... because it's April 1st.
... because I'm back to DSL and spent the last hour waiting for DLs and trying to, ineffectually, write down more Incarna:ENR.
... because Mountain Dew.
... and coffee.
... and ord asking 'how far off target?'. Kami bless him with many Rider doujins.
... and because, while I may not be the best at bringing things to a close, I'm pretty confident in my ideas. And this requires only those.
So, the things I don't think I'll be putting into Split Daybreak unless I decide to make it more of a mess than the concept already is. In episodic format:
file #1 Gate, open! or For a Rose in Bloom.
Endless, yet not.
Infinite, yet defined.
And oh so familiar. The part of him that he'd discovered, that flicker, that glimmer of Eternity that rested at the very core of his Soul, had been here before.
His Spirit knew this place. A realm foreign to the bodies of all but a select few. Amongst whom he was not.
But that was alright. He'd always been good at working outside of arbitrary rules like that.
Although some would scoff at calling the laws of the Grand Reality 'arbitrary'.
He was, at the same time, floating through the emptiness, as if on an invisible tether, Avalon lighting the way through the Nothing towards their common goal, and walking through what his physical senses said was a walkway of some sort.
Pitch black, still. Every step sounded like a cannon shot in the overwhelming quiet.
Whether it was a question of seconds, minutes, hours, days ... perhaps even months or years, he pressed on. Time seemed to have lost all meaning.
That could be considered a good thing, since he was trying to move backwards in that particular dimension.
...
There!
It was so startling that he paused, mid-step ... or, well, whatever it really was that he was doing.
A tug, pulling on the part of him that he'd long since come to identify as Archer.
But not, he blinked, the sort he vaguely remembered the Spirit feeling when it was being summoned. At least, not in the usual way.
Normally, this would have been shrugged off. He knew himself well enough to realize that both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness was a mule-headed stubbornness. A single-mindedness in pursuit of a goal that was the reason he'd made it this far at all.
But this was enough to reach through the determination, and have both the part that was and had always been Emiya Shiro and the one that was and had always been the Heroic Spirit Archer sit up and take notice.
It was not a plea. That was far too demeaning a way to call it.
The very essence of the thing resonated through the place Between the facets of the Jewel that was the Universe that was the Jewel that was the ... etc. ad nauseum.
The cry of a kindred Spirit, defiant in the face of hopelesness. Tearing its way through impossibility with all the contempt of the Reaper's scythe cutting the threads of life.
There was no real hesitation. If he diverted from the path, now ... he didn't know if he could find it again. Not easily, at any rate.
Tohsaka's expertise, limited as it was when it came to this particular application of Jewel Magic, had been invaluable for that.
But if he didn't divert. If he ignored the call. If he just walked away ...
... then the person arriving to fulfill Emiya Shiro's promise would no longer be Emiya Shiro.
And that would simply not do at all.
A simple act, really. Just ... to turn.
And he did. There was a drop, where the path, the walkway he'd been following, seemed to simply disappear.
He didn't even hesitate. He simply took the step.
The foot landed, contrary to expectation, on something solid.
Another step. Another. Another.
And soon he was running, or the metaphysical equivalent thereof, at least. There was a sense of urgency, of pressing need, that arrived with that call.
Again, there was no indication of the passage of time. Were he to have bothered with counting the steps, he would have long since lost track.
But then, out of the nothingness ... a crack of light. Almost blinding, but at the same time so faint.
So faint.
"Don't open it! You don't know what'll happen!" cried a voice from beyond.
The last step, out of the nothingness, out the odd doorway ...
A body falling against him, sagging as its owner tried to press on with the last of their strength, fingers digging into his flesh. The act of a truly indominable will.
Instinctual action had his hands support ... the girl?
Bleeding. Eyes blazing with pure sky-blue colored refusal to bow down to ...
A glance.
The only word appropriate? Arena.
It's ethereal beauty giving him an odd, twisted sort of impression.
Lie given shape. Given form.
The Reality that Was felt ... odd. Fractured. Warped and looped once and again upon itself.
The people?
