KAIJU FIGHT #11

[synfluxmods]

KAIJU FIGHT #11

CONTENT WARNINGS: memory manipulation, body transformation, monster transformation, blood/gore, human experimentation, possibility of npc death

▶ 001. THIS WAS A FAIRYTALE.

The Outsiders come to Gwen with their proposal, and it appears simple. A group of LILITH operatives go ahead and scout around the Enchanted Forest to attempt to discover more about the kaiju, especially since they seem to be limited on information. While Gwen seems particularly agitated by being forced to wait, she allows the Outsiders their time to go and find as much information as they’re able to divine.

For Outsiders that go, a trail leads them through winding trees and the undergrowth, well-walked pathways that break into various clearings. There are signs of campfires, of civilization, and of people staying here in the wilderness - these may be the rebels that Gwen had spent so long lamenting over. Anyone skilled at tracking or survival might follow the trail, finding a deep cave in the midst of the forest.

Exploring the cave will reveal a community that had been existing practically under their noses. There are tents, clothes littering the ground, fires, even what seems like storage boxes and children’s treasures: various wooden and hand carved animals, including large lions. What is most noticeable is the lack of people; there are some that are around, haunting the cave and peering out at the scouting team as they approach, but they are not armed and do not seem to want to attack any of the party.

They are, at least, willing to answer questions, and they share the following information: they had seen the Outsiders in the castle outskirts and flying overhead, had seen them venturing outside of Windsor, and had come to the conclusion their time was running short. The kaiju left, with what rebels remained, and decided to bring the confrontation to Gwen, for fear of losing more of their own people to the strange affliction that has been harming them for decades.

Yes, they confirm when asked: they have been victim to it as well, and suffering from it too long can lead to transformations that are difficult to undo. The only saving grace has been their leader, Eadmund, who has the power to counterattack what has happened - but he has gone to fight, too.

The scouting party may wish to rush back to Windsor Castle before it is too late.

▶ 002. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.

Back in Windsor, with some of the Outsiders left behind, things are beginning to get more tense. Gwen and her soldiers are gearing up, preparing their weapons and whispering tactics to one another. Clearly, many of them are not impressed with this particular plan. It is difficult to speak to anyone, or to get them to talk to an Outsider, but the few whispers here and there show that they dislike the Outsider's plan, are frustrated with Gwen for allowing it, and want the fight to start as soon as possible; they've even taken swords from the Garrison.

Everything remains tense as they wait for the scouts to return. This is an ample opportunity for the Outsiders to make their own preparations as they wait for their friends to come back, and even to try and delay and distract Gwen's soldiers from their own. Soon, the scouts return. There’s a brief span when they can report their findings to their fellow operatives, but within a few hours the atmosphere shifts, Gwen marching to the gates. Outside the castle walls, an echoing roar shakes the foundations.

Due to the Outsiders deciding to scout and not aid in Gwen's preparations or advising on how to fight the kaiju, the soldiers inside the castle are more on edge and afraid. They are less prepared, their weapons not designed to target the kaiju's weakness, and Gwen seems more desperate. Their outlook is gloomy at best and murderous at worst.

At first, the rebels outside the castle walls do not look remotely intimidating. They're small, but there's an otherworldly aura to them, a light in their eyes that makes them seem stronger, bigger than they would otherwise. Behind them, head tilted back into a roar, is the kaiju, a blue, pastel shard stuck in his back.

Gwen's voice calls out across the battlefield: "You will find no glory here!" Her inability to be more prepared makes her voice shake: she and her men do not know how to use the Outsiders to their advantage, and it shows.

The lion speaks, his voice a low, soft rumble; it may even sound familiar to some Outsiders. It fills the silence, seeming to slip into the ears of anyone listening: "I do not come here to harm you, Gwenllian. I have come to save them." Around him, the 'rebels' cheer, raising their blades in the air.

Gwen's face twists, and she turns to her own people, whispering a few, sharp words. There begins a change in her followers: their eyes are taking on an odd sheen, and their bodies have begun to twitch, and jerk, and... Transform?

Gwen's soldiers begin to grow additional limbs, fur, scales, fangs, claws - a horrifying mixture of human and animal, or, worse, human and kaiju. Her closest generals transform first: one woman becomes a twisted bird creature, another a monstrous badger, and a third a feral, loyal hound. They leap into battle, racing towards the rebels: the Outsiders have a choice.

They are welcome to run into the battle and stop these strange, broken monsters from attacking rebel humans.

