Chapter Three: E is for Luck (Alternative title: Traveling between worlds takes a long time, it seems)
Shadows—it was like a play.
Shadowy figures danced across the distance, stretching and contorting in a danse macabre, cursing each other.
There was no meaning in it all, was there?
Hate, pain, suffering, and death are all part of life, but to wish upon another these vile things, to draw strength and power from the evil in one's heart, was something Shirou could not agree with.
Magecraft was neutral; it was cold, passive, and uncaring. It was like cold rain. It would refresh the lost traveler on a summer day and kill the unprepared in the cold of winter. It just was.
It could be used as a weapon, as a shield, or as a tool. The user was in control of whether the rain was good or bad. This place, this energy, felt stale, like a grudge a thousand years in the making. More dense and powerful than what mana was in his world, at least when compared to the modern world, but also stagnated in a way different than what the magus knew. Maybe that was what kept it from weakening like it did for the magi.
In his heart, Shirou felt a darkness encroaching upon his ideals, ready to use his darker thoughts and his past as a bargaining chip. It would take these things, feast upon them, and, in return, grant Shirou power. Power to save, perhaps, but it was W̸̰̹̗͎̏̊̀̊r̴̨̡̖̜͖̔͛̿̈̀͂o̴͖̻͐͂͊͘n̷̛͈̗̥͑͘ǵ̴͎͈̙̱̀͛̄.
There was something inside of him, not Shirou Emiya. Ä̴̢̛̜̯̠̹̫̣͉̦̫̩͕̫̲́̆͆̅̃͊͌̂͆͝͝ͅn̵̬̺͓̩̟̭̫̑̈̿̊̄̑͛͛̑̋̅̚ò̵̼̻̅̔͆̑́̈́̍̚͠͠ț̴͌̇͐͊̃̾͋̆̓͊̃h̴̨̘̬̹̫̹͔́͛̎̓̀͊̈́̑è̷̡̧̳̭̩͉̤̗̥̼̳̪̰̃̀͐̈́͗̈́͑̋͊̾̃̂̀͜ṟ̴̲͉̂̓ ̶̢̛̛̺͖̙̠̬̼̩̮͉̽̒̅̄̇̓̎̀̋͂̔̕͠s̵̤͎͓̟͉̯̒͛̉͋̀̂̽̒̆ͅo̸̢̤̘̩͉̝̜͙̤͘͠*̷̞̬͎̬̐͗́-̷̥͓̫̖̅̔́̑.̸̭͙̙͚̞̩̤̘̰̝͈͉̥̗̓́̃̃̊͜͝
A curse.
Shirou opened his eyes, his head throbbing. The dull fluorescent lights above him are struggling to stay on, hanging by a thread and swinging slightly.
He looked around him, his bottom firmly planted in a small crater inside what seemed to be a warehouse. Broken crates around him, a pipe leaking water, and shards of glass and metal littered all around.
"No entry hole, hum?" The dull green warehouse's ceiling was intact, mostly. 'It feels like I exploded into existence'. He surmised. "And it feels like that too…" The damage
Shirou was almost disappointed, to be honest. It seems like all those stories about being transported to another world that Flat kept pestering him about had some effect, after all.
His thoughts about how no trucks were involved either, were another indication. The Magus smiled, thinking about his eccentric friend.
Even in this predicament, he was glad there were no sounds around him, meaning nobody saw him defy the laws of physics and reveal the existence of magecraft, and more importantly, nobody was hurt by him.
"Little victories…"
Gathering his strength, the wandering hero slowly gets up, fighting the dizziness and disorientation he feels. He was sluggish, hurt, and depleted. His Od still drained, it seems, and his stamina is at a dangerously low point.
He limped his way to what seemed like the entrance to the building, glad that his clothes, albeit weird in any other setting, still offered some cover from any cameras.
He crossed row after row of boxes, leaving a trail of wet and slightly bloodied footsteps, making the warehouse look like a crime scene or the place of a terrible OSHA violation, if you are not feeling as dramatic.
Shirou felt like someone was sitting on his chest; it made it hard to breathe. If the red head wasn't in the prime of his life, and had Avalon to help him, he might worry he was having a heart attack.
