Sword After Spring
IX - Origin Story
A.N: With the way things are going, I should probably never try to set a time limit for myself again. We all know how my track record has been with those.
I've got some interesting news, though.
As a sidenote, thanks for Sentinal for making me notice I uploaded THE WRONG VERSION OF THE DOCUMENT, JESUS CHRIST.
It was to an open sky of stars that they left.
Once, he had been told — "Hell is empty and all the devils are here." At the time, he'd thought little of it; a little poetic bit of nihilism and nothing else. Now, though…
Maybe the teacher had been right.
They walked through the shrouded shadows of the dark night, headed towards a butchery of themselves or another. Their steps make no sound in the dead quiet of a misty night — it was the predator's gift to stalk the night in silence.
That's right, he thought to himself.
On that night, Shirou was the one stalking the night in search of prey. In many ways, he was the monster. And he thought — Once upon a time, there had been a boy who had dreamed of being a Hero of Justice. Someone who saves. With that dream held tight to his heart, the Hero of Justice set out to do good in the world.
And left a trail of corpses in his wake.
— Kill one to save the many. Kill ten to save a hundred. Kill a hundred to save a thousand.
This sort of Hero, the one who looked at lives and saw numbers on a blackboard … This Hero, too, must have seen hell.
Either way, there was no smell of blood this time. No sensation that something was wrong.
Kōsetsu looked around as they walked.
Unlike on that fateful day in the snow, this hunt brought no settling fear in the pits of his stomach nor the building blocks of panic at the thought of battle. And yet, he dreaded it. All the while he crossed the darkness.
They travelled the streets using the moonlight that filters through the clouds. Though Kuoh is a large town to walk through, there wasn't as much as a sign of life in these derelict streets — with each apartment dark and each door closed.
Other than the rare sound of crossing cars from nearby streets, absolute silence reigned supreme.
A silent, almost mournful walk towards cruelty.
The hilt of the light sword felt wrong in his grip, digging slightly into his palm. Too light. He could wield it, but the balance was off. Even when it was on, fighting with it felt like fighting with only a hilt. There was no sensation to tell you the length of the blade, no instinctive grasp on its balance and technique.
Though it was a sword and he could record it, it was not a weapon that fit him. Perhaps because it was not forged. It was not made for battle, wasn't created by a craftsman for a purpose.
There was no steel, either. Maybe that was what bothered him the most; No steel, no tale, no history. These blades were birthed only for this purpose, without a forge or vision or name. Rare, but not because of their craftsmanship, because they had none at all.
The blade of a 'hunter'. Someone who stalks the night in search of their prey. A role reversed, as it were — Shirou's grip tightened around the handle of the unlit blade.
The blade of a 'Hero', maybe.
"We're getting close," the priestly man, Fukushima, commented softly, unclipping the hilt of his Light Sword from the belt he wore. "Keep your guard up. It's not uncommon for them to guard their nests."
Shirou found himself nodding to his words, his eyes scanning the walls of the empty streets like a shadow would leap at him the second his guard was let down.
They ducked under the bright yellow tape with the words "Off-Limits" written on it, taking care not to make too much noise. Having done so, the pair continued to walk towards the unfinished subway station that the Devil had picked for a home.
Kōsetsu could already see it, a few dozen feet away. He stared at it for a few moments, then turned a pair of golden eyes to stare at Fukushima's back. Parted his lips, waited for the words to arise, paused and pondered on them.
Finally, he gave a voice to the storm inside his chest:
"Will it hurt?"
Silence answered him for a moment. There was a weariness to the man's posture that Shirou noticed dragged his shoulders down, like a weight on his back that pressed him ever closer to the ground beneath his feet.
"The good ones make it quick."
His answer was softer than Shirou had expected, but he nodded nonetheless. It wasn't a direct answer, but it was as close to one as he would get.
— He'd long since come to terms with the fact that he might one day cross blades with monsters.