▶ 003. A ROAR-SOME BATTLE.

No matter what the Outsiders choose, Gwenllian leaps into the fray. What is immediately clear is the rebels are not attacking to kill. They also seem strangely resistant to the creatures that Gwen has made with her powers. It does not seem to have stolen their senses in the way that other kaiju have done in the past; it feels more like a warm embrace, the sensation of home and warmth.

Gwen's power surges, grows, and seems to flow over the battlefield, as a siren song. Outsiders may be influenced by the flood of her power, and might find their bodies beginning to shift: they may grow wings, claws, teeth, fur, scales or various other monster parts. They may even find their transformation becoming more complete, almost entirely monstrous, mirroring the fate of the generals... Or they may be able to ignore the call. Outsiders who had fallen prey to the memory manipulation are more easily prone to the changes, but can still resist the transformation.

The fight continues, with rebels attempting to knock out or disarm anyone coming their way. They seem almost gentler with the Outsiders, even the monstrous ones, and can be heard making promises to them: "We will protect you", "you will be safe, just let us help", and "Eadmund will free you all".

Throughout the fight, various Outsiders speak with Eadmund and damage him, and it seems as though the emotional impact is greater than the physical one. He keeps pushing through the fray, attempting to get closer to his bounty, when Muramasa strikes out at him with fire, knocking him to his back. Two hands work together to draw the relic from his back, pulling it free - baring it to the world. It is not a sword, but a large horn, embedded within his spine for decades.

As soon as the relic is drawn, Gwen howls. It is a horrifying sound, and her human shape unfolds itself, a bright light swelling, growing larger and larger, before her true form is revealed to all: a unicorn, bereft of her horn, bleeding from the wound on her head. The lion stands taller now, power echoing around him; the rebels sudden appear braver as his own power rockets through them. He goes for Gwen's neck, large jaw sinking into her as a thought runs through the minds of anyone nearby: "I will save you from yourself, my dearest friend."

▶ 004. ANOTHER SLEEPLESS KNIGHT.

Gwen fights Eadmund, and Outsiders will find their own fights ebbing and flowing. As Gwen gets the upper hand, her men grow stronger, turning on not just the rebels but the Outsiders, too. They are particularly violent with any Outsider who did not suffer the strange memory effects; it seems these grow stronger and weaker with Gwen, too.

The removal of the relic from Eadmund's back seems to have made him stronger, even with the emotional and physical damage the attacks from the Outsiders have left him with. Eventually, he seems to overcome the unicorn, smothered in her blood and drowning in her wails of anguish. There's a bright flash of light, and the two of them, Gwen and Eadmund both, seem to... Disappear?

The problem of the horrific monsters still remain, however, despite the disappearance of Gwen and Eadmund, and Outsiders are tasked by the rebels with rounding them up and trapping them in the prisons below Windsor castle. They ask that the Outsiders not kill the beasts, because they are certain of a cure, but accidents can happen, right?

Ripples of rumour spread throughout the castle about the fate of Gwenllian and Eadmund, but the focus is on the recovery efforts. There are various things that Outsiders can do to help: recover the wounded, capture the remaining monsters, repair some of the damaged walls, make meals, and guide the families of the rebels back to the castle from their caves. There's no shortage of aid required.

Finally, a large campfire is built, and there is a mixture of emotions in the people of Windsor, civilians and rebels both. There is joy at their endless fight finally being over, whilst great mourning for the loss of two heroes - Gwenllian the Unicorn, who had defended Windsor for decades, and Eadmund the Lion, who had fought to free her from whatever poisoned her mind. Speaking to civilians gives various viewpoints: some think Gwen was evil, others misguided, while some imagine Eadmund to be some kind of nightmarish fairytale that is told to children to get them to behave.

No matter the view, there is relief: for now, there is a reprieve.

▶ 005. THE LAST UNICORN.

The next morning, Outsiders are awoken by the arrival of a familiar face: Alex, assistant to Dr Spim. Something had been interfering with LILITH's communication since their arrival in Windsor, but with it now somehow dealt with she has been able to bring something: a cure for the monster transformations and the memory effects.

Typically, severe cases of Rift corruption are considered incurable. However, after a certain event earlier in the year, they were able to study a group of corrupted Outsiders that made an unprecedented full recovery. Additionally, thanks to a certain Outsider volunteering for additional testing and experiments, LILITH has been able to use her blood to create an antidote for significant Rift effects! They believe it can also be used to help increase resistance against more kaiju-related powers. Experiments and studies have been promising and now seems as good a time as ever for human testing!

