Chapter Eleven: Dreadspawn, Part Six

Unlike what his enemies believed, Shirou possessed limits in his ability to generate additional sword constructions. He hid this limitation in efficient use of prana, favoring low-cost Alterations until the need for stronger ones arose.

The instructor he obtained following the War drilled into him the fundamental of Numerology that now formed the basis of his magecraft. It gave him organization, discipline. The swords in his hands consumed exactly sixty-one units of prana each―one for the generation of the sword, and accumulating units of prana for each level of Alteration per Alteration type. While the Alterations themselves would plateau at a level of strength just below that of the Noble Phantasm that inspired the Alteration, they could still impose spectacular feats if combined correctly.

His strength, however, lay not in high levels of Alteration, or even in the potency of combining Alterations, but in the sheer quantity of low-level Alteration swords he could manufacture given prana recovery.

A torrent of steel met the barbs the yoma spat and completely overwhelmed them.

When the swords took on miasmic properties similar to the properties of the swords in his hands, the end was near. While the yoma itself was thousands of times larger than the swords that impaled themselves into his side, the swords that dug into its flesh swelled in number from one to a dozen to nearly a hundred. From each sword the miasma hardened the flesh it touched, culling the possibility of regeneration from that location. Shirou endured the drain it took to maintain such an offensive even as he hacked away at the monster with the swords in his hands.

Clare, too, held her own part of the struggle. Even with her enhanced speed, she lacked the ability to inflict lasting damage with her claymore alone. So she sheathed it and commandeered a pair of the miasmic swords penetrating the monster's side for her own use. Empowering her strikes with her yoki, Clare's attacks sank deeply, eventually carving an entire portion off of the monster. Great pieces of ash-covered flesh fell from the beast at the rate Clare cut. The warrior's face contorted slightly into a monstrous form from the yoki she infused herself with.

As the understanding of its impending death crept upon it, the monster bellowed and lurched forward bodily in the direction of the town.

Great curtains of its flesh fell as ash when it moved, and, in shedding this decaying flesh, the monster lost its passengers in a mad tumble towards Sandro. It tumbled, rolled, and surged until the great slab of its body gained a momentum that let it roll towards Sandro like a loose cask.

"Son of a―!" Shirou cursed as he got onto his feet.

Clare took off after the monster the second she landed. The sword she acquired from Shirley granted the warrior with sufficient speed to catch up to it.

Penetrating the exterior of the yoma with the miasmic blade, Clare struggled to hold onto the weapon as the monster's rolling body cut itself against the sword. A fine cloud of ash blew into the night as the monster broke apart until it was not even a quarter of its original size. The speed at which the monster rolled decreased until the remains of its body ceased. Its entire body was covered in cracking cakes of dust, all motion having stopped.

The warrior relaxed slightly, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

The yoki empowering her beat across her flesh like a second heartbeat before it too began to fade.

She kept the foreign sword in hand as the tension flowed out of her limbs. The yoma was dead, but she believed the troubles of this night had only just begun.

She watched Shirou approach her warily, his own sword sheathed but his hand resting on its pommel. The air was palpable with tension. He was not the only one cautious about the other; though her oath as a warrior prevented her from killing him, she was not above knocking him unconscious, binding him in ropes, and interrogating him. She sensed not a modicum of yoki within him, eliminating the chance that he was one of the male warriors of ages past. Even if he was suppressing his yoki perfectly, that meant he was a danger to her as well.

When he was but a leap away, he spoke. "Is it dead?"

"It is," she answered cautiously.

He studied the decaying corpse of the yoma from afar before focusing on her. "That sword in your belt: where did you it?"

Clare loosened her grip on the weapon in question. "From a girl."

"Where is she?"

"She ran off towards town. Do you know her?"

"I do. She is... my apprentice of sorts." He glanced at the yoma's corpse again before reaching his hand out towards Clare. "I'd like to have it back, if you don't mind."

Clare hesitated. She nodded slowly. If he was an enemy, attacking her now would have been opportune. Still, she didn't know who he was. Tucking the miasmic blades into her belt, she drew the shortsword and flung it at him. Shirou snatched it out of the air easily.

Clare ventured a guess. "She told me you were the one who made it."

"Sort of."

She nodded again. "How?"

"They call me a 'Saint' back in Rabona," Shirou said with a shrug. "I met a few other like you a couple of months ago. Who are you people?"

"They call us the 'Claymore'."

"You're part-yoma. I can smell it. How does that work?"

Smell?

Clare turned back towards the town. "That's not information we give away so easily."

"Fair enough." He trailed behind Clare, maintaining a certain distance from her as he did. "Are all yoma around here like that one?"

"No. That one was... abnormal."

