Wow, it's been too long.
Anyway I redid the scene with Dot Pixis a little bit. I fixed the contempt thing to make Avider happy--just kidding. Really I changed it to make it more like Shirou and less like Gilgamesh. Appeasing Avider's weird hang-ups was a side bonus.
Also a Fake Assassin reference just for Amod. Nobody else is allowed to get it???
1.3.1
Eyes narrowed, arms crossed behind his back, Commander Dot Pixis stared down at the carnage stretched out beneath him.
With a delicate motion, he reached his hand out from behind his back, and carefully ran it along the sides of his mustache. It had the same air as someone who was pinching themselves to determine whether they were awake or dreaming.
The sun beating down on his bald head was the same as the sun beating down on the unreal scene before him.
"What the hell am I looking at?" He finally asked.
It was a miracle. It was a slaughter.
The field was scorched. The remains of giants burned and evaporated. There were countless patches of burned-away grass that were testimony to that truth.
But the number of scorch marks obviously exceeded the number inflicted by the cannons before the retreat.
And there was a more unreal sight.
A pile of corpses.
Even if they were destined to burn away... even if they were going to quickly dissipate like smoke from a dry-wood fire, right now, there was a pile-up mass of titan corpses. A grisly mound of dismembered flesh.
The top layer moved. Eight meters tall--or it was, when still it had head and neck--the vaguely feminine body was not the tallest or the shortest to be stacked in that pile. But that highest mass was forced upwards, and the rolled away.
Climbing out from beneath that corpse, there was a man.
With a graceful leap, he jumped outwards, hopping down from that mountain of corpses, even as smoke began to emerge.
Without looking behind him, he hopped out and down, landing cleanly on the solid ground and casually walking away from the mountain of corpses.
The huge pile of flesh he had raised.
Under the gaze of Dot Pixis and his lieutenants, that man had been attacked by twenty giants. Alone, standing on the ground without any gear but some unusual swords, he was beset by giants from every side.
Without particularly moving, without soaring around and behind them on the 3-D movement gear, he had killed them.
When they reached for him, he had slashed off their arms. When they lunged in to bite him, he had slashed out their eyes and slit their throats. He carved away their flesh and cut out their necks.
Their facing did not matter. Their actions were meaningless. He simply cut away their bodies until the meat between him and the weakpoints was gone.
With dance-like motion, he simply cut everything that approached him. He used their size against them, leading one before others to limit the number of giants that could reach him to that one, and then slashing that one down.
His motion was precise, and elegant. There was no waste in his actions. There was not even any particularly strong emotion.
Dot Pixis was old. He had seen many fighters in his time. Coldly and clinically going for the weak point. White-hot rage as they carved up the opponent. Even the lashing, mercurial twitch between fear and anger. He is old, and has read many emotions in the attacks of his soldiers.
But never before had he seen someone so... bored.
The simple tactic of stepping so one enemy blocks off others, that even a child would understand. The way that he lazily cut what was in reach rather than lunging around for the kill. Not running around, his motion was more like jogging. He was in no hurry to do anything. There was simply no urgency in his actions. To say he is slaughtering them like animals is true. But, he is not a sadist luxuriating in others' pain. He is more like the unmotivated butcher who lazily carves up cattle in the summer heat.
That man simply wasn't trying very hard.
"A miracle."
"Salvation."
"Hope."
Dot Pixis noted the answers his entourage give to his question, but they did not answer as he answered, so he didn't respond to any in turn. Not one of these officers has truly given a correct answer. Perhaps he is an unpleasable eccentric, as they say when they think he can't hear. But he cannot trust anyone else to do this. They did not perceive the darkness inside that man's heart. It is not the hatred that blackens so many of his comrades' souls. It is more subtle. Rather than hatred at the giants, what that man feels, is nothing. If no one else understand this, they cannot be trusted to handle this delicate meeting for him.
Fear, anger, hatred, willing ignorance; in his life Dot Pixis has seen how many people consider giants in their hearts. But this is the first time that he has seen someone bored with them. And that kind of void seems, to him, very ominous.
"Well, it can't be helped." He said aloud. "I'm going down to speak with him."
He waved aside all disagreement. "He is a hero." Dot said warmly. "He deserves the honest thanks of the defense commander. Nothing else will suffice."