Something else remarkable happens around mid-day. The door to Gwen's room opens, and there's a stampede of people running, whispering she's alive, he's alive, how is this possible, what is happening. Outsiders who walk up to follow the gossip chain will find a unicorn foal, horn intact, curled up with an adolescent lion, their faces pressed together as they rest and recover from a centuries long conflict.

It's not until dusk that the lion wakes up, and Eadmund sits by the great bonfire, greeting old friends and new. As he walks through the castle, something strange happens. Many of the various animals around the castle begin to twist and transform - horses, corgi, badgers, foxes, even the birds, reshaping into a human form. Some seem caught in-between, left with odd wings, dog ears or tails, and others don't turn back at all but seem to be given a human voice once more. Eadmund is apologetic: his strength isn't quite what it used to be, yet, and Gwenllian is too tired to help.

THE TALE OF THE LAST UNICORN.

In the past, a herd of unicorns roamed the forests, travelling around England and bringing the spring with them as they moved. In tune with the world, they encouraged the growth of plants, flowers and vegetation, keeping the country filled with greenery even as technology grew and became more prominent. Alongside them walked a great beast, Eadmund, protective and gentle despite his stature and his roar, who gave strength to those who would rise up and defend the world against its ills, a lion protecting his pride with all that he had.

Then the climate changed. Then the world shifted. Nature suffered, and with it so did the unicorns.

In Britain, the requirement for energy and power led to a second Industrial Revolution overtaking the nation, creating new factories and relying more on age-old technologies to ensure the country survived. The side effects were not immediate, but catastrophic when they came: the reliance on coal, oil, steam and a covert use of rift energy to power machinery led to the landscape twisting into something desolate. Earthquakes became more common, and lush farmland became closer to swamp and quagmires.

Thus, the unicorns returned. They offered aid, tried to help repair the damage done to nature, and offered their powers to soothe the hurts of the humans they loved so dearly. Alongside them was their dearest friend, their lion protector, who imbued the humans with strength and courage to fight against the threat of new beasts, new kaiju who walked the land as if it was theirs to claim. Together, they were formidable: warrior and healer, a pair difficult to defeat.

Humans are greedy, however, and often not content with the gifts they are given. A few saw the damage the rifts had done to their homes, to their friends, and remembered old stories of the power of a unicorn: their horn, their mane, their blood can heal, can soothe, can protect. Slowly, enough that it was hard to note at first, they began to trim the herd, hunting the smallest and the weakest, the youngest, until there were too few unicorns left to bring any hope to the world.

Soon, there remained none but one unicorn: Gwenllian, still young, fierce in her rage and her disgust at humanity.

They are evil, she argued, her hurt and anger overtaking her. There is no difference between them and the beasts.

They do not understand, Eadmund responded, bowing low to comfort her, maw against her neck. Let us help them to know. We can show them something better, help them to understand. We can show them their courage once more, the two of us together. Their intentions were not evil, but the results were. He remained hopeful in his grief, shouldering the weight of being last of their kind. In the depth of his heart, he loved her, and wanted to see joy return to her eyes.

I will show them understanding. Harsh, and cruel. Gwenllian, in her grief, did not wish for anything better. She had seen the horns and hair of her kin ground and used, she had witnessed their blood being harvested, and she was unable to reconcile her anger with her knowledge that it was not all the humans: desperation makes monsters, after all, and that is what she became.

When she rose up to fight the humans, they responded swiftly, and with a strength she did not expect. The source she knew too well, for how often had her dear friend given her strength and courage with his power, lifted her heart with his boasts of victory? To see it used against her broke her, and so she turned on Eadmund, and their fight was as violent as her hurt and her rage: the aftermath as deadly as what was wrought upon the earth.

She did not know that Eadmund was as much a victim as she, his power abused and manipulated, the humans taking what they could from him and using it to harm the only creature he had ever loved.

They fought, friend against friend. Gwenllian lost her horn, embedded in her dear friend’s spine. Eadmund lost his future, cursed to live an endless fight, reviving each time his life was taken. Until Gwenllian’s vengeance was complete, there was no hope in his future.

As the years passed, people began to forget the origins of the disaster, what had happened to the unicorns, and the strength of their protector, a great lion that lingered only in dreams, doing what he could to save those that remained. In turn, humanity turned their faith to Gwenllian, titling herself with the moniker of “Gwen”, a hero of their time with one mission: to rid the world of the kaiju causing such danger and damage.