Sunlight crept from beneath a locked door. Shirou took a deep breath and hoped it wasn't in the middle of the day; otherwise, walking away would be problematic.
With a small burst of reinforcement, the wannabe hero forces the small door open, making his way outside. 'I'm really sorry I left this much damage to whoever owns this place.'
Shirou was definitely not in England anymore; he exited the warehouse into an empty alleyway. No soul in sight.
It seemed to be early morning, thankfully.
The cold breeze of morning was blowing, though with a hint of air pollution… and the metaphysical smell of a damp room, Shirou picked up with his magical senses.
He made his way out of the alleyway and to one of the streets nearby, his eyes widening in realization, and a bit of relief, unfounded as it was.
Maruyamachō Street, read a nearby sign.
Shirou was home, kind of.
Other world or not, this made things exponentially easier for Shirou; he was quickly able to ascertain that he was indeed in Japan. Tokyo, to be more precise, even kept a bit of money with him out of habit. Nothing much, but enough of a couple of meals and some clothing. He didn't care for the attention that walking around like a wounded soldier would bring.
He had been in the capital a few times in his life, knowing well enough how to navigate the maze of streets and buildings.
He didn't have much time; there weren't that many people around at the moment, and he was already drawing looks of puzzlement and worry from the few walking around this early. He darted between alleys and smaller streets towards a place he knew in his own world. He was aware of the naïveté of thinking it was present here too, but it was the only plan he had at the moment, and he had hope.
The fake hero stopped in front of a small hotel, nondescript at best, ugly at worst. The place gave off the feeling of a cheap highway hotel, where you wouldn't stop unless you had to, with dirty, badly kept walls and a faded logo in the front. It was the same building Shirou was hoping for, at least from the outside. He took off his mask and entered the place, a small ring echoing as he pushed the doors in.
A short, old man stationed at the front desk looked at him, apparently not too fazed by the way he looked.
"Yo-nin hotel, how can I help you, sir?"
The boy eyed the man carefully; there was no way it was a different place, right? Even though the name was the same, the smell of smoke and cheap sake was too.
He traced a small token behind his back, stretching the scope of his magecraft and spending almost as much mana as it would take to trace either Kanshou or Byakuya.
"I need a room and some basic..." He held the cut on his side a bit tighter. "Care for the moment." He slipped the fake chip over the counter.
The man looked at the chip and then at him. His face not betraying any emotions, the old timer kept looking deep into Shirou's eyes, as if gauging him.
This 'hotel' was a place he discovered in Kiritsugu's journals, his father had stayed there a few times between missions or even during ones taking place in the megalopolis that is Tokyo. The building was owned by a mercenary corporation that had ties with the Clock Tower, at least in his world.
The faker stayed in place, a polite smile on his face, while the old man continued to look him in the eye. Inside, he was sweating bullets, ready to flee if the need arose. 'Shit, shit, shit, shit.'
After what felt like an absurd amount of time, the old man reached behind him for some keys and slid them towards Shirou.
"Last room on the corridor to your right." He said it plainly. "I'll have some medical supplies ready for you in 5 minutes. I trust you know how to patch yourself up."
"I do. Thank you for your hospitality."
Shirou took the keys and bowed slightly, making his way towards the room in a hurry.
After around 40 minutes of self-care, the red-headed magus now patched up, laid on the bed for what he planned to be a power nap. The weight on his chest and lump on his throat persevered while he could feel the cuts and bruises being healed by Avalon, one by one, without any particular order or concern for gravity. Perhaps this bad feeling would be gone by the time he woke up.
It wasn't too long before the boy drifted to sleep. Being low on mana wasn't too different from being tired, after all, something like how you feel after a difficult test in school or when you have to make difficult decisions or have a fight with someone you love. Just because what you did wasn't strenuous physically, it doesn't mean you don't feel tired and drained afterwards. Exercising your muscles is always draining, be it moving your body, creating tactics, or using your very specialized mana circuits to trace ancient weapons from legends into reality and pummeling a vampire with them.
His dreams were tumultuous.