I I I
Walking away from the pile of corpses, Emiya Shirou scowled in thought.
The conflagration of death behind him did not concern him. He squinted as he gazed out across the plain. At ground level, no matter how much he Reinforced his eyes, he could not see past the horizon. On this plain, with the curve of the land, the horizon was something like 35 or 40 kilometers away.
He twitched, grimacing from the heat of the corpses behind him. From the sun was beating down on his side. Sweat was stinging his eyes. He thrust Kanshou and Bakuya into the ground, and rubbed his shoulder. The Crest was aching with pain, like hot wires under his skin.
He had only Traced one pair. Because he was trying to minimize prana expenditure rather than win quickly, naturally that meant he was being conservative with his Tracing. And there was another consideration. Even if he had not found one other magus, he was still being careful. Surrounded by witnesses, he couldn't freely swing the more impressive swords. Until he knew for certain they were extinct, Shirou did not want to draw the ire of Enforcers.
The jumpsuit was already opened and those sleeves tied around his waist. Emiya Shirou is considering: if he took off the shirt as well, would the gain in cooling off-set the gain in heating from having to Reinforce his skin to prevent sunburns?
Also, he was worried because he had been sweating without anything to drink. Heat stroke was a concern.
Of course, he mused, as he tracked the motion of the bald man swinging down the wall and walking towards him, followed by two others also wearing the jacket of the Defense Legion, it's not like he could take off his shirt now anyway.
Even if all the spells carved inside it were beyond him, the Crest was a useful reservoir for prana. Continuously siphoning mana into it, it was glowing brightly; exposing an active Crest would be a source of questions, so his shirt needed to stay on.
"Commander Dot Pixis." Shirou said, greeting the bald man calmly walking towards him, on the field outside the protection of the wall. He doesn't recognize the other two, but presumably they are aides to this man, who is the commander of all troops deployed in this place, someone even a civilian worker like him would recognize on sight.
"And you must be the remarkable pressure-vessel mechanic, Shirou Emiya." The commander responded. "On behalf of humanity, I earnestly thank you for defending the outer gate of Trost District. Many lives have been saved by your heroism."
Shirou looked directly into that man's eyes. There was depth implied beneath the surface meaning of those words, but no matter. For one moment, Shirou savored those words.
"I'm happy." Shirou said, smiling gently. "I'm happy I could save people."
"I see." Dot Pixis said. His rythm was disrupted. Someone unmoved by titans such as this man, saying such direct and heart-felt words, was not what he had expected. Frankly speaking, Dot Pixis was relieved that Shirou Emiya wasn't a complete psychopath.
"Having said that, Mr. Emiya", Pixis continued after a moment, "what are your plans?"
Shirou smiled. This smile was as heartfelt and sincere as his last one. But there was nothing kind or gentle in it. "I'll just... stand here. Guarding the gate. Cutting down all the giants trying to pass through." Shirou chuckled, amused by something. Seeing Pixis' raised eyebrow, he shook his head. "It's... I just suddenly had sympathy for a guy I didn't really like."
Pixis nodded sagely, filing away that nonsequitor for later. "And if we can't close the gate?"
"You can." Shirou said simply. "After all, Giants cannot move during the night, so I have plenty of time to eat and sleep. Even if it takes months, holding this gate is simple." Shirou glanced at the horizon, judging the speed and distance of the few giants that were sprinting in their direction. There was still time to talk. "Even if you have to stack up each brick individually, that isn't a problem." Shirou grinned, turning to meet the commander's eye. "Ha... I could probably even pile it shut myself, inbetween fighting."
Dot Pixis had no words, so he nodded once more, in that same knowing fashion. His mind whirled to formulate a response for that amazing man. "I don't think it will come to that." Pixis nodded, his own eyes flicking to take in the approaching giants. His aides have been unabashedly staring at them all along; they are disciplined and tough, and will not say anything to contradict his image, but, Dot Pixis mused ruefully to himself, this is exactly the kind of "unnecessary risk-taking" they always whined at him about in private.
"It's a little unorthodox," Dot Pixis continued, "but under the circumstances, I feel it is necessary." He cleared his throat. "Shirou Emiya. Under the direct royal authority granted me as the Southern Regional Commander of the Defense Legion, I do hereby promote and commission you to the rank of Captain, with all the rights, responsibilities, and privileges that entails."
