070 - Sunset of the Second Day

Tohsaka Rin

Back at the Imperial Palace in Rome, Rin studies the army reports with a satisfied smile on her lips and a cup of tea on her hand. The Crimson Army was ultimately pushed back, but the Chaldeans made contact with the Purple Empress and that's all that matters. Sure, there were some rather fucking nasty scares along the way -she certainly wasn't expecting Purple Lancer to move to intercept- but it all worked out in the end.

And hey! Altera got to wipe the ocean's floor with Medusa's face. Which may be petty of her, but it's something she couldn't help finding immensely satisfying.

So… yes. The original play had been a decoy. A decoy that she could have never gone through if it didn't have a fair chance of succeeding, but one she was hoping wouldn't. Working around the role she's been forced to play isn't easy for her, but it's not impossible either. As long as she keeps the right state of mind and avoids thinking too deeply about certain things, she can avoid coming to realizations that might force her to act.

It can't be overstated how incredibly frustrating this state of affairs is for Rin. As someone with a strong sense of duty, a perfectionist to boot, who always gives her best effort to everything, it takes all she has not to throw herself into winning the war with single-minded dedication. Honestly, this bullshit role enforcement magic seems to be specifically designed to suppress her, latching onto her every mental lever and personality quirk to near-perfectly suppress her ability to fight back.

Fortunately, her sister is a very different person and the same bindings will never be anywhere near as effective on Sakura.

Yes, Sakura will be freer to act and, as much as it still pains Rin to say, she's also much more twisted. If there's someone who can break her out of the current predicament, it's Haku and Sakura working in tandem. Why, even trying her best to fulfill what's expected of her current role, she's sorely outmatched in this particular field. The only way she could even hope to win would be attacking first and with overwhelming power, to push them into a reactive position before they're ready to…

…

…

…

"Shit." She mutters in horror, eyes widening as the cup slides off her fingers and shatters against the floor. "Shit!"

'Master?' Altera immediately calls out, her overwhelming, titanic presence hurrying towards the room in astralized form.

"Gather everyone, get them to prepare the ships again." Rin calls out in a dull voice, cursing every word that leaves her lips. "We're launching another strike at the first light of morning. Full power, destroy everything."

Altera says nothing for a moment, simply studying her with these aloof crimson eyes of hers. For all that she's a quiet and straightforward person, Altera isn't stupid. And they've known each other for a long time. She immediately notices what's going on, that Rin messed up.

"... So be it."

... But, unfortunately, there's nothing she can do about it either.

?

He watches over the pathetic bugs with a feeling that stands somewhere between disgust and amusement.

Clumsily, they weave together their flimsy plots as if they had a saying in the fate of the world. Unaware of the simple truth that they can but dance to his tune, caught in his web from the very start. Their very attempts at breaking free will only entangle them even further.

The interlopers who thought they could ruin his carefully-written script without consequence are now but props for the play. Their every move and their every struggle planned for, accounted for, the director will only suffer ad-libbing insofar it will make the final result even more glorious.

And, just because something shouldn't happen, it doesn't mean it will catch someone such as him without recourse.

For a moment, his attention goes to his old trump card. It looked like such a beautiful, elegant solution to everything, before the interloper in red rendered it unreliable. Now, he wonders if he should just… No, no. throwing his cards away is just wasteful folly. There might still be some use for that one, in the end. He'll just keep it in reserve for now.

But enough woolgathering, It appears that the time to make his next move is finally at hand.

Ibuki Douji, Evil Serpent God.

Deep underground, in a basement that's a lair and a hot spring and a cellar all in one, Ibuki Douji curls herself into a ball and snores quietly. Asleep like this, relaxed and peaceful, even the divine monster looks innocent.

And, as she dreams, a question is asked. A question she would never bother with in the waking world…

What is evil?

That's a question that should be asked. Evil is what makes you into an irreconcilable enemy, what justifies any means used against you, no matter how much they would otherwise be frowned upon. Evil is what makes it alright to hate you, to seek you out, to harass you, to lie to you, to betray you, to poison you, to backstab you, to kill you.

Because acting against Evil is Good.

But what is evil?

Ibuki Douji has no way of knowing how others would answer that question, she's never been the type to ask, she's never been the type to care.

But she has her own answer.

Evil is egoism.

Evil is to do what one wishes to do, regardless of how it affects others.

That's why…

That's why this second generation mountain god, who lives only for herself and fights only for herself… She's the greatest evil in the world. There's no redemption for that which knows no guilt. There's no good to be found in that which looks upon the world only through the lenses of 'me'.

Things are as they were, as they will always be.

Ibuki Douji is an egoistic and selfish monster who cares only for herself.