Shadows—it was like a battle.
Shadowy figures fought across the distance, attacking and deflecting in a danse macabre, killing each other.
Shirou was again in a burning city—not the first time in his life, maybe not the last.
He could see Saber fighting against the arrogant King of Heroes in the distance, now powered by the contract between her and Tohsaka, her new master, and all that was keeping her in the fight by channeling absurd quantities of mana into enhanced physical prowess.
I carried said master in my arms, reinforcing myself to my absolute limit as flaming debris fell around us.
That dammed archer actually saved us when it first showed its face, but it was not enough. The thing wasn't stopping, reforming itself as the grail mud leaked. Even as my eyes caught sight of Caladbolg II shimmering in the Counterguardian's hands, my mind cataloging it, all I truly could think about was how bad things had become.
Tohsaka was grievously injured, bleeding heavily from her nearly torn-off arm and struggling to stay awake. Saber was occupied in what might as well be a losing battle, and the archer, whom he hated so much, was fighting in what was absolutely a losing battle.
The thing after us swallowed the explosion, slowly reforming himself.
"I'm loving it, Shirou Emiya!" It announced. "Show me more! How broken a man can get and still hold to such ideals!" It laughed, completely unworried.
As I ran across the streets, walls crumbling around us, I prepared myself to push into a building set ablaze. As dangerous as that was, it would buy us time away from the creature's eyes. It pushed in, shoulder first, so as to shield Thosaka.
"Are you alright, ነቹክየልጎ?" He was alone in the dark.
"Hmph." He sighted. "I'm not sure, I might be in over my head, ነልኡ፱ዪል." I said, floating in nothingness.
"ፕⶴልፕ'ነ ልረዪጎፏⶴፕ, ጎቻ ጎፕ'ነ ሃዐ፱, ጎ ኡክዐሠ ሃዐ፱ ርልክ ጋዐ ጎፕ. ፪ቹነጎጋቹነ, ክዐሠ ፕⶴልፕ ጎ'ጮ ሠጎፕⶴ ሃዐ፱ ልፏልጎክ, ጎፕ ሠጎረረ ፪ቹ ልረዪጎፏⶴፕ." The dark form said. "It's not the first time you are fighting against something greater than yourself."
"What was that? I didn't catch that first part." I turned to the shadow, and it smiled at me.
It made me feel at peace.
The fake hero got up and took a shower. With the memory of his dream far in the back of his mind, he took his time washing down the blood, dirt, and sweat off of him. With most of his injuries now taken care of by Avalon, he was mostly ready to get his bearings and attempt to contact Zelretch again.
He was used to dreaming about the grail war by now. At first, we would wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, but now, it was motivation. Motivation to do better and be better, to not be such a fool again, to not trust blindingly, no matter how innocent one might present themselves.
However, two things weighted heavily on him, not counting the weight on his chest that still didn't go away.
He stopped by the bathroom's mirror, clearing the fog as he looked at his reflection. The first thing that bothered him was just how much he looked like Archer. It was something that had been going on gradually; he was about as tall and as well built as him now, and the more he pushed himself, the faster the side effects of reinforcement would darken his skin and bleach his hair. Right now, he had what looked like a birth mark over the left side of his face, and the number of white hairs on his head multiplied considerably, making it seem like he was genetically predisposed to getting grizzled.
The most pressing matter, in contrast, was something inside of him. He had barely regained any of his magical energy so far. A few hours wouldn't have been enough for a complete recovery, but it should have been far more significant by now.
It felt like he was generating his Od without the help of any outside mana. Which should be impossible, either way. If there was no mana in this universe, he should only have as much magic as he brought along with him, if any.
He must still be somehow connected to Zelretch, but how to reach The Wizard Marshal or strengthen his connection was beyond him.
"Rin would be really helpful just about now." He mused, missing the warm feeling of her in his arms. Though he probably would take a beating before she helped him, with how things happened.
He wondered what was going through their minds right now. News about the death of his team would reach them soon. Saber would want to mount a rescue, no doubt. With neither the apostle nor him anywhere to be seen, they would think the worst.
….