"You are assigned directly to me, the Southern Regional Commander," Dot Pixis continued, "and under that authority I grant you your first order: Captain Emiya, you will hold and defend the Shiganshina Gate, without relief, until it is closed." Although his voice was clear, he allowed an ironic smile to cross his face when he finished formally giving the man before him what anyone would consider a suicide mission.
Shirou chuckled. "Well if it's an order from the Commander, I suppose I have no choice." He shrugged, and then paused. "Ah, there is one thing, though."
"Yes?" Dot Pixis asked.
"I don't want to impose, but could you send someone to fetch me some water?" Shirou asked seriously. "I'm beginning to feel a little dehydrated." Without waiting for a response, he pulled free the two swords standing upright in the ground where he left them, and turned, measuring the distance between the approaching threats and himself.
Even as he chuckled at that, and promised he would do so, a part of Dot Pixis remembered: boredom. Surrounded by titans, attacked by enemies from all sides, and this man was so certain of victory he was only half-heartedly worrying about whether he'd get sunstroke.
1.3.1 End
I I I
2.1
A titan before her. 15 meter class.
No gas for the 3-dimensional movement gear.
Compared to the dozen blades of super-hardened steel she had started with, all that remained was a single tip the size of a knife.
There were tears on her cheeks.
But...
Those tears stopped.
She gripped the knife-sized leftover, and stood up to face the titan before her.
Because, just like she had resolved, she would fight on, no matter what, as long as she could.
Yes, no matter what, even if he was gone.
She screamed, sinking into a stance, glaring up at the titan stupidly gazing down.
But in that moment, she didn't need to do anything.
Another titan stepped around her, past her, over her.
A fist the size of a cannonball had been loaded with curled-up muscles. From the shoulder, an arm the size of a deck-gun launched that cannonball-sized fist.
With an impact like an explosion, the fist completely ripped the jaw off that other titan. The foot crashing down to catch the lunging puncher, and then the impact of the punched one slamming into the ground; those shock-waves knocked even Mikasa Ackerman off her feet.
She could do nothing but stare.
Brutally. Savagely. Remorselessly.
The wild-haired, wild-eyed titan furiously pounded the other into paste, until finally its indiscriminate stamps happened onto the nape of the neck, destroying the monster.
There was something about the furious, victorious roar of that titan, that resonated with Mikasa's heart.
But as she stared on, she was picked up, and swept out of the way by her friend Armin.
"Mikasa!" He shouted. "You fell because you ran out of gas, right?" Armin clamped her shoulder with his hand, staring into her face, looking for something.
"I'll be fine." Mikasa muttered.
Armin stared into her eyes, and to Mikasa, seemed to reach some conclusion.
Armin's mind raced. It was true they had been saved, but with only the tiny amount of gas remaining to him, he didn't have much motion left. And, he couldn't divide the gas with Mikasa. Only one of them was actually capable of moving.
His thoughts were interrupted by a great screech.
A titan with a head like a marble, some 13 meters tall, was challenging the lean giant that had saved them.
And that giant dropped slightly, spreading his legs, and raising his arms in a boxer's stance, loading his fist into the cannon of his shoulder.
The fist was launched, and that round head was completely blasted off that neck.
The neck of the twitching corpse was crushed underfoot.
Even as the two friends stared in shock, Armin's mind was still racing.
And, it reached a conclusion.
"Mikasa." He said, "Take my gas, and follow that titan."
Mikasa's mind latched onto one thing. "I'm not abandoning you, Armin."
Armin shook his head. "And I don't want you to! But you've got higher skills. I'll transfer my bottle of gas to you. And you'll carry me. We'll tail that titan, conserving as much gas as possible, until it gets close to the wall. Then we'll mount the wall." He shrugged. "We'll be stuck with a long walk, but this is the best way to avoid gas-expensive battles and retreat for now."
All of that was true. But, for this kind of careful maneuvering, it didn't really matter who carried who. The efficiency of the gear mattered more than the skill of the user when casually swinging from building to building outside of combat maneuvering.
Except, that if Mikasa had Armin's life in her hands, she would be careful. With Eren gone, the fastest and most reliable thing to do was temporarily replace her meaning for living.
