Chapter 15

Not What You Hoped For

Long black hair stirred from wind blowing over the rooftops, a short purple skirt flapping twice in the breeze. Purple eyes were locked on the building across directly across the street, and the mirrored reflection of hyper-keen eyes that stared back... but Akemi Homura saw nothing.

She couldn't even begin to process how life had gone so dramatically, tragically wrong. How could Madoka... what did she do wrong? How had she failed her friend again? Turmoil roiled through her mind, a typhoon of images and memories, hopes and regrets, dreams and nightmares, all meshing together in a bewildering tapestry of disappointment, of loss... of losing again and again.

Thinking back, her thoughts drawn in by a sucking maelstrom of pain and misery, she remembered the operation. Despite only living through it once, whereas she'd relived the aftermath many, many times, the horror of the initial experience was etched into her mind. The long recovery, an extended stay in the sterile, lifeless hospital ward, the special exercises with the therapists who all seemed to be utterly sadistic, the pain of waking up at night, and not getting the medicine, being told she couldn't have it to ease the pain, the suffering that seemed to be her constant companion the weeks and months following the operation. The pain, so deep it seemed to get within her very bones, the world burning hot and freezing cold. Nausea. Fatigue. Weakness. Helplessness.

All handled through the public health system; she was essentially an orphan. Her parents had died years earlier; she retained only the haziest of memories, none of them exactly pleasant. Nobody visited her, no one brought flowers, or a card, or anything to eat besides the awful hospital food.

For most of her remembered life, Homura had found little joy in her existence. She didn't stand out-her glasses made her self-conscious, and being naturally shy she found it hard talking to others. She recalled her one good friend, someone from way back before her family had fallen to the genetic inheritance that was slowly destroying her heart as well. She just couldn't remember her name.

Plodding steadily, Homura accepted that she would never stand out, be popular, entice boys... the lack of social interaction during much of her formative years had severely atrophied her "people skills," and she radiated an aura of perpetually awkwardness in school.

She'd been so nervous, being transferred to a new school once she'd left the hospital. The small orphanage she had been assigned to was within walking distance of school-which was none too far considering her weakened condition.

She had known she wasn't stupid... but lacked the money to pay for Cram school-the "extra-curricular" system of extended education that was not officially recognized by the Japanese government, but practically required in order to pass the high school entrance exams. Only a couple years to go, and she had missed nearly an entire year of school, but she had been slipping behind even before that.

The orphanage had no internet access, no library, no tutors. Well meaning, generally nice people-but many didn't even understand the mathematics Homura was being asked to do, or how to translate a Yokai Yayu Haiku into German, or contribute in any meaningful way to the tasks she felt piling up before her.

That first day... she was constantly alert for signs that something was going wrong with her heart. It was always there, an itch in her mind. Did I feel it flutter? Is it beating erratically? Her pulse feels too weak, or too rapid, or the shaming panic that overcame her when in her haste she'd fail to find her pulse at all.

That first day of school-actually, her first day of school. The students had been functioning in classes for some time, getting to know one another and establishing a pecking order. They would be functioning as a unit, demonstrated vividly when several rooms of students had almost uniformly raised their heads to stare at her through the glass walls, which did nothing to help her increasingly nervous dread of her upcoming introduction. Walking through that hallway, eyes from a half dozen classes watching her, judging her, forming opinions about her... she stumbled, barely holding on to her threadbare backpack, blushing furiously.

She put her head down, her meekness seeming to bore some of the onlookers, while others began to exchange significant looks and whispers... Homura imagined it all, the pointing, the giggling... she resisted the urge to pull her long braids, an act that had become something of a habit lately when the panic started setting in.

That first day of school she had felt stabbing pain in her heart-something, the long walk, the stairs, the hyperventilating... had triggered something. She had frozen, outside the classroom door where she would complete her 7th grade school year, hand on her chest. The hall monitor had looked at her with concerned confusion: everyone in the school knew of the transfer student, and her shameful genetic weakness.

The pangs passed. She breathed shallowly, so as not to disturb the organ her life revolved around. Another breath, and she was ready.

From the first instant she'd seen her-the first instant! She had known there was something special about the pink haired girl sitting in the middle of the room.

Not true, a little voice said. It wasn't until-

Surrounded by chattering girls who kept asking uncomfortable questions and demanding her attention, Homura was overwhelmed and at a loss until Madoka had made her way over, rescuing her at the same time the girl provided concrete proof that she had noticed her! Perhaps she was just taking her job as Class Health Officer seriously, Homura had thought. But when the tiny pinkette had talked with her so openly in the hallway, admiring a name that the purple-eyed girl was slightly ashamed of, and bubbling with enthusiastic excitement... Homura had marveled at the zest for life contained within the diminutive creature leading her through the hallway. She felt awkward, but... excited.