A foreign presence makes itself known in the dream, uninvited and unwelcome. And with its arrival, the noise of shattering chains. It heralds change, the imminent shift in the tides with a storm brewing in the horizon.

"Your chains are broken, Ibuki Douji." The presence whispers into the sleeping monster's ear. "Wake up and take your rightful place in humanity's closing act."

Once more, the evil storm god will rampage as she pleases. Will take as she pleases. Will destroy as she pleases. Until she alone stands upon the ashes of the world, incapable of regrets or tears.

Romulus-Quirinus, God-Emperor of Rome.

Rome weeps.

The glory of humankind, the seedbed of civilizations whose branches are meant to stretch out ten thousand years into the future, relegated to a mere instant, a frozen island lost in the sea of time. Things aren't as they should be, they aren't even as they shouldn't be.

The branches of the mighty tree burn and twist, while children squabble on the stage and monsters scheme behind the curtain. Alien ambitions clash, for better or worse, and even Rome itself has a role to play in this bizarre performance.

Rome is used to tethers, to levers and chains made out of words and made out of blades. All of them meant to shape Rome into someone else's design, all of them double-edged swords, conduits Rome could use to shape other's into more Rome. For the glorious tree meant to last ten thousand years, they are but amusement and opportunity.

To control Rome is to be Rome. To be Rome is to be controlled by Rome.

In the end, there's only calling Rome cares to pay heed to, only one yoke Rome will accept.

A foreign presence draws Roma's attention, easily slipping past Master's every defense to reach Roma itself. The presence is both old and young, eager and hateful. A child who grew mighty while refusing to grow up. Roma shall spare some pity, even if Roma won't approve.

A twist, a change in the wind. Tethers too insignificant to be paid any mind are shattered, and the presence tinges with glee.

"Your chains are broken, Romulus." The presence whispers into Roma's ear. "Wake up and take your rightful place in humanity's closing act."

How amusing.

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus

Ah… It hurts.

More than her pride, more than her wounds.

Her heart hurts.

Why does it hurt so much?

Isn't love supposed to be… warm and kind?

Is this… her fault?

She tried so hard, went so far, to shower them all with her love.

So… why?

Was her heart ever known to them?

Could it be… that she went about it all wrong?

Could it be… that 'she' was right all along?

An inhuman monster, incapable of connecting with her people, incapable of understanding them, incapable of inspiring their understanding. Nobody proclaims Nero's glory but Nero herself. Nobody sings Nero's praises but Nero herself. Nothing but a wretch, a cursed child who killed her own mother.

It doesn't matter how hard she tried, there was never any other end for her than to be betrayed and forgotten.

Is that why two usurpers fight amongst themselves, tearing her beloved Empire apart in the conflict? Is that why she was handled like a mere afterthought, not even granted a moment in the spotlight?

She wasn't forsaken. Because it cannot be forsaken that which was never cherished from the very—

No… No.

She refuses to believe that. She refuses to accept that weight in her heart.

Even if it was true, it still wouldn't matter.

For she has chosen to believe in them, in her beloved people, in her beloved Rome.

Even if it's useless. Even if it's hopeless. Even if there's no point.

It's an Emperor's duty to believe in her Empire.

"You don't need to do this, you know?" A familiar voice breaks the oppressing silence around her. "I could just… let it go."

It takes some struggling, but Nero manages to turn her head towards the voice. Ah, it's as she expected. The clothes may be different, but it seems that the foxian beauty has come to visit again.

Ah, Nero wants to praise the woman for her excellent taste. These clothes suit her well. But alas, she hardly has the breath to spare and for the first time in her life finds herself in need of measuring her own words.

"I cannot do that, my friend." She puts on her best smile to answer, even if it feels like a weak, pathetic thing. Her usual self would consider it unworthy of being called hers. "I must see this to the very end."

The foxian woman grimaces and looks away at being called friend, but Nero's senses haven't abandoned her so badly that she would miss the blatantly obvious. Anyone willing to make it all the way here to worry about Nero… Well, they can be called nothing but friends.

"This won't end well, there's no way you haven't figured it out already." The foxian woman tries again with a huff. "You might be a reckless, flamboyant egomaniac, but you're not stupid."

"I'll take these words in the flattering sense they were no doubt intended." Nero replies with a weak chuckle. "Still… I will believe in them. My beloved people… my beloved Rome… Until the very end."

"You obnoxiously stubborn woman…!" The foxian woman kicks the floor in frustration, but can't quite hold back the fond smile on her lips. Nero chooses to consider that a win. "I can't even be mad at you."

The two of them remain together for a while, in companionable silence. But, in the end, the foxian woman walks away. Westward, always westward. She always comes from the East, she always leaves towards the West. That's important… somehow.

The sun sets for the second time and the curtain call draws closer.

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