Once again, guilt clawed up his throat, and Armin swallowed it. The acid bile from his stomach, and the hot tears he refused to let fall, could not be allowed to fall.
The only thing that made it okay, was that Armin knew Eren would approve.
Mikasa slowly nodded. "Okay, let's do it."
I I I
"Ah, dammit." Shirou cursed. Sharply flinging his hand down, Kanshou was sent howling forward to plunge into the throat of a lunging 3-meter titan.
But, the purpose had been to free his right hand, so that he could slap the fly that had bit the side of his neck, below his ear.
In that moment, while distracted, the hand of a 14-meter titan closed around his torso, under his right armpit and clamping his left arm against his body.
As he was hauled upwards, Shirou glanced over his shoulder at the slavering mouth that opened to receive him.
"Whoops." He muttered.
Another Kanshou appeared in his hand. Smoothly cutting downward, even though it was an awkward angle behind him, he severed the tendons of that right hand holding him up.
As soon as he landed, Shirou darted forward four steps, and slashed both achilles' tendons simply by swinging his arms back.
That is why he was not afraid. No, that was why he had nothing to fear.
Emiya Shirou is a counter-fighter. Taking his first move as a feint to lure the enemy into a response, he can in turn respond with a well-timed blow to the opening that exists during their attack. Rather than tremendous speed or incredible strength, it's an approach that requires excellent timing.
Against monsters who are too stupid to even read attacks, feints are like completely foreign words. For someone who consciously focused on out-thinking the enemy, at more clearly imagining a path to victory, fighting mindless monsters is the most alien thing.
But, more than anything else, as "someone who counter-attacks", he could tell: these giants do not attack.
They simply plucked up humans and jammed them into their mouths.
Emiya Shirou is someone who had always assumed that every opponent was stronger and faster than him. So, he had trained with the realization that if he missed his counter, if the enemy's blow connected, he would be killed. The gap between what his body can handle and what his opponents could exert was always that large.
But these are enemies that don't attack. Even if he erred, even if they could grab him, if he was grabbed, there would still be plenty of time to recover the situation. The only thing he had to worry about was their teeth. And against someone on the ground, they must pick him up before they can bite him.
And even if they do bite him, his body is swords. Someone biting into a sword has an obvious outcome.
Compared to before...
They are completely different in form, but their function is exactly the same.
A grand thaumaturgy of autonomous, giant familiars that devour people.
Because, the Grail simply used the closest thing to grant the wish that golden fool had made.
They had gone to the castle in the forest.
He--they--hadn't known there was a second Grail, a tainted reproduction.
And because it was a tainted reproduction, obviously that fool who only accepted the best of everything, the certified original, he would obviously sneer at it. So even if he had known about the second Grail, he wouldn't have been worried. That was proven by the course selected by another who was not truly someone else.
But, for whatever reason, for once in his life, that fool had deigned to use a flawed reproduction rather than the original.
Even though she had stayed by his side for so long, at the one time it counted most, he had shown up too late to do anything but watch. He stretched out his hand to save her like he already should have so many years ago.
"There are too many people. Get rid of everyone unnecessary."
Black mud spilled outwards and dissolved away the flesh that had contained it. No, rather than a destroyed container, it was more like the lid was eaten away from underneath.
A calamity that spilled out across the world. His swords could not hold it back any more than they could have held back crude oil spilled across an ocean bay.
"Tch." Shirou clucked his tongue. "It can't be fixed." Shirou repeated. "It already happened. So stop dwelling on the past and move forward." He lectured himself.
He closed his eyes, breathed in, and slowly breathed out.
In a flash, he dropped into a wide stance, flinging his arms outward as his torso strongly swayed.
From his whipping hands, two swords darted out like fish, and took precise bites from the titans that loomed over him.
The sloppy habits he was allowing to rust into his mind would be carefully sanded away. Within his inner world, the dusty wind picked up.
I I I
2.1 end
Next time: a cute glasses-wearing girl has her way with Eren. I dunno whether I wanna go through it or present it as a fait accompli and then just have a couple'a flashbacks.
Later: I systemically kill off more heroines. I guess that might make Mike feel better???
...you volunteering?