…
"Crap baskets" He facepalms, not believing himself, the realization hitting like a truck. If he were here, so must the apostle. The faker had been so preoccupied by his current problems that he forgot how they came to him after all.
It would be hurt, and without any mana, it would have to resort to other methods to regenerate itself—grotesque methods.
The hero had to act fast; if it was still weakened, he had a chance of beating it despite the magus's own condition. Otherwise, he might have made whatever event wiped Japan out even worse. He had no way of actually knowing where the monster had 'landed, but he was sure it wasn't anywhere near where he woke up; otherwise, the smell would have given the monster away.
He changes into civilian clothes, courtesy of the front desk. A black collared shirt and dark jeans—something that shouldn't make him out of place in most settings while still allowing for some freedom of movement.
He had no money left after paying for everything. Perhaps he should get a job after he gets his bearings and finds the apostle.
Leaving the Yo-nin, he decided to walk around, get his bearings, and see how different this world truly was. He walked the streets, taking a look at the people, their clothes, phones, and the way they acted. He also looked at the buildings and the city layout and watched any screens for news or any useful information.
Shirou didn't find anything too out of place; a few streets were different, as were some buildings. The only thing that put him off slightly was that he was in a different year from the world he left. It didn't necessarily mean much, all things considered, but to actually experience what was to him an eleven-year jump was stranger, or at least more concrete to him, than changing worlds. Technology seemed to have made great progress when it came to phones, as everyone had one in their hands.
The boy would have to go look for one later, not that he was interested in them per se, but it might prove useful to have internet access anywhere.
As he passes in front of an old garage, he hears from within the voice of a woman, "Can someone help, please?"
So he does the only sensible thing and enters it. As he passes below the half-open garage door, he is greeted by a small and aged, but well-kept, room with what appears to be a half-finished Toyota Supra. Whoever was working on it was nowhere to be seen, even as some tools and parts lay in the open.
"Hello? Everything alright?" He asks, mentally getting ready for trouble.
A muffled gasp comes from nearby. "Oh, thank the heavens! In here, please help me lift the car! I can barely breathe!"
Without giving it proper thought, Shirou grabs the side of the car and lifts it slightly. "Are you able to crawl out by yourself, miss?"
"Yes, I-I got away." Shirou drops the vehicle down, circling it quickly in search of the woman.
"Are you hurt? Do you need medical assistance? I don't have a working phone but-" He stops at the sight of a completely fine-looking blond woman in a dirty green collared shirt and pants. She was smiling embarrassedly with red cheeks.
"I'm alright, mister. Thank you very much, and I'm sorry about the trouble." Her pale blue eyes fluttering back and forth betraying her attempt at sounding composed.
"Well, I'm glad you are unhurt, miss…?" She reminded him a bit of saber, at least on a very superficial level. Maybe if Saber had never become King, but instead a villager. A plain, normal girl without any of the regality and out-of-this-world presence.
"Ah, where are my manners?" She stumbles backwards before getting up and giving a small bow. "My name is Akari Nitta."
"Shirou Emiya." He gives a small bow in return. "Now, miss, if you are really alright, I'll take my leave." With that small, awkward interaction done, he turns to leave.
"No, mister Emiya! That won't do at all!" The woman protests. "You must at least allow me to repay you somehow!"
"You don't own me anything, Miss Nitta; I only did what was right." He positions his hands in a disarming manner. Really, why would she need to repay him for something like this? It had cost him nothing but a few minutes of his time. Her life was worth much, much more than that, after all.
"I insist! It just would leave me with a bad taste if I just let you leave like this after saving my life!" She smiles brightly. It was, of course, a reach. Even with the minimal levels of cursed energy she had, coupled with her physical strength and, more importantly, the fact that her brother would be there soon, her life was never really in danger, but there was something about this man that she could not quite grasp.
He was tall and seemed muscular, sure, but the way he lifted the car with his bare hands instead of finding some tool or calling for extra help, there was something behind his easy smile. A fire she couldn't place, exactly, but that told her he was more than he let on.
With a small sigh, the magus relents. "Sure, miss. But I won't take any of your money or anything like that." It might actually be useful to talk to someone local, he thinks. "That's quite the car you're working on."