That wasn't the problem.
Shirou was not someone who would hesitate to fight if it was for a good reason. He was not afraid of combat.
But these Devils had been people, once.
People who were unwilling, or at least oblivious, when drawn into a life they had not desired. People who could have been like him, or like Issei, or Samiya. With their dreams and objectives and lives, all of those were torn away from them until even their minds were twisted into something horrendous.
These stray devils were not monsters of their own creation. No matter how far they'd fallen —
They deserved better.
And they certainly deserved a better end.
"Alright."
He said so, and after that, he said no more. In silence, they crossed the length of concrete between themselves and the large iron fence that guarded the entrance proper. Fukushima had been prepared; he was quick to pull out a key and unlock it.
The fence gate was unlocked with a soft and metallic click.
It was a tall fence, but not as tall as to be inconvenient for a Devil to jump over, he noted. It creaked loudly as it gave way and opened, rusted metal dragging against the gravel below, concrete left behind some time ago — and they stepped in.
The subway entrance lay in front of them. The entrance, at least, seemed mostly finished, if a bit undecorated — uncoloured concrete with non-functional escalators leading both in and out of the underground station, with some odd pieces of rubble scattered about.
The smell of soot, dust and sulfur permeated the air in more ways than he could count, but it was a faint, ingrained sensation — one derived from extended presence.
The air felt as if it were thick with curses. Even people who were not Exorcist's should have felt the ominous air of that place — but, just as he thought that, his eyes were drawn to a shape near the edge of the escalator.
His breath caught.
"This feeling…" Fukushima was vocal about his reaction to the feeling that hung about the place. "Kōsetsu, be on your guard —"
The boy reached out and pulled on Fukushima's sleeve. Wordlessly, and before the priest could say a word, Shirou pointed at the corner of the escalator — and saw the recognition in the man's eyes grow as they gained a hint of horror.
They walked up to it.
The boy with the locks of red and white silently and carefully bent down to grab it — and dusted off the grime and dust that had gathered on its surface with his palm.
A ripped-up math book, part of it torn like it'd been clawed at by some sort of animal, with dried blood staining its cover and pages alike. The cover told him all he needed to know to feel like puking — 2nd Grade.
Fukushima said nothing.
He did not offer any condolences, for they would be meaningless, and they both knew it. He did not attempt to rile Shirou up for the hunt, either, for that would be disrespectful. In the end, the man was smart enough to know that the best he could do was to let him deal with it for a few moments in silence.
— Shirou slowly laid the book down where he found it. Got up, stared at it, and sighed softly.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "You didn't deserve this, either."
He flicked his thumb against his weapon's hilt, holding it up to light his way.
The Light Sword in his hand ignited at once, obeying his silent call without as much as a second's interval. It made a soft, continuous noise akin to that of a blowtorch — but, as far as he could tell, the blade was solid despite not being made from any metal or having any weight.
Kōsetsu stared at the burning light for a moment longer, then nodded to himself.
And just like that, his heart was set on the task ahead.
"Come," Fukushima called, and Kōsetsu nodded his head softly.
Together, they walked down the steps of the escalator. Each step made a soft clicking sound against the metal that sent slight shivers down his spine, but his eyes were kept steadily onwards as they reached the lower levels.
More than just a source of light for them to navigate the place safely, the blade's ignition also made sure Shirou was ready for anything.
They were in the Devil's home this time, not in some random street — the stray would know the layout far better than either of them could ever aspire to. Which was good; Shirou did not want to know this place. The smell of sulfur and blood that hung in the air had an aspect of grief to it, a silent sort of awareness of its rotten nature that unsettled his stomach.
How many had been lost to this place? — He asked himself that question silently, analysing every inch of dusty concrete, looking for every shift in the thick shadows. His eyes caught something in the dust, and he felt his heart tighten.
Once again, Fukushima met his eyes in silence and nodded. Shirou nodded back.
They continued to move forward.