Anyway I redid the scene with Dot Pixis a little bit. I fixed the contempt thing to make Avider happy--just kidding. Really I changed it to make it more like Shirou and less like Gilgamesh. Appeasing Avider's weird hang-ups was a side bonus.
Also a Fake Assassin reference just for Amod. Nobody else is allowed to get it???
1.3.1
Eyes narrowed, arms crossed behind his back, Commander Dot Pixis stared down at the carnage stretched out beneath him.
With a delicate motion, he reached his hand out from behind his back, and carefully ran it along the sides of his mustache. It had the same air as someone who was pinching themselves to determine whether they were awake or dreaming.
The sun beating down on his bald head was the same as the sun beating down on the unreal scene before him.
"What the hell am I looking at?" He finally asked.
It was a miracle. It was a slaughter.
The field was scorched. The remains of giants burned and evaporated. There were countless patches of burned-away grass that were testimony to that truth.
But the number of scorch marks obviously exceeded the number inflicted by the cannons before the retreat.
And there was a more unreal sight.
A pile of corpses.
Even if they were destined to burn away... even if they were going to quickly dissipate like smoke from a dry-wood fire, right now, there was a pile-up mass of titan corpses. A grisly mound of dismembered flesh.
The top layer moved. Eight meters tall--or it was, when still it had head and neck--the vaguely feminine body was not the tallest or the shortest to be stacked in that pile. But that highest mass was forced upwards, and the rolled away.
Climbing out from beneath that corpse, there was a man.
With a graceful leap, he jumped outwards, hopping down from that mountain of corpses, even as smoke began to emerge.
Without looking behind him, he hopped out and down, landing cleanly on the solid ground and casually walking away from the mountain of corpses.
The huge pile of flesh he had raised.
Under the gaze of Dot Pixis and his lieutenants, that man had been attacked by twenty giants. Alone, standing on the ground without any gear but some unusual swords, he was beset by giants from every side.
Without particularly moving, without soaring around and behind them on the 3-D movement gear, he had killed them.
When they reached for him, he had slashed off their arms. When they lunged in to bite him, he had slashed out their eyes and slit their throats. He carved away their flesh and cut out their necks.
Their facing did not matter. Their actions were meaningless. He simply cut away their bodies until the meat between him and the weakpoints was gone.
With dance-like motion, he simply cut everything that approached him. He used their size against them, leading one before others to limit the number of giants that could reach him to that one, and then slashing that one down.
His motion was precise, and elegant. There was no waste in his actions. There was not even any particularly strong emotion.
Dot Pixis was old. He had seen many fighters in his time. Coldly and clinically going for the weak point. White-hot rage as they carved up the opponent. Even the lashing, mercurial twitch between fear and anger. He is old, and has read many emotions in the attacks of his soldiers.
But never before had he seen someone so... bored.
The simple tactic of stepping so one enemy blocks off others, that even a child would understand. The way that he lazily cut what was in reach rather than lunging around for the kill. Not running around, his motion was more like jogging. He was in no hurry to do anything. There was simply no urgency in his actions. To say he is slaughtering them like animals is true. But, he is not a sadist luxuriating in others' pain. He is more like the unmotivated butcher who lazily carves up cattle in the summer heat.
That man simply wasn't trying very hard.
"A miracle."
"Salvation."
"Hope."
Dot Pixis noted the answers his entourage give to his question, but they did not answer as he answered, so he didn't respond to any in turn. Not one of these officers has truly given a correct answer. Perhaps he is an unpleasable eccentric, as they say when they think he can't hear. But he cannot trust anyone else to do this. They did not perceive the darkness inside that man's heart. It is not the hatred that blackens so many of his comrades' souls. It is more subtle. Rather than hatred at the giants, what that man feels, is nothing. If no one else understand this, they cannot be trusted to handle this delicate meeting for him.
Fear, anger, hatred, willing ignorance; in his life Dot Pixis has seen how many people consider giants in their hearts. But this is the first time that he has seen someone bored with them. And that kind of void seems, to him, very ominous.
"Well, it can't be helped." He said aloud. "I'm going down to speak with him."
He waved aside all disagreement. "He is a hero." Dot said warmly. "He deserves the honest thanks of the defense commander. Nothing else will suffice."