"Something like it attacked Rabona some time ago. It brought along plenty of small ones."

"What happened?"

"They died."

Clare maintained a stoic expression even in disbelief. She shook her head. "That doesn't happen... shouldn't happen. It's more abnormal behavior."

"They exhibited a kind of collective intelligence," he added.

"Yoma that gain enough sustenance by feeding will undergo great physical transformations that increase its capabilities. Occasionally some develop esoteric abilities alongside those transformations." She stared thoughtfully at the moon as she walked. "I never heard of any with communal behaviors, but I could understand if there are."

"I take it you've fought a lot of these transformed yoma?"

"We call them Voracious Eaters. And I haven't. Among the warriors, I am the weakest." At Shirou's look of surprise, she tapped the pommel of the miasmic blade in her belt with a finger. "These blades of yours helped me. I would have died without them."

"I see." He smiled a little. "Glad to be of assistance."

"When you said they called you 'Saint', did you mean you are the 'Saint of Rabona' I have heard of?" she asked in return.

"I prefer 'Shirou'. What's your name?"

She was quiet at first. After consideration, she responded with, "Clare."

"Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

The rest of their walk to town passed silently.

In retrospect, leaving behind Raki and the woman they saved had been an error in Clare's judgment. When she spotted them near the town, both looking haggard and exhausted, she realized they had run the remaining distance to Sandro.

Raki, however, brightened a noticeable degree when he saw Clare.

"Clare! Are you alright? What happened?" he asked.

"I am fine. There was a large yoma, but I had help." She looked over him to find the woman she saved that morning vanishing into a gathered crowd of townsfolk in the arms of an older man. A few villagers threw suspicious looks at her and Raki. Those she ignored. "Did anything peculiar happen when I was gone?"

Raki shook his head. "We just packed camp and ran here after you left."

Clare nodded quietly. She glanced behind her and found Shirou speaking softly to the red-haired girl she had met earlier that night. The blessed shortsword rested in the scabbard at the girl's side. Raki noticed Clare's stare, and followed it to the pair nearby.

"Do you know them?" he asked.

"He helped."

Raki gawked. "'Helped'? I-is he a Claymore like you?"

"There are no male warriors."

"I... see. Then he's a normal human?"

"I don't know."

"I didn't know there were normal humans who could fight yoma." Raki pondered. His curiosity was obvious, as was the determined look in his eyes. "Are we going to stay here for long?"

"We're leaving at dawn," Clare said.

Raki grumbled.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. I was just hoping he'd teach me something about fighting."

Clare reached for one of the blades she picked up only to find it missing. Quickly, she searched her belt. Both of the blades were gone. She whirled, searching the town for any signs of a thief. All she saw were cottages cast in darkness save the one belonging to the family of the woman they saved. What was her name? Beatrice? Bethany?

"Clare? What's wrong?" Raki asked.

Giving up her search, she said, "Nothing. Did you rent us a room at the inn?"

"Yes. Where are you going?"

"I need to speak to someone. I won't be long."

Without sparing a glance at Raki, Clare pursued the departing figure of Shirou as he accompanied the red-haired girl to large, cobblestone building in town―the inn.

Quietly, she spied them through the window, where they were greeted by the innkeeper. Shirou exchanged words with the innkeeper before leading the girl upstairs. When they disappeared, Clare entered the inn herself, ignoring the innkeeper's mix of shock and disdain. She found the room Raki had rented, and exchanged her tattered and bloodied uniform for a more modest women's dress. Exiting the room, she listened through the other doors of the inn until she found the one she was looking for.

She knocked softly.

When Shirou answered the door, she drew herself up a little. "Clare?"

Clare offered a nervous smile. "M-may I come in?"

He blinked. "Umm. Sure."

When Shirou widened the door, Clare found a spartan room with two beds, a wooden table, and two chairs on the other side. On one of the chairs were the pieces of armor Shirou had worn earlier that night. The red-haired girl was already beneath the covers of one of the beds. The sound of the girl's soft, rhythmic breathing told Clare the girl was asleep.

"Is she alright?"

"Shirley? She's fine. Just a bit shaken."

"Understandable. Very few humans encounter Voracious Eaters and live to tell the tale."

"I was worried she'd encounter a yoma on the way here. I gave her a knife that lets her, err, cut things. Didn't know how much good it'd do."

Clare looked amused. "Should... a knife do anything other than cut?"

Shirou rolled his eyes. "The one I gave her cuts through almost anything. Like stone and metal."

Instinctively, Clare locked her eyes on the sheathed knife resting on the nightstand beside Shirley's bed. The knife had a strong design, with a large handle and sturdy spine. Otherwise, it was deceptively plain-looking.