Other than the sword in Shirou's hand, there was no other light source to be found — the result was that walking into the hallways and tunnels of the unfinished subway station felt more like diving head-first into an abyss of inky nothingness, something akin to a black hole.
He lifted the sword a bit over his head and held it like a torch, burning away the endless darkness that felt like it threatened to devour them whole. It would fail to, should it try.
He looked around. This chamber would have been… likely where tickets were bought. There were little stations for such, alongside two broken vending machines and one of those metal bars that you have to turn to get inside. It diverged into three paths, each of them only partially built but completely dug into — likely three different tunnels.
"Come," Fukushima muttered once again, finally igniting his blade. It erupted into a veritable fountain of light, a twin to his own blade. "This way. And be warned; we are not alone here."
He did not need to hear much else.
They took the rightmost one and kept on walking. The floor was rough under their boots. After just a minute or two into the tunnel, they'd reached the clear end of the passenger area and started walking through the rails, which were not energized.
The tunnels didn't lead anywhere; they'd been built halfway, and thus culminated in a large and empty chamber that had never actually been connected to any of the other stations. The place that had likely not seen any light in many months was bathed in light anew by the brilliance of the Light Swords in their hands.
Shirou's eyes wandered, though. This place, like everywhere else, was covered in dust. And, just like everywhere else, he could see clear boot marks in them — a good few of them, some small and some large.
It would be a good few minutes of walking before they got to their objective. They very purposefully did not stop to look at the skulls and half-rotten corpses that littered the tunnel now and then, thrown about like garbage left to gather dust.
This, too, in its own way, was Hell. And the Devil was here indeed.
They kept on moving forwards anyway. Each step was a challenge. Each step was a victory. He kept his eyes on the goal ahead.
Keep moving.
Keep moving.
Keep moving — And just like that, they reached their goal. Or so it went.
He caught sight of the end of the tunnel, seeing it give way to the chamber beyond.
There, a room that was just as dark as anything else awaited them, and the smell of blood began to grow and grow until it felt nauseating.
Fukushima stopped, his lips quivering. He took a deep breath.
"This is it, Kōsetsu." He murmured. "I can feel it. The Devil is over there. Are you ready —"
Life works in funny ways sometimes.
As he was finishing his sentence, the room was consumed by a brilliant light from within, followed by a sound akin to that of roaring thunder. A scream echoed from within it, loud and pained.
His eyes widening, Fukushima took off, no longer caring to let him keep up. His speed was staggering — or it would have been, before Shirou began his training.
He ran like a blur, his movements inhumanly sharp. In a few seconds, he was inside the chamber that was once again dark.
Shirou followed suit, easily matching the man's speed.
Into the Devil's mouth they went.
Spring is a time of rebirth — That was what everyone said. A time that represented reincarnation, rebirth, the life that follows death anew.
A time for the careful caring for hope. A time of life.
With eyes wide, Kōsetsu gazed at the chaotic pandemonium that unraveled itself beyond his eyes of molten gold. A scene of chaos.
There wasn't a single enemy there — there were five.
First of all, the chamber was, in fact, wide; far wider than it had any right to be, honestly. A 50-by-50 feet chamber with each and every one of its lights long-since broken, built from nothing but light grey concrete and covered in a thick layer of dust and something that was definitely more human in nature.
And on the southeast corner of the room was —
The most horrible thing Kōsetsu could honestly conceive of. Something that smelled as putrid as it looked; a 5-feet tall pile of leftovers.
People, young and old. A little girl wearing a beautiful dress of light blue with her face half eaten, flies already infesting her from within. The upper half of an old man thrown haphazardly over a pile of less recognizable bodies. A schoolboy with only the jaw remaining of his head.
Something like this —
His vision flickered. Burned. For a second, he stood atop a pile of burning debris, looking over a burning city. Somewhere, a burning man begged for help through his bloodied throat.
He blinked and it was gone. The burning Hell was gone.