A man, tall and dark skinned and light haired. The source of the voice. Face locked in a look of ... puzzlement? Startlement? Disbelief? Malice?
A girl, equally dark skinned and clad in crimson, her hair purple. Expression a mix of sorrow, even resignation, but with a glimmer of something underneath.
And a shimmering, circling, furious sky full of steel.
Full of swords.
Even as he watched, they twisted, turned, and pointed to the girl he supported.
"Run! Get out of here! The swords!" the girl in crimson shouted, her voice clear despite the tears flowing from her eyes.
Metal flashed. Shrieked. Cried out in anguish. The sound was a physical thing, bones vibrating to it as it filled the air.
Instinct. Again. Which, in battle, was often a saving grace.
Shiro stood, among the shattered blades that stuck out of the Arena at oblique angles, one hand steadying the pink haired girl.
The other, extended before him, held a Traced copy of Avalon.
Which he then pulled close, and held against the girl's body. Her wounds stopped bleeding. Her eyes blinked, focused ... and Shiro felt a sense of purpose surge through her before he let the Noble Phantasm copy dissipate.
"Impossible!" he heard the man cry. "Who ... how dare you?! How dare you interrupt the ritual?!"
There was a shimmer, and Reality that Was swirled, putting into the man's hand a sword ...
"He broke mine," he heard the girl, now standing on her own, say. There was no surrender there, though.
Shiro didn't know what had led up to this confrontation, but then again, he didn't have to. He knew the girl, with her blazing blue eyes and impossibly pink hair, her blood stained uniform, her stance that spoke of pure, undiluted determination.
Knew her as much as he did himself.
He grinned, crookedly, and grabbed the girl's hand.
And Imagined.
Eyes went wide. Slender fingers wrapped around a hilt.
"Try this one."
And, even though it wasn't the original, just a shadow, just a reflection, a facet, it was still part of the original.
Everything is.
Everything was.
Everything will be.
And everything is connected.
In Tenjou Utena's hand, at the summit that was the End of the World, Excalibur howled.
file#2 coming soon. I shit you not.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm
... because I'm back to DSL and spent the last hour waiting for DLs and trying to, ineffectually, write down more Incarna:ENR.
... because Mountain Dew.
... and coffee.
... and ord asking 'how far off target?'. Kami bless him with many Rider doujins.
... and because, while I may not be the best at bringing things to a close, I'm pretty confident in my ideas. And this requires only those.
So, the things I don't think I'll be putting into Split Daybreak unless I decide to make it more of a mess than the concept already is. In episodic format:
file #1 Gate, open! or For a Rose in Bloom.
Endless, yet not.
Infinite, yet defined.
And oh so familiar. The part of him that he'd discovered, that flicker, that glimmer of Eternity that rested at the very core of his Soul, had been here before.
His Spirit knew this place. A realm foreign to the bodies of all but a select few. Amongst whom he was not.
But that was alright. He'd always been good at working outside of arbitrary rules like that.
Although some would scoff at calling the laws of the Grand Reality 'arbitrary'.
He was, at the same time, floating through the emptiness, as if on an invisible tether, Avalon lighting the way through the Nothing towards their common goal, and walking through what his physical senses said was a walkway of some sort.
Pitch black, still. Every step sounded like a cannon shot in the overwhelming quiet.
Whether it was a question of seconds, minutes, hours, days ... perhaps even months or years, he pressed on. Time seemed to have lost all meaning.
That could be considered a good thing, since he was trying to move backwards in that particular dimension.
...
There!
It was so startling that he paused, mid-step ... or, well, whatever it really was that he was doing.
A tug, pulling on the part of him that he'd long since come to identify as Archer.
But not, he blinked, the sort he vaguely remembered the Spirit feeling when it was being summoned. At least, not in the usual way.
Normally, this would have been shrugged off. He knew himself well enough to realize that both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness was a mule-headed stubbornness. A single-mindedness in pursuit of a goal that was the reason he'd made it this far at all.
But this was enough to reach through the determination, and have both the part that was and had always been Emiya Shiro and the one that was and had always been the Heroic Spirit Archer sit up and take notice.
It was not a plea. That was far too demeaning a way to call it.
