical," Harold said, nursing his mug of ale. "We don't have the manpower to save everyone."

"I know." Shirou slumped in his chair. "I just hate it."

"You've a good heart, kid. You care about the people. But that kind of heart can't make the kinds of choices we have to make." Harold drank deeply from his mug. "That aside, ye sure you should be in 'ere? Being a saint an all?"

Both listened to the ramblings of a drunk man proclaiming his marriage to a woman named Jess, only for another voice to remark that Jess was a horse. Shirou shrugged. "It's not like everyone knows how Saint Shirou looks like. And Father Mason never said I couldn't come here." He drank his tea slowly. "He just told me I couldn't drink alcohol outside of the… what was that holiday?"

"Saint Maria's Harvest Festival."

"Yeah, that."

Harold looked suspicious. "So yer hiding from the Father."

Shirou didn't answer. He didn't need to since the door to the tavern burst open then, and a very peeved Father Mason walked in. He spotted Shirou immediately against the crowd and approached the two captains. Harold shifted uneasily in his stood. "Captain Harold, a pleasure," the Father greeted pleasantly. "How is your leg?"

"'s fine with your blessing, Father."

"Wonderful. I see you have been keeping Captain Shirou company."

The attention that Father Mason had gathered with his arrival to the tavern shifted from the Father to Shirou when the latter's name was spoken in the hushed silence. Shirou could feel the weight of a dozen stares on his back, and he held back a sigh. There was no chance of finding peace in this tavern now. "Greetings Father," Shirou said with a forced smile. "I was just enjoying my tea. Do you wish to join us, or did you need me for something?"

"I have an assignment for you. Follow me."

Shirou hitched a brow but did as he was told. He bid Harold goodbye and left at the tail of the Father.

"You've been having trouble adjusting," Father Mason said. Shirou nodded. "Be grateful. I've been keeping the other fathers off your back. Were it not for me you would be in robes, passing your 'sacred blessings' onto the rest of the people in the cathedral from dawn till dusk."

"Thanks. What was the assignment you wanted to give me?"

"I've noticed how useless you are when it comes to addressing problems in regards to the city's infrastructure and logistics. The other captains are aware of it, too. You're too—"

"Invested in the people, I know."

"While that alone is not a bad thing," Mason continued, "it does not serve well in your situation."

"What do you want me to do then? I can't not care."

"Very true. In fact, because you are a Saint, we want you to care. So I have spoken with the Fathers and the other captains and arranged a special role for you."

"A special role?"

"You will go beyond our walls and deliver unto the people your protection."

Shirou was stunned. "Really? Just like that?"

"Yes. You are ill-suited for the standard responsibilities a captain of the guard bears, and keeping you here would be a waste of your combat potential. Thus you will do what duties we've been incapable of doing as of now: spreading our influence outside of these walls."

"When do I leave?"

"As soon as you can. Make sure you identify yourself appropriately when asked."

"What do you mean?"

"Make sure the people outside these walls know that you are the Saint of Rabona. Their Saint. Make them love you. When the people come to this city in which you are attached to, they will do so remembering your intentions. With the pilgrims you bring us, we will have the manpower to push our influence farther than our current limits."

"You want me to spread propaganda."

"Not 'propaganda'. The truth. You are the people's protector, are you not?"

"Of course I am."

And that was the truth. He would die being their hero.

Shirley brightened the moment Shirou returned to his cottage when the sun began to set. He had a contemplative look about him, which cleared the moment he noticed her. He smiled.

"Good evening," he said.

Shirley tried to calm her racing heart. "Welcome home. Umm, would you like dinner?"

"That would be wonderful." As Shirley disappeared into the kitchen, Shirou considered how to break the news to her. He had asked Harold to take care of Shirley. Anne, Harold's wife, would have been pleased to have 'Sherry' around the house. But Shirou was never adept in considering the nature of a situation beyond what was right and what was wrong. He could only ask and hope for the best. So he did. "Hey Shirley. I'll be leaving for an assignment tomorrow morning."

"Okay. When will you be back?"

"I don't know."

Shirley emerged from the kitchen with a tray of bread. Her expression was stony. "What?"

"The Father gave me an extended assignment outside the city," Shirou explained uncomfortably. "Just told me to travel around and help people out. I don't know if he wants me to stop."

"I see," Shirley spoke with a nod. "What should I bring?"

Shirou froze. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going with you."

"No you aren't."

"I want to."

"It's dangerous out there. You can't."

"But I will. What should I bring? A cot, medicine, a water skin, and spare clothing?"

Shirou put his foot down. "You won't be going, Shirley."

Then it happened. The pleasant air Shirley wore fell like a mask, exposing the vulnerabilities she had been hiding away. The crushed look she wore tugged at Shirou's mind, wearing away his resolve like water did sugar. "Please. I don't want to be alone. Please don't leave me here alone."

"You won't be alone. You can stay with Harold."

"I don't want to stay with Uncle Harry."

"Why not?"

"I want to stay with you."

She wasn't giving him any chance to argue. Her despair was so heavy he could cut through it with a knife.

"It's going to be really dangerous," he said softly. "You could die."

"I know."

Shirou ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Alright then," he said, inwardly relaxing when Shirley's expression lit up. He sighed. "You have a sword or a knife, right? I know you've been sneaking in sword lessons from the guys at the barracks."

She laughed nervously. "Ah, umm…"

"Nevermind. I'll get you one tomorrow or something. I'll need to see how well you can defend yourself." He set his belongings down and entered the kitchen with Shirley following close behind him. And then he remembered to ask her a question he had in mind for a while. "Actually, I need to ask you something. What do you know about 'silver-eyed witches'? Or, umm, 'Claymore'?"

He recalled the opinions he had gotten from his fellow captains and Father Mason. He wanted more opinions.

Shirley frowned. "Not much. I remember stories about how they were yoma that looked like beautiful silver-eyed women. They would, umm," she blushed, "seduce men and devour them. But other people think that the witches are born from women that have yoma babies, and become warriors that fight the yoma."

"And what do you think about them?"

"I think that, whether or not they are yoma, they are very brave for fighting."

"Hmm."

Shirou remained quiet as the both of them prepared a meal. Many of the captains had denounced the 'silver-eyed witches' as monsters, Galk and Sid included. Harold had a quiet dislike for them. Father Mason had praised the witches. And now Shirley confirmed his own suspicions of how mixed the opinion in regards to these women were. From what he had gathered, these 'Claymore' were either heroes or monsters.

He hoped for the former.

a/n: It occurred to me that some people might have found my opinion in regards to the Nasuverse community as offensive. And unnecessary. Sorry.

GGFBank: While I do encourage you to delve into the internet and read the (completed) Claymore manga translation, I've written this story with readers without background knowledge of F/SN or Claymore in mind. The main characters I try most especially to elaborate upon. That said, some details won't be noticeable unless you have some knowledge about one or both series.

Mak006: The setting of this story is in the Claymore universe so please understand that I have to heavily focus on Claymore elements right now. I do intend to make magecraft a major deal later on, so please be patient.

SilverIceRing: Yes, quite a number of Nasuverse stories that follow the lore to the letter tend to be of high quality. That's what infuriates me the most, I think. Anyway, while I did consider Shirou questioning Flora on the Claymore, I felt that he would consider it a relatively low priority at that time considering the state of Rabona and the assistance the Claymore gave.