And yet the dread remained.
One of the walls to the chamber was completely ruined, a huge burnt crater marking the point where a bizarrely strong magical attack had clearly been used. On the ground beneath the wall, the Stray they had been hunting was rising to her feet.
There was blood on her mouth — that was the first thing Kōsetsu noticed.
Not the type of blood that welled from within with an injury, but the type that meant she had been 'feeding' recently. He'd dreaded the moment he'd face yet another Stray, but like that, she just looked pathetic.
His breath quivered at that.
A woman of maybe 22 years, her black hair partially dyed blue. She wore an old shirt and jeans, both of which were covered in grime and blood that clearly wasn't her own, as well as more recently burnt. Her face was gaunt and her eyes were somewhat sunken in, with clear bags under her eyes. She looked manic, snarling as she rose to her feet again.
Opposite to her were —
Well.
A bunch of teenagers only a few years older than himself, all of whom wore the Kuoh Academy uniform.
Two beautiful girls, one with scarlet red hair and one with hair as dark as night, were at the forefront. A tall, fit blond boy with sharp features and a petite girl with a neutral expression on her face were with them, both looking like they were ready to throw down.
Their eyes weren't on the snarling stray, but on Fukushima, who was but a few feet away from them all, Light Sword held at the ready. They looked wary, for the most part; Kōsetsu immediately noted that they seemed to somewhat defer to the red-haired girl, as their eyes flickered in their directions somewhat.
Oh, and they each had pairs of bat-like wings sprouting from their backs. Just in case that was important.
Shirou immediately knew they'd just gotten into something a lot more complicated than just a moral conundrum.
With wide eyes of molten gold taking in the sight at once, Kōsetsu Shirou took a moment to think and made his decision.
"You two," called out the red-haired girl. Her voice was as pretty as the rest of her; there was an alluring quality to it, he supposed. But that was undercut by the clear anxiety there. She expected trouble, and did not want it. "You are from the Church, correct?"
For a second, the boy feared Fukushima would ignore her and jump into the fray. But the Exorcist did not; though his grip on his Light Sword tightened, he did nothing quite yet. Nothing but answer.
"Correct," he responded, voice steady and clear. "I have been sent here to rid the world of a Stray that has been infesting this area for too long."
"Well, you are no longer necessary." The girl replied promptly. "As you can see, we can handle her. You can return to your superiors and tell them that the Overseer has dealt with the issue of the Stray herself."
Ah, Shirou thought, wincing softly.
So this was the Overseer — the successor to Belial of whom they knew very little. Honestly, Shirou had expected someone a bit more imposing. Aside from the wings, the girl looked staggeringly non-threatening.
But he knew better than that.
He could feel it on her somewhat. The smell of something sour. Not quite sulfur, not quite blood. Something worse. Like a vacuum — the word that registered in his mind was 'Empty'. Like ruination and a thousand curses. It felt sour, suppressed and dormant, if that made sense.
But present, and dangerous.
— His vision flickered once again. A monolith of summoned darkness had stood across from him. Compared to that, this was nothing.
The stray was almost getting up — but, with a flick of her wrist and some murmured words, the tall, dark-haired girl with the impressive figure summoned a bolt of booming lightning that struck the girl at once, bathing each and every one of them in a bright light for a second.
The Stray screamed in pain, thrown into the wall yet again by the lighting flung at her. With a cry, she collapsed to the floor.
His gut churned. He turned to Fukushima.
The man, however, just … stared. There was an edge to his eyes that promised violence, an edge that could also be seen in his posture. He wasn't just considering attacking, Shirou realized. He'd already decided to attack.
"Shirou," he murmured. "Get back."
From the looks of things, so had the Devils.
Shirou inhaled sharply. This could get ugly.
"Fukushima-san, don't —"
Unfettered by his plea, Fukushima made his move.