The very essence of the thing resonated through the place Between the facets of the Jewel that was the Universe that was the Jewel that was the ... etc. ad nauseum.
The cry of a kindred Spirit, defiant in the face of hopelesness. Tearing its way through impossibility with all the contempt of the Reaper's scythe cutting the threads of life.
There was no real hesitation. If he diverted from the path, now ... he didn't know if he could find it again. Not easily, at any rate.
Tohsaka's expertise, limited as it was when it came to this particular application of Jewel Magic, had been invaluable for that.
But if he didn't divert. If he ignored the call. If he just walked away ...
... then the person arriving to fulfill Emiya Shiro's promise would no longer be Emiya Shiro.
And that would simply not do at all.
A simple act, really. Just ... to turn.
And he did. There was a drop, where the path, the walkway he'd been following, seemed to simply disappear.
He didn't even hesitate. He simply took the step.
The foot landed, contrary to expectation, on something solid.
Another step. Another. Another.
And soon he was running, or the metaphysical equivalent thereof, at least. There was a sense of urgency, of pressing need, that arrived with that call.
Again, there was no indication of the passage of time. Were he to have bothered with counting the steps, he would have long since lost track.
But then, out of the nothingness ... a crack of light. Almost blinding, but at the same time so faint.
So faint.
"Don't open it! You don't know what'll happen!" cried a voice from beyond.
The last step, out of the nothingness, out the odd doorway ...
A body falling against him, sagging as its owner tried to press on with the last of their strength, fingers digging into his flesh. The act of a truly indominable will.
Instinctual action had his hands support ... the girl?
Bleeding. Eyes blazing with pure sky-blue colored refusal to bow down to ...
A glance.
The only word appropriate? Arena.
It's ethereal beauty giving him an odd, twisted sort of impression.
Lie given shape. Given form.
The Reality that Was felt ... odd. Fractured. Warped and looped once and again upon itself.
The people?
A man, tall and dark skinned and light haired. The source of the voice. Face locked in a look of ... puzzlement? Startlement? Disbelief? Malice?
A girl, equally dark skinned and clad in crimson, her hair purple. Expression a mix of sorrow, even resignation, but with a glimmer of something underneath.
And a shimmering, circling, furious sky full of steel.
Full of swords.
Even as he watched, they twisted, turned, and pointed to the girl he supported.
"Run! Get out of here! The swords!" the girl in crimson shouted, her voice clear despite the tears flowing from her eyes.
Metal flashed. Shrieked. Cried out in anguish. The sound was a physical thing, bones vibrating to it as it filled the air.
Instinct. Again. Which, in battle, was often a saving grace.
Shiro stood, among the shattered blades that stuck out of the Arena at oblique angles, one hand steadying the pink haired girl.
The other, extended before him, held a Traced copy of Avalon.
Which he then pulled close, and held against the girl's body. Her wounds stopped bleeding. Her eyes blinked, focused ... and Shiro felt a sense of purpose surge through her before he let the Noble Phantasm copy dissipate.
"Impossible!" he heard the man cry. "Who ... how dare you?! How dare you interrupt the ritual?!"
There was a shimmer, and Reality that Was swirled, putting into the man's hand a sword ...
"He broke mine," he heard the girl, now standing on her own, say. There was no surrender there, though.
Shiro didn't know what had led up to this confrontation, but then again, he didn't have to. He knew the girl, with her blazing blue eyes and impossibly pink hair, her blood stained uniform, her stance that spoke of pure, undiluted determination.
Knew her as much as he did himself.
He grinned, crookedly, and grabbed the girl's hand.
And Imagined.
Eyes went wide. Slender fingers wrapped around a hilt.
"Try this one."
And, even though it wasn't the original, just a shadow, just a reflection, a facet, it was still part of the original.
Everything is.
Everything was.
Everything will be.
And everything is connected.
In Tenjou Utena's hand, at the summit that was the End of the World, Excalibur howled.
file#2 coming soon. I shit you not.
-Griever
When tact is required, use brute force. When force is required, use greater force.
When the greatest force is required, use your head. Surprise is everything. - The Book of Cataclysm