Akari's cheeks redden again. "This? This is my baby, I love working on it, but I'm a bit stumped, to be honest. Mister Emyia, please wait for a moment; I'll just change clothes."
"No problem, I'll wait here then." As she left, Shirou ran his hands over the half-finished car. "Trace On." He used his structural analysis on the vehicle, getting to know each bolt and wire on the car in front of him. The problem seemed to be some broken wires, just outside of view. "I'll make sure to let her know…"
"You really know your way around, Miss Nitta." He looks around the café they are currently occupying.
"You get used to finding the cozy spots in the city when you live here for as long as I have, I suppose." While Shirou had opted for a small tea cup, Akari had been delighting herself with a sweet strawberry sundae. "Are you new in town, Mister Emyia?"
"I am from a place called Fuyuki, in Kyūshū."
"It must be a small town; I've never heard about it."
Internally, Shirou grimaced; Fuyuki wasn't small. But then again, he didn't really know how different it was in this world. Thankfully, it is not usual for people to have encyclopedic knowledge of all the different cities and towns across the country.
"To be honest, I'm here looking for spiritual guidance, you see?" He continues, smiling sheepishly.
"Oh! I didn't take you for the type!"
"I'm not, but… Let's say that I've been through some… out-of-this-world experiences lately."
"Hmm, there are plenty of temples and churches, if that is your thing, around Tokyo…" A lightbulb flashes in her mind. "But if you really want something special, why don't you go to the temple atop Mount Kumotori? It is a bit far, but it is very impressive, both for its natural beauty and religious standing." She concludes with a smiling expression that felt a bit odd for Shirou, either way, it was a lead of sorts. Places like mountains might be more likely to contain ley lines, the magical veins and arteries of the world. And if it contained a temple, maybe the psychological influence that seemed to influence cursed energy might offer more insight into this new power.
"Thank you very much for treating me to this meal, Miss Nitta," Shirou bows embarrassed. "Despite me saying I wouldn't take your money,"
"Don't worry about it, Mr. Emiya. We all forget our wallets sometimes. Besides, I'll hold you to making me a proper meal sometime." She waves her hands amicably. "It is pretty unusual for someone to not have a cellphone in this day and age, but please, come around when you have time!" She beamed a lighthearted smile at him.
Shirou smiled, scratching the back of his head. "Of course, and I'm intending to get one, so the number you gave me won't go to waste. Have a good day, Miss Nitta."
As he leaves Akari, he makes his way towards a new clue before heading to Mount Kumotori. Something he overheard while in the café.
"Have you heard? They are stopping the construction of that skyscraper again; another worker jumped to their death." Some old ladies gossiped.
"Again? It's the fourth one in the past month alone!" Her friend gasped.
Shirou knew it was a shot in the dark; mysterious deaths usually had more to do with negligence, accidents, or other mundane motives, but he was a firm believer that if there was a chance he could be of help, it was his duty to do something.
"Hmph, I forgot to tell her about the wires. Well, I'll tell her next time."
And so he makes his way to the front side of the construction site, empty and with yellow police lines covering the entrance. It seems to be a half-complete high rise, nothing too fancy as of yet, with the top floors still in their early stages of construction and lacking walls. The building has a stench to it, which makes the hero suspect that this isn't anything normal. As he approaches, he takes in a notice from the construction company: 'This is the property of Kongō Gumy. Entrance is allowed to authorized personal only; trespassers will be prosecuted'
Shirou chuckles. "So, they exist in this world too…".
The company, at least in Shirou's world, was one of, if not the oldest mundane, non-governmental organizations in the world, having existed for around 14 centuries. It was mind-boggling to think that they had been around since Saber's time as a King. The company specializes in designing, constructing, and repairing shrines, temples, castles, and other cultural heritage buildings, which made it even weirder that it was the one in charge of this place, though times could change and it had proven to be an adaptable business in the past. It was actually a coffin maker for a while during the Shōwa Depression.