He adjusted his grip on the sword, dragged his feet slightly to the side, bent his torso slightly forward. An untrained person wouldn't have noticed. Every single Devil there did.
"We," he muttered, "Do not work with Devils."
And he exploded into motion.
The Light Sword crashed violently into the blade of his opponent — though the blond boy had been unarmed at first, there was a double-edged straight sword in his hands at the moment of his exchange with Fukushima.
He knew it immediately.
Holy Eraser, the Light-Devouring Sword. A Demon Sword that consumed Holy energy, created by the miracle bestowed upon a boy called [ ]. It met the Light Sword head-on, crashing into its explosive light with a veritable body of darkness.
Kōsetsu cursed softly. He wanted to move in, to help Fukushima, but there was the issue of —
Somewhere, the ground was shattered as it was kicked off of. His instincts screamed at him to duck, and so he did, letting his body drop into a crouch — and narrowly dodging a deadly roundhouse kick from the petite white-haired girl. Those very same instincts screamed at him to dodge, and so he rolled to the right and avoided the following axe kick she had delivered.
Her heel met the concrete, and shattered it almost instantly with a booming noise. For a split second, Kōsetsu Shirou met eyes with the anonymous girl with clear malicious intent, and he let himself curse.
Shirou wasn't all too prone for cursing, and Anastasia was prone to getting on their case whenever anyone within the orphanage said God's name in vain. Even still, he felt somewhat justified when he spoke —
"Goddamnit, Fukushima…!"
Again, he was forced to dodge.
Shirou was fast.
He'd trained himself to the bone with Anastasia to become at least as fast as she was, as fast as the Devil that had almost killed them. But this girl was something else —
She wasn't just fast. She was strong. And she used that strength to launch herself into his guard with a reared back punch. The intent was clear; the strange girl had no intent of going easy on him.
His [ ] circuits flared to life. A black canvas full of neon green lines filled his mind, erupting with energy as they responded to his call. They flowed through his mind, his body, his soul.
A response to the call.
"Trace, On —"
He sidestepped the punch.
The pressure of it alone sent violent waves of air through the area, ripping into his cheek somewhat. Even after his training, he wouldn't have been able to dodge such a hit this cleanly.
But reinforcement did more than just help.
It bridged the gap.
He stepped forcefully into the girl's guard and jammed an elbow into her ribs, the force of the blow ripping a pained gasp from her lips as he sent her skidding a few feet.
She was athletic, though — unnaturally so. She turned an ugly fall into a series of masterful somersaults that resulted in her standing on her feet, a hand on the floor to stabilise herself as she skidded back a few extra feet.
During that time, Shirou had acted.
The Light Sword still felt clunky, strange, not heavy enough. Weirdly balanced, to his tastes. Off. But he wielded it masterfully anyway — rushing to Fukushima's aid while the man exchanged quick, precise blows with the Devil swordsman.
From above, having jumped to get a better shot, Shirou cut into their fight with a wide arc of burning light, forcing both men to jump back. He landed the hit on the concrete, spun the sword to keep momentum, and pointed it at the girl who'd been about to rush in yet again — stepping back to stand between Fukushima and the enemy.
Over his shoulder, he grimaced at the Exorcist. The rage he'd seen earlier was still present, still burning.
"Fukushima, what were you —"
Another snarl.
A flash of brilliant white. An explosion, and the sound of booming thunder.
"Shit —" Came the red-haired Devil's curse. "Watch out!"
He heard it before he saw it — the fast, hurried steps of the Stray Devil rushing at their backs.
At Fukushima's back.
Before he could properly turn, her arm burst through the older Exorcist's chest in an explosion of blood, triumphantly grinning as she held his now-still heart in a vicegrip.
This time, it was Kōsetsu Shirou who screamed, and it was in anguish, shock and rage alike.
Rias felt confident in saying she felt sorry for the younger Exorcist.