The more faith they had in her, the worse the world around her became. Those of the highest faith found themselves changing, twisting their limbs into something more monstrous, grief and anger fuelling her: humans have monstrous hearts, so their bodies should match it. Around the castle she called home, the human-kaiju roamed, feeding her power and her madness, a reminder of her true purpose.

Their battle continued for centuries, until news of the successes of LILITH reached Gwenllian, and she hatched a new plan: use the humans to take her final vengeance and spread her transformations to the rest of the world. The only thing standing between her and victory was the remains of her heart: Eadmund who, in all the years of fighting, had not given up on her, and whose power she, too, manipulated to control the guests to her land, to twist their memories and make them easier to shape.

Now he offers the Outsiders this tale, and begs them to help. Help save the friend he still loves with all his heart, and in turn help to save all those who have fallen victim to her strength, her power, her manipulations. Together, they can return hope to their realm, and bring a brighter future to those who remain.

Tired, he asks the Outsiders this: please forgive her, and give her time. She has done such cruel things, but her heart was taken, and she had nothing left.

All that is left is for the Outsiders to gather themselves, ensure their friends are safe, cured and healthy, and begin to prepare for the journey home. It seems that there might be a happy ending to this story.

▶ AFTERWORD.

This is Kaiju Log #11

All comments in this event count for 2 points towards October AC. If you have any further questions, feel free to ask them below.

We would also like to thank players for all their hard work OOCly to allow this plot to unfold!

EVENT BREAKDOWN/RECAP (CLICK TO EXPAND)

1.THIS WAS A FAIRYTALE: Outsiders scout ahead and try to find the rebels. They discover a cave with womena nd children inside: the rebels have already left.

2. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN: The kaiju arrives at the battlefield, and Gwen meets him. Her generals turn into monsters, and the fighting begins.

3. A ROAR-SOME BATTLE: Gwen and Eadmund fight, while around them civillians and Outsiders transform into monsters. The relic is torn from Eadmund's back, and Gwen is revealed as a unicorn.

4. ANOTHER SLEEPLESS KNIGHT: The battle comes to an end and Outsiders are given various tasks around the battlefield and castle.

4. THE LAST UNICORN: Eadmund and Gwen are reborn as young versions of themselves. Eadmund explains the story of their relationship. LILITH delivers a cure the Outsiders, using a new experimental option thanks to a certain Outsider working with them.

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Comments

[copy]

[ Regardless of the anger simmering right below the surface of his frigid front, Yuta is prepared to be patient, to wait Muramasa out for an answer, and keep holding on until he finally provides one if that's what it takes. He needs to know. Has to make sense of what feels like a personal betrayal by someone he trusted most of all. Doesn't he at least deserve to know after everything? Yuta can be calm and still for this, keep a lid on his anger until he has all the facts and knows better where to direct it.

But Muramasa really does not make that easy.

The protest that he's met with is not unlike a slap in the face. It is the most uncharitable way to interpret Yuta's intentions. (Of which there are no ulterior ones, it is simply the same desire to help that has always been there in all previous instances of sharing RCT and physical closeness.) Maybe his master thinks even less of him than he could have imagined. It stings enough to break the placid stillness of his face minutely, the blank expression disturbed like ripples in a pond. His eyes narrow, the corners of his mouth turn down with increased pressure, and his nose scrunches up just so in a telltale sign of displeasure.

Yuta does not let go, grip only tightening even as he moves with the tug, taking a step forward and encroaching into Muramasa's space, almost crowding him back against the workbench. The flow of positive energy neither stops or even falters once. With the increased proximity, it's impossible to miss how wide Muramasa's pupils have gotten. It's impossible, too, not to think of Tasuke on the bed, drunk on heated kisses, pleading for more with eyes just like that.

Yuta staunchly ignores the memory and the twinge of longing it inspires, focus on keeping his voice as even as possible as he responds, matter of fact. ]

I'm not. I'm just doing what I normally do and what I said I would.

[ To take care of him, that is. Yuta is nothing if not known for being a man of his word. No matter how upset he might be with Muramasa right now, he's already earned Yuta's unconditional love and undying devotion. That will not change. There's only one thing he wants. ]

Please just explain yourself, Shishou.

[ To understand. ]

[misclassed]

[ Like a dog backed into a corner, Muramasa's hackles are up. His hands are weakly balled into fists under Yuta's, tendons still