I I I
Walking away from the pile of corpses, Emiya Shirou scowled in thought.
The conflagration of death behind him did not concern him. He squinted as he gazed out across the plain. At ground level, no matter how much he Reinforced his eyes, he could not see past the horizon. On this plain, with the curve of the land, the horizon was something like 35 or 40 kilometers away.
He twitched, grimacing from the heat of the corpses behind him. From the sun was beating down on his side. Sweat was stinging his eyes. He thrust Kanshou and Bakuya into the ground, and rubbed his shoulder. The Crest was aching with pain, like hot wires under his skin.
He had only Traced one pair. Because he was trying to minimize prana expenditure rather than win quickly, naturally that meant he was being conservative with his Tracing. And there was another consideration. Even if he had not found one other magus, he was still being careful. Surrounded by witnesses, he couldn't freely swing the more impressive swords. Until he knew for certain they were extinct, Shirou did not want to draw the ire of Enforcers.
The jumpsuit was already opened and those sleeves tied around his waist. Emiya Shirou is considering: if he took off the shirt as well, would the gain in cooling off-set the gain in heating from having to Reinforce his skin to prevent sunburns?
Also, he was worried because he had been sweating without anything to drink. Heat stroke was a concern.
Of course, he mused, as he tracked the motion of the bald man swinging down the wall and walking towards him, followed by two others also wearing the jacket of the Defense Legion, it's not like he could take off his shirt now anyway.
Even if all the spells carved inside it were beyond him, the Crest was a useful reservoir for prana. Continuously siphoning mana into it, it was glowing brightly; exposing an active Crest would be a source of questions, so his shirt needed to stay on.
"Commander Dot Pixis." Shirou said, greeting the bald man calmly walking towards him, on the field outside the protection of the wall. He doesn't recognize the other two, but presumably they are aides to this man, who is the commander of all troops deployed in this place, someone even a civilian worker like him would recognize on sight.
"And you must be the remarkable pressure-vessel mechanic, Shirou Emiya." The commander responded. "On behalf of humanity, I earnestly thank you for defending the outer gate of Trost District. Many lives have been saved by your heroism."
Shirou looked directly into that man's eyes. There was depth implied beneath the surface meaning of those words, but no matter. For one moment, Shirou savored those words.
"I'm happy." Shirou said, smiling gently. "I'm happy I could save people."
"I see." Dot Pixis said. His rythm was disrupted. Someone unmoved by titans such as this man, saying such direct and heart-felt words, was not what he had expected. Frankly speaking, Dot Pixis was relieved that Shirou Emiya wasn't a complete psychopath.
"Having said that, Mr. Emiya", Pixis continued after a moment, "what are your plans?"
Shirou smiled. This smile was as heartfelt and sincere as his last one. But there was nothing kind or gentle in it. "I'll just... stand here. Guarding the gate. Cutting down all the giants trying to pass through." Shirou chuckled, amused by something. Seeing Pixis' raised eyebrow, he shook his head. "It's... I just suddenly had sympathy for a guy I didn't really like."
Pixis nodded sagely, filing away that nonsequitor for later. "And if we can't close the gate?"
"You can." Shirou said simply. "After all, Giants cannot move during the night, so I have plenty of time to eat and sleep. Even if it takes months, holding this gate is simple." Shirou glanced at the horizon, judging the speed and distance of the few giants that were sprinting in their direction. There was still time to talk. "Even if you have to stack up each brick individually, that isn't a problem." Shirou grinned, turning to meet the commander's eye. "Ha... I could probably even pile it shut myself, inbetween fighting."
Dot Pixis had no words, so he nodded once more, in that same knowing fashion. His mind whirled to formulate a response for that amazing man. "I don't think it will come to that." Pixis nodded, his own eyes flicking to take in the approaching giants. His aides have been unabashedly staring at them all along; they are disciplined and tough, and will not say anything to contradict his image, but, Dot Pixis mused ruefully to himself, this is exactly the kind of "unnecessary risk-taking" they always whined at him about in private.
"It's a little unorthodox," Dot Pixis continued, "but under the circumstances, I feel it is necessary." He cleared his throat. "Shirou Emiya. Under the direct royal authority granted me as the Southern Regional Commander of the Defense Legion, I do hereby promote and commission you to the rank of Captain, with all the rights, responsibilities, and privileges that entails."