She had told Akeno to refrain from attacking him, though she hadn't been quite fast enough to stop Koneko from jumping into the fray. As things were, this skirmish with the Church would be a big enough headache as it were; as the Overseer, the fallout of this mess would undoubtedly fall on her.
Granted, she'd hoped to simply beat the overzealous older exorcist. The other one, a younger boy with really pretty hair that was both white as snow and a rich auburn with eyes the colour of gold, had seemed about as shocked at his partner's decision to attack as the rest of them.
With him, she felt confident she could negotiate — knock out the older one, tell the younger one to leave with him while they took care of the Stray, deal with the fallout later. It'd be a mess, but a far smaller mess than this.
But then the auburn-haired boy had managed to catch Koneko off-guard, jump into Kiba's own fight and almost cut him with the Light Sword. And Akeno, loyal to what may as well be a fault, had faltered in her watch over the Stray.
It ended then.
A lightning spell missed, a chance recognized, and now the unnecessary death of the man who'd attacked them. Even now, the Stray grinned at her handiwork, kicking the body of the very, very dead Exorcist to the floor and locking eyes with the auburn-haired boy, silently mocking him.
His eyes were wide, his lips were parted and his grip on the Light Sword quivered for just a moment. He was young even compared to them — and a human on top of that.
And then he screamed, and rushed into action.
Her eyes narrowed. She knew what she'd do as soon as she'd seen the scene at hand.
At the end of the day, despite all else, Rias Gremory had her pride as an Overseer and her compassion as a person. She was responsible for the city of Kuoh. That the Stray had slain the idiot exorcist was, in some ways, her fault for not stopping it sooner.
The fallout was her responsibility.
"Akeno!" She called out.
"Got it." Her queen replied immediately, her tone deceptively light. She saw the Magic Circles forming, though; spinning wildly around one another as they took aim. "I'll take care of —"
The boy had moved before they could finish.
The Stray jumped back, narrowly dodging the brunt of the attack, but clearly she hadn't expected such a rapid burst into action, either. In a split second, the chibi exorcist had jumped into her guard and slashed at her with the Light Sword he held.
As a result, the Stray had screamed, and was screaming even then.
Just proximity with such a weapon hurt to a Devil — to have at least an inch of it dig into your flesh was undoubtedly agonizing. With her arm covered in her latest victim's blood, still holding his heart in her hand, the Stray snarled as she skidded back, blood and smoke flowing from the wound across her chest.
The boy followed, though. Of course he did. With his oddly traditional robes bellowing as he moved faster than the eye could see, the smaller Exorcist had rushed the stray with another slash of his Light Sword, one that almost took off the Devil's head outright.
The rage had faded somewhat, though. The anguish still burned, still writhed, but the hot rage had seemingly been replaced with a quiet determination — one that looked far too old in the eyes of a boy that young.
Akeno muttered something softly.
The Spell was released.
The crack of lighting that Akeno wielded from her fingertips through her Elemental Demonic Power and spells was always quite something; she wielded the element with such a mastery that it had become second nature to her.
Electricity crossed the length of the chamber in an instant, and impacted against the Stray Devil's form violently, passing by the boy's shoulders narrowly. This time, Akeno hadn't held back. There was no longer room for anything but actual effort — not when a life had already been lost.
The lightning exploded as it met its target. The Stray was flung like a ragdoll by its force. The boy, meanwhile, merely jumped back.
A cloud of smoke and dust erupted from the spot in the wall that the demon crashed into violently. The air, having already previously smelled putrid, now had an extra smell of charred flesh that was nothing short of absolutely sickening.
Koneko moved in, next. Unwilling to have the Stray take advantage of the smokescreen, her Rook had crashed into the Stray's previous spot with a violently powerful axe kick that almost shattered the wall outright —
Only for the Stray to jump out of the smoke with a snarl on her lips and eyes wide in sheer panic. Rias immediately noticed what had happened; her arms had been almost completely destroyed by the lightning bolt. The Stray had tried to block the attack with her forearms, clearly.