"How mysterious. Are all of your 'blessings' so... fantastic?"

"Somewhat."

She sat on the unoccupied bed gingerly, making sure to smooth the skirt of her dress as she did so.

"The boy I am traveling with is interested in training under you," she said.

"A boy? Your brother?"

She smiled. "No. He's a boy I found in a town called Doga, further out west. He's a sweet one."

"I'm training Shirley in swordsmanship now. She's a quick learner, but it's going to take a while. I'm not sure how much I can help your... ward."

"Ah. You're not staying then." She pouted a little. "Will you be gone by dawn?"

"No. We didn't have time to pack up camp when we were attacked. We'll need to resupply before we can leave."

"That's a shame. I had hoped we had more than a night to spend with each other."

Shirou raised a brow. "Pardon?"

She fiddled with the neckline of her dress. There was a coyish upturn to the edges of her lips. He had seen those kinds of looks before, back in Rabona; they often happened when the mugs of his fellow guards ran empty, and the women they had in their arms for the night called for a more intimate privacy. "You are quite the mysterious man. I like that. You don't mind, do you?"

Shirou frowned. "I do mind. Can you just get straight to the point?"

Clare froze. When she saw how little her efforts were affecting Shirou, she returned to her usual stoicism. Her posture straightened. It was as simple for her as taking off a mask. "I understand. I would like to request a blessing for my own use. With the yoma becoming more and more unpredictable, having a distinct advantage over them would be invaluable. I... us warriors can draw upon our yoki to enhance our speed, strength and senses to combat the yoma, but... it comes with a cost. Drawing upon too much will turn us into monsters as well."

"I see. I would like to help you out, but I can't give these away to anyone who asks nicely. It would be dangerous if they fell into the wrong hands."

Clare nodded. "I agree. What do you propose?"

Shirou furrowed his brows as he considered an answer. "I would need to know I can trust you."

"How do we agree on that?"

"You call yourself a 'warrior'. That title doesn't lend itself to any purpose beyond fighting. I'd like to know exactly what you fight for."

"We fight the yoma for the sake of the people."

Surprise took Shirou. With a smile, he muttered, "A hero of the people, huh?"

"Yes. We all have our own personal reasons, but the goal is always the same: the absolute extermination of those that prey on humanity―at any cost."

"I suppose we can get along on that front. But it doesn't tell me much about you as a person. About your own personal beliefs and dislikes." After all, heroes have killed each other for less. "I have an idea, though. Where are you headed?"

Clare understood his intentions. "Rabona. I was escorting the boy to somewhere safe."

"Hmm."

"I heard from others that Rabona had become a true haven against the yoma. I think I can understand why."

"Thanks, but I don't need the flattery."

"I apologize."

"Shirley and I are not headed anywhere specific. My task is to assist communities outside of Rabona with their yoma problems."

"That is what we are normally tasked to do."

He nodded. "Good. I'll give you two months. If I don't approve of how you use your blessing, then I take it away. If you do anything criminal, like killing a civilian without―"

"Killing humans is against our code of conduct," Clare interrupted.

"Oh. Well. What happens if you break it?"

"We are hunted down and killed."

Shirou grew quiet. He contemplated on his new knowledge. His opinion of Clare and her peers were only half-formed, but he sensed the world to be much darker when the half-yoma warriors were involved. "Ah. I suppose that's not much of an issue, then." I should be careful with my questions from now on. "Are my terms acceptable?"

Clare did not answer immediately. Thinking on the terms, she realized a problem quickly. "Those are half of the terms. What do you wish from me?"

Shirou shrugged. "I don't need much from you. Perhaps your cooperation?"

"That deal is hardly fair for you."

He smiled a little. "I like helping people."

Clare's stare grew a slight edge. "I apologize if I sound ungrateful, but I find your charity difficult to believe."

"It's a long story," Shirou said. "In short, I think that if you are risking your life to fight for the safety of strangers, then you at least deserve a little in return for your sacrifices."

"And as the 'Saint' of the Holy City, you cannot have something in return?"

Her words echoed with something in Shirou's memory. His smile grew bitter. "If you're so intent on repaying an unnecessary price for my help, then feel free. I've been told that I am a poor judge in the value of what I do... so I'll leave your half of the deal to your own decision."

"I see. Then I will accept."

a/n: Admittedly, this is a bit rushed. I wanted to have something for the one-year milestone of this story's publication. I'll edit it when I get the time.

Thanks to all my readers for seventy-five thousand hits and over one thousand follows. I hope you all enjoy this story for the following years. I'll get this damned story done even if I die trying.

EDIT: Padded the final conversation up a bit. It's still so-so in terms of pacing, but hopefully it's not as fast as before.