"You are assigned directly to me, the Southern Regional Commander," Dot Pixis continued, "and under that authority I grant you your first order: Captain Emiya, you will hold and defend the Shiganshina Gate, without relief, until it is closed." Although his voice was clear, he allowed an ironic smile to cross his face when he finished formally giving the man before him what anyone would consider a suicide mission.
Shirou chuckled. "Well if it's an order from the Commander, I suppose I have no choice." He shrugged, and then paused. "Ah, there is one thing, though."
"Yes?" Dot Pixis asked.
"I don't want to impose, but could you send someone to fetch me some water?" Shirou asked seriously. "I'm beginning to feel a little dehydrated." Without waiting for a response, he pulled free the two swords standing upright in the ground where he left them, and turned, measuring the distance between the approaching threats and himself.
Even as he chuckled at that, and promised he would do so, a part of Dot Pixis remembered: boredom. Surrounded by titans, attacked by enemies from all sides, and this man was so certain of victory he was only half-heartedly worrying about whether he'd get sunstroke.
1.3.1 End
I I I
2.1
A titan before her. 15 meter class.
No gas for the 3-dimensional movement gear.
Compared to the dozen blades of super-hardened steel she had started with, all that remained was a single tip the size of a knife.
There were tears on her cheeks.
But...
Those tears stopped.
She gripped the knife-sized leftover, and stood up to face the titan before her.
Because, just like she had resolved, she would fight on, no matter what, as long as she could.
Yes, no matter what, even if he was gone.
She screamed, sinking into a stance, glaring up at the titan stupidly gazing down.
But in that moment, she didn't need to do anything.
Another titan stepped around her, past her, over her.
A fist the size of a cannonball had been loaded with curled-up muscles. From the shoulder, an arm the size of a deck-gun launched that cannonball-sized fist.
With an impact like an explosion, the fist completely ripped the jaw off that other titan. The foot crashing down to catch the lunging puncher, and then the impact of the punched one slamming into the ground; those shock-waves knocked even Mikasa Ackerman off her feet.
She could do nothing but stare.
Brutally. Savagely. Remorselessly.
The wild-haired, wild-eyed titan furiously pounded the other into paste, until finally its indiscriminate stamps happened onto the nape of the neck, destroying the monster.
There was something about the furious, victorious roar of that titan, that resonated with Mikasa's heart.
But as she stared on, she was picked up, and swept out of the way by her friend Armin.
"Mikasa!" He shouted. "You fell because you ran out of gas, right?" Armin clamped her shoulder with his hand, staring into her face, looking for something.
"I'll be fine." Mikasa muttered.
Armin stared into her eyes, and to Mikasa, seemed to reach some conclusion.
Armin's mind raced. It was true they had been saved, but with only the tiny amount of gas remaining to him, he didn't have much motion left. And, he couldn't divide the gas with Mikasa. Only one of them was actually capable of moving.
His thoughts were interrupted by a great screech.
A titan with a head like a marble, some 13 meters tall, was challenging the lean giant that had saved them.
And that giant dropped slightly, spreading his legs, and raising his arms in a boxer's stance, loading his fist into the cannon of his shoulder.
The fist was launched, and that round head was completely blasted off that neck.
The neck of the twitching corpse was crushed underfoot.
Even as the two friends stared in shock, Armin's mind was still racing.
And, it reached a conclusion.
"Mikasa." He said, "Take my gas, and follow that titan."
Mikasa's mind latched onto one thing. "I'm not abandoning you, Armin."
Armin shook his head. "And I don't want you to! But you've got higher skills. I'll transfer my bottle of gas to you. And you'll carry me. We'll tail that titan, conserving as much gas as possible, until it gets close to the wall. Then we'll mount the wall." He shrugged. "We'll be stuck with a long walk, but this is the best way to avoid gas-expensive battles and retreat for now."
All of that was true. But, for this kind of careful maneuvering, it didn't really matter who carried who. The efficiency of the gear mattered more than the skill of the user when casually swinging from building to building outside of combat maneuvering.
Except, that if Mikasa had Armin's life in her hands, she would be careful. With Eren gone, the fastest and most reliable thing to do was temporarily replace her meaning for living.