It hadn't worked out too well.
Still, Rias grimaced.
The Stray had clearly given up on winning the fight, and had opted to run away. She knew those tunnels better than the rest of them; if she got to her nest, if she found a place to hide in, they'd be in trouble.
A brilliant flash of white, accompanied by the roaring thunder that Akeno commanded.
Another lightning bolt crossed the length of the room and exploded into the ground next to her, forcing tor Stray to dodge to the side — only to meet the form of her Knight, Yuto Kiba.
The lean boy stepped forward, wielding his blade with two hands this time. There was a quiet determination to his eyes that she found to be intensely familiar, a quiet similarity to the eyes he'd had so long ago. He stabbed at the enemy with the sword, Holy Eraser, but the woman managed to somewhat twist out of the way of the attack.
There was an edge of reckless panic to her eyes that told Rias this woman had nothing in her mind but surviving. This would earn her no pity, however. She was a Stray. And, more importantly, she had offered her victims no such luxury.
Yuto Kiba struck, and his blade met flesh.
Instead of piercing through her chest, the sword's edge cleaved cleanly through her left arm, wrenching a wail of agony from her throat as the Stray kicked recklessly at Kiba from the side.
She wanted to get away. Of course she did.
Kiba stepped back, though. Her knight was both skilled and experienced; it really was no wonder that he'd found it almost effortless to dodge such a desperate attack.
The kick split the air harmlessly an inch away from his nose, the forceful blow earning nothing from the quiet night but disdain. Even as she tried to regain her footing, the Stray clearly knew she was done for.
She tried to dodge it anyway, jumping back.
But Kiba slid into her guard, readied his blade and swung with it once again, from below this time. His eyes were freezing cold.
Once again, flesh was parted.
Rias had to suppress a small wince as the Stray's leg, the one she's kicked with, was chopped clean off. She'd managed to get herself away from Kiba, if for a few moments, but at that moment, she had lost.
The Stray collapsed to the ground with a frankly inhumane wail. Whomever she had been, she had lost herself long ago.
They were here to put down a Stray. An animal.
It was her duty as an Overseer, and their duty as her peerage, to keep Kuoh safe from such creatures. Each of the murders this woman had commited was a mistake she had made, and in putting this creature down, Rias would correct them.
As the rest of her peerage prepared to finish the job, and her eyes traveled to the fallen corpse of the exorcist, Rias Gremory knew they had been too late to do that.
But they did not get to the woman.
The young exorcist with the eyes of molten gold got to her first.
(Emiya) stepped forward to look down at the wailing Stray.
The devils on the Overseer's party had cleaned up after each other well enough, systematically dispatching the Stray. If they'd done so immediately, Fukushima would not have died — but, just as the thought emerged, Shirou dismissed it.
These were Devils.
Creatures of pure evil, of temptation, of sin. In many ways, they were cut from the same cloth as the Stray who now writhed and contorted underneath him, bleeding out into the concrete with panicked rage in her eyes. She tried, in vain, to get away from the Holy light of the Light Sword.
She and they were the same — or so it went. Even still, he could not blame them for not expecting the interjection. Even he had not expected the normally calm and collected Fukushima to jump into the fray like he'd had.
And, for that, he'd been killed. Brutally murdered, his heart torn out by a pitiful monster. An unfitting end for the man, far too cruel to put to words. It played over and over in his mind like a broken record even then.
He had seen the exact moment when the man's eyes had widened with horrified realization, and that sight would haunt him forever.
Kōsetsu looked down at the screaming Stray. Looked at the Light Sword she tried to get away from, noticing slight burns on her skin from being too close to it.
This was not justice. It was barely even punishment. It was just senseless violence, death and death unfettered, a constant stream of people to mourn, of corpses to bury.
This was anathema — a violation of everything Shirou had ever been.
He swallowed dryly and recalled the Exorcist's earlier words. The good ones make it quick.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, and didn't quite know to whom he was speaking to.