The magus looked around to see if anyone was around and, being in the clear, skipped over the fence protecting the actual building. He knew his sense of smell wouldn't be wrong about this. The sun was now low in the sky, shining for only a few minutes longer before night arose.
Inside, he could see the basic layout of the building in what seemed to be what's left of a business meeting—a white board inside a tent with the plant of the building. It was a standard office space layout, with a small reception on the base floor, some amenities for visitors and executives alike, and plenty of elevators for quick access to the upper floors.
Taking a quick look through the papers scattered around, Shirou memorized the space, ready to look floor by floor, one room at a time if needed. Here, the smell was stronger and stronger the closer he stepped towards the building.
"Cursed energy, huh?" Shirou went over his last conversation with the dead apostle wizard in his mind. There wasn't much he could take from that conversation other than that, for someone like Zelretch, cursed energy wasn't too different from mana and that people with near-death experiences could see or feel it, even if they didn't possess the ability to use it.
It was enough to not make Shirou too nervous; he was great at detecting mana, and near-death experiences were among the most usual experiences he had this past year, or even trailing up to when he was a little boy and lived through more tragedy than most people will witness their whole lives.
He could feel it in the air, near schools and hospitals he passed by, as well as some intersections on dangerous roads. For the magus, it smelled like mold, not quite like the smell of the apostle he hunted. It didn't smell like roadkill. While mold and fungus usually had the connotation of death and rot, it wasn't exactly, at least not only those things.
It was the smell of life emerging from death, not death itself. It was the smell of the dark reaches, of stale grounds where the sun shined weakly and the wind didn't blow, and even with all those obstacles, life was there.
Poetic as it may be, he didn't care for it very much.
And in here? It was putrid; whatever was going on in this place, it was concentrated.
The gun in his head cocks and fires, his way of getting into the mentality of using magecraft, the faker was ready for whatever was inside, or at least it is what he tells himself.
The main hall of the building was just ahead of him, with green doors blocking the way. Shirou tried opening them, and, surprisingly, they were unlocked. He carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside. The smell was everywhere.
"What?!" This place was not natural. Either someone was screwing with him by leaving fake papers outside, or whatever was here did something. Corridors that weren't supposed to exist led off from what he thought was supposed to be the reception, but no elevators were in sight. What was more worrisome was that the place seemed bigger from the inside. Sterile, sparsely placed white fluorescent lights kept the place at a barely lit visage.
The sun, which should still shine slightly through the windows, was no longer present, instead, the windows led to endless darkness, nothing in sight, not even the ground.
As Shirou turned around to try to open the doors, thinking it might be best to strategize a bit before venturing in, his stomach dropped. The doors weren't there anymore.
"Well, the only way is through, then. At least now, I'm sure I'm not wasting my time. Trace On!" He traces Kanchou at his side, ready for any attack.
Hello, everyone! Sorry for the long delay; I've moved to another country shortly after the last chapter. Things have been hectic, but I feel that I can go back to writing now, even if not at the pace I wish I could. I've been writing this one for the past month or so. I'll try to make more time for it, but time is the problem. I'm working and studying at the moment, writing this, and trying to become a voice actor. My friends tell me I'm trying to do too many things at once, and I concur. That does not mean I'm going to stop, though.
Regarding some reviews:
The whole Zelretch thing was written more as a gag than anything else. While he does take pleasure in watching Shirou struggle a little bit, he legitimately thinks this is for the best. And while Magic and Cursed energy seem very similar, and it is something I even acknowledge in the story, something or someone is blocking his ability to interact with the Jujutsu world, which is a segway into my next point.
I could make Shirou just be able to use cursed energy as mana, as some of you pointed out, but I feel that would be cheap. Someone like Rin might make the connection and be able to use the similar energy as a substitute quickly enough, but Shirou is far from knowledgeable in anything but his craft, and the two are different enough for it to be a problem for him.
Lastly, this is a way for me to improve my writing. I'll try my best to make it interesting and fun for everyone, but I'm sure to stumble along the way. My two main concerns are improving as a writer and making a fun story, even if I sacrifice lore accuracy in some regards. I'm sure I get at least a pass when it comes to Type Moon lore and the obscure innerworkings of some cursed techniques.