Once again, guilt clawed up his throat, and Armin swallowed it. The acid bile from his stomach, and the hot tears he refused to let fall, could not be allowed to fall.
The only thing that made it okay, was that Armin knew Eren would approve.
Mikasa slowly nodded. "Okay, let's do it."
I I I
"Ah, dammit." Shirou cursed. Sharply flinging his hand down, Kanshou was sent howling forward to plunge into the throat of a lunging 3-meter titan.
But, the purpose had been to free his right hand, so that he could slap the fly that had bit the side of his neck, below his ear.
In that moment, while distracted, the hand of a 14-meter titan closed around his torso, under his right armpit and clamping his left arm against his body.
As he was hauled upwards, Shirou glanced over his shoulder at the slavering mouth that opened to receive him.
"Whoops." He muttered.
Another Kanshou appeared in his hand. Smoothly cutting downward, even though it was an awkward angle behind him, he severed the tendons of that right hand holding him up.
As soon as he landed, Shirou darted forward four steps, and slashed both achilles' tendons simply by swinging his arms back.
That is why he was not afraid. No, that was why he had nothing to fear.
Emiya Shirou is a counter-fighter. Taking his first move as a feint to lure the enemy into a response, he can in turn respond with a well-timed blow to the opening that exists during their attack. Rather than tremendous speed or incredible strength, it's an approach that requires excellent timing.
Against monsters who are too stupid to even read attacks, feints are like completely foreign words. For someone who consciously focused on out-thinking the enemy, at more clearly imagining a path to victory, fighting mindless monsters is the most alien thing.
But, more than anything else, as "someone who counter-attacks", he could tell: these giants do not attack.
They simply plucked up humans and jammed them into their mouths.
Emiya Shirou is someone who had always assumed that every opponent was stronger and faster than him. So, he had trained with the realization that if he missed his counter, if the enemy's blow connected, he would be killed. The gap between what his body can handle and what his opponents could exert was always that large.
But these are enemies that don't attack. Even if he erred, even if they could grab him, if he was grabbed, there would still be plenty of time to recover the situation. The only thing he had to worry about was their teeth. And against someone on the ground, they must pick him up before they can bite him.
And even if they do bite him, his body is swords. Someone biting into a sword has an obvious outcome.
Compared to before...
They are completely different in form, but their function is exactly the same.
A grand thaumaturgy of autonomous, giant familiars that devour people.
Because, the Grail simply used the closest thing to grant the wish that golden fool had made.
They had gone to the castle in the forest.
He--they--hadn't known there was a second Grail, a tainted reproduction.
And because it was a tainted reproduction, obviously that fool who only accepted the best of everything, the certified original, he would obviously sneer at it. So even if he had known about the second Grail, he wouldn't have been worried. That was proven by the course selected by another who was not truly someone else.
But, for whatever reason, for once in his life, that fool had deigned to use a flawed reproduction rather than the original.
Even though she had stayed by his side for so long, at the one time it counted most, he had shown up too late to do anything but watch. He stretched out his hand to save her like he already should have so many years ago.
"There are too many people. Get rid of everyone unnecessary."
Black mud spilled outwards and dissolved away the flesh that had contained it. No, rather than a destroyed container, it was more like the lid was eaten away from underneath.
A calamity that spilled out across the world. His swords could not hold it back any more than they could have held back crude oil spilled across an ocean bay.
"Tch." Shirou clucked his tongue. "It can't be fixed." Shirou repeated. "It already happened. So stop dwelling on the past and move forward." He lectured himself.
He closed his eyes, breathed in, and slowly breathed out.
In a flash, he dropped into a wide stance, flinging his arms outward as his torso strongly swayed.
From his whipping hands, two swords darted out like fish, and took precise bites from the titans that loomed over him.
The sloppy habits he was allowing to rust into his mind would be carefully sanded away. Within his inner world, the dusty wind picked up.
I I I
2.1 end
Next time: a cute glasses-wearing girl has her way with Eren. I dunno whether I wanna go through it or present it as a fait accompli and then just have a couple'a flashbacks.
Later: I systemically kill off more heroines. I guess that might make Mike feel better???
Master of Squirrel-Fu said:
And Daniel, maybe you should have someone proof read it to correct the tenses for you.