It hadn't lasted. The day had been hard, and her connection to this strange little girl seemed to fade as the day ebbed, familiar self-doubt convincing herself it had been her imagination. Students began talking about what they were doing next; what their Sempi had them doing in advanced calculus, or statistical analysis, or a number of other subjects that Homura didn't even recognize, accentuating the hopeless of her situation. If she couldn't make it into a good high school, she'd end up working in one of the fish processing plants, or cleaning office buildings... She had hoped for so much more from life.

You don't seem to anymore, whispered something tiny, insignificant. You just obsess.

Madoka hadn't met her after school; it wasn't like they'd made plans, but Homura had been so convinced... envisioned striking up a conversation with the girl, walking her home, being invited over to her house. Meeting her family... spending time with people. Away from school, and class, and the orphanage. She wanted to see what it was like to be normal, to have a family, to be loved.

She hadn't felt that way in so long.

But Madoka didn't want to be around her, or wouldn't once she got to knew the real Akemi Homura. She was worthless. Pathetic. She had been called on in front of the whole class to do an algebra problem with symbols she didn't even recognize within the equation. Her physical education performance was anemic, eliciting giggles from some of the girls. Despite the early attention she had received as a novelty-something new and strange, nobody bothered to talk to her after fourth period.

Friendless, she walked home alone, disappointed. Freshly devastated, her worries and fears having proven to be all too true. Nobody would want a loser like me as a friend... I'm worthless. Maybe I should... just...

Kill Yourself, a malicious voice whispered within her. Around her.

Perhaps she would have, if her pink-haired savior had not shown up.

That act of showing up, of being there to save Homura in her darkest hour-that moment would live forever in her memory. Her feelings towards the small, energetic pinkette were slow to manifest-she had to build up the self confidence to consider herself remotely worthy of her beautiful classmate. It has been Madoka who'd built up that needed sense of confidence and self-worth...

Even though it had taken several timelines for Homura's mental transformation to be complete.

The first time around, she had saved her wish too long; Kyubey had mentioned the advantage of Madoka having an "ace up her sleeve," something that could offset whatever terrible odds she had been confronted with-but she'd frozen and watched her friend die, alone. So brave, Homura had though, awed at her friends actions during the final fight.

The first rerun had been wonderful, up until the end. She was still rather nervous and required constant reassurance from Madoka, especially when Tomoe Mami had criticized her with that delicate, razor-sharp tongue. She hadn't been sad, exactly, when Mami-san had died. But Madoka's fall had been too much. Homura had been unable to turn the tide during the battle. She had watched, heart racing painfully, as Madoka hurled herself and everything within her pink arsenal at the monstrous form of the UberWitch. The pink snuffed out, falling even in victory. A feeling of monumental betrayal, the universe itself conspiring against her, taking away everything that mattered to her. Everything that made life worth living.

From the ashes of victory, defeat.

The memories had started to blur together. Homura had known so many Madokas, so many Tomoe Mamis, Miki Sayakas, Sakura Kyokos... fought so many Witches, so many times, she felt like she even knew them. She often thought of her first Witch, the classroom representative-the suggestive nature of Witch barriers indicated a specific kind of misery that had been the cause of her sorrow. Many Witches were like that; confused, lost young girls, lashing out at an uncaring, even cruel, world.

Some, though... some were like the one she'd sensed in the barrier the "dynamic duo" had disappeared into, as Homura mockingly had begun referring to them in her head. Some were quite simply evil.

She had hoped to spare Madoka that fate. Madoka herself had asked her to, several lifetimes ago. She was determined not to fail her friend-but suddenly she already had. Madoka was doomed, and it was Homura's fault.

Wiping her eyes with a white sleeve, Homura stood and looked down. Twenty floors separated the office rooftop she stood upon and the hard, black street below. Six seconds? She'd be going something like two thirds of terminal velocity... surely enough to shatter the accursed gem on the back of her hand. I'll raise my hands to my face-headfirst would do it. She looked at the purple orb as it flickered, blackened by a swath of shadow.

She gazed at the gem for a long moment, then let out a long sigh. She hopped off the ledge, onto the roof, pulling out a blackened sphere topped with a spike. She held it to the back of her hand, watching the murky vapor get pulled from her increasingly bright jewel into its shadowy counterpart. The blackness had seemed to gather, and she knew the orb was close to the danger point, where it would form a new Witch. Supposedly, according to that accursed Incubator.

As if summoned by the very thought, Homura felt an unwelcome presence in her mind. I will take that. She spun around, a sleek pistol with an overlong, silenced barrel pointed at the white, fox-like creature that had appeared on the roof with her.