Not that it mattered — his heart was set. He would do what had to be done.
But he wished it had never come to this.
In one fell movement, (Emiya) Shirou struck with the Light Sword in an arc.
The width of the blade burned the skin, flesh and bone of the girl's neck away just as quickly as steel would have cut them, until the arc reached its conclusion and the Stray's head was split from the neck.
For a second, their eyes had met. Through the revulsion and disgust and apathy, Shirou decided to commit those eyes to memory. Whatever happened, he would remember. He swore to himself that he would remember.
He took in a deep breath to settle his nerves and turned his eyes to meet those of the gathered peerage. The Overseer met his gaze with her own, her cerulean eyes shining like gemstones (and for some reason the image hurt to think of). She nodded toward him in a mimicry of respect.
"I suppose it's just as well." She commented. "It had to be done. And I am sorry for your loss."
Shirou paused.
'No, you're not' — that was his first reaction. This girl was a Devil. But something in his chest told him that she was at least partially sincere in her condolences, and he couldn't find it in himself to meet her words with spite or rage.
There had been enough of that already on that day.
"Thanks," he replied, and it felt empty. "I appreciate it," he tried again, and it felt slightly better.
She nodded, and he looked back at Fukushima-san's corpse.
He'd never been too close to the man. He'd actually not liked him much; looking past his general issues with priests, Fukushima had served, ever since Shirou had met him, as a nigh-perfect personification of everything he had grown to hate about the Church.
But —
But he'd —
He scowled, then paused, then took in a deep breath.
His heart was set, he repeated again, to himself and in his mind. If nothing else, he got it now, more than before, why these executions were necessary. It was horrible, and evil, and a perpetuation of everything he hated the most.
These people had been humans, once. That horrible, wretched creature that had ripped out a man's heart and grinned had once been a normal girl. The violation that she'd been subjected to, the stripping of her humanity, was one she had not deserved.
But it was necessary — because Fukushima had not deserved his fate, either.
In the end, Shirou remained. And once again he made a choice.
"I'm going to tell the Church that Fukushima and I encountered the Stray and that she managed to kill Fukushima when he was distracted before I took off her head." He spoke plainly, words measured. "I won't mention anything about you. I know that would only make the war worse."
Their eyes widened at that. Of course they did; according to Fukushima-san, this war had been going on for centuries. Millennia. More. They'd expect animosity at every corner from anyone bearing any other flag. (Shirou did not want to bear a flag.) Of course they'd be shocked at a small olive branch.
Finally, though, the Overseer nodded softly.
"Very well." She murmured. "I'll keep quiet about this, too. Let's avoid needless bloodshed."
And that, as they say, was that — or so he thought. But the girl with the cerulean eyes had one more thing to tell him.
"It was nice to meet you," she spoke again, her voice clearer this time
His eyes wandered to hers. "I'm Rias Gremory. I've the feeling this won't be the last time we meet."
And Shirou thought of the Church's intentions for him. Thought of his impending school year at Kuoh Academy, where he'd wear much the same uniform as the blond boy standing guard over Rias. Thought of Fukushima's words of war and death, and of his own doubts, then and now.
Finally, and with a heavy heart, he nodded.
"You're right," Kōsetsu Shirou agreed. "It won't. Until then, though — call me Emiya."
Author's Note:
Boo.
This took… a while. This scene was a bit hard to get through. Everything after was smooth sailing, but this scene was one that gave me trouble. I'd had the story beats down… but nothing satisfied me.
In the end, I settled for this.
In many ways, I am unhappy with it. In many others, I love it dearly. I'm eager to hear what you all think.
Next chapter has the culmination of this fight, and then a bit of a breather — Shirou and Issei hanging out. I hope you all love those two interacting as much as I.
I'll see you in just a bit (Promise! Pinky Promise, even!). Until then, this has been Lily. See ya.