Akemi Homura, you understand that it is not possible for you to kill me, the creature began. Homura hesitated-she needed to know something from her dispassionate nemesis in the battle for Madoka's soul. When the Incubator noticed that it had not been forcibly cast out of the manifestation it currently occupied by the time it had finished the thoughtful reminder, Kyubey continued.

Surely you realize that Grief Seed is dangerously saturated with dark energy. I am the only one who is capable and qualified to dispose of it. Additionally, as you seem to know, it is the reason for Magical Girls to exist in the first place.A fluffy white tail swished to and fro.

Purple eyes regarded the small albino creature coldly. With her enemy near, Homura's backup psyche kicked in, leaving her ready and willing to fight to the death. Incubators of course didn't fight, their weapons were of a far subtler and more dangerous variety.

"How did you do it?"

I believe you know the answer to your own question.

Homura grimaced, resolve wavering. She'd been tricked. There had been another copy of the Incubator somewhere close by... unless they could simply reform, somehow materialize directly after having their host bodies destroyed. But she'd seen no evidence of that yet, so it was unlikely, but by no means impossible. Incubators were difficult to figure out. Was it controlling both at once? How many Kyubey's are there?

If they can give me the ability to go back in time... to change the past! Why don't they exercise the same powers for their own cause, instead of using the souls of human girls to power their infernal power-needs?! It was a thought she'd thunk about a million times, never finding a satisfactory answer.

"I told you to leave her alone!" Homura said behind gritted teeth, jaw tendons visible through her skin, clenched tightly.

I will not even dignify that with a response. A white paw was brought up to its unchanging face, wiping at its muzzle delicately. Akemi Homura, are you going to hold on to that Grief Seed until it hatches into a new Witch, or allow me to properly dispose of it? The creatures mental voice annoyingly dipped high and low.

Homura held the Grief Seed in her shield hand, her right still pointing eleven inches of gun barrel at Kyubey, who'd flopped down after turning a quick circle, waiting, soulless pink eyes staring with the massive curiosity of a vast alien intellect. That damn smile, unchanging, but somehow always seeming so knowing... It was the real enemy, Homura knew, not only in her quest to prevent Madoka from becoming a Puella Magi, but somehow at the root of the Walpurgisnacht UberWitch that getting closer to manifesting by the minute. It wants us all to die.

Kyoko and Sayaka were dead. It was just her, now... and Madoka. The beast had already won this round, but she still had days until she'd be able to reset things, to do them right.

Might as well take advantage of what would otherwise be completely meaningless and irrelevant time, lost in the next rewind.

Reaching into her shield, Homura drew another Grief Seed. Tossing both at the Incubator without a word, she watched the red circle on his back glow, opening up a patch of utter blackness. The bristly foxtail caught the orbs, depositing them into the darkness. The tail whipped back and forth, as if the creature was pleased with itself.

See, that wasn't so-

Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-

Homura walked up to the creature, firing shots point blank at the Incubator's head. She waited until she'd spent the entire clip, looking at the pattern the hovering projectiles had formed inches from the creature's long-eared head.

-ick, tock.

Headless!Kyubey slumped to the ground like... a sack of rice? A stuffed animal? Homura picked up the corpse with her left hand, not caring about descriptive metaphor as she drew a long, gleaming knife from her shield with the right. With focused, emotionless eyes, she brought the tip of the blade to where the tail met body, and began cutting.

As before, she noticed nothing much to speak of. Strange red matter, not wet precisely... sort of slimy, but thick and almost dry. Like tacky syrup. She dug around, the glistening sticky slime getting all over her hands, under her fingernails... she kept digging, but found nothing.

The Grief Seeds were gone.

After a moment sitting, staring at the vivisected alien corpse, she picked up the torn up body, wrapped in a bundle of strange-feeling white fur, and walked over to a collection of pipes and chimneys, several of which were releasing steam into the night air. She roughly shoved the gory bits down a shaft. Good luck recycling that one, she thought, unable to work up any enthusiasm about making life difficult for the Incubator. Her petty victory was nothing compared to the immensity of her failure.

She stood up, using a brief flash of magic to clean her hands and outfit of the clinging red slime, and prepared to go to her friend.

She had bad news to deliver.

Keep letting me know what you think. Love the observation, speculation, and fantastic comments. I was halfway through this, thinking of waiting until tomorrow to finish, when I saw Psychoakuma's post, remembered all the awesome feedback I got to read when I woke up this morning and felt... kinda obligated. In a good way. So, thanks. Love it.

Not sure if I can keep up the pace, but I've got ideas through Walpurgisnacht and possibly beyond... (if anyone survives) but I also am thinking of a Puella Magi... of the Dead! AU type story, so at some point I might try that for a while. I'll try to find a natural place to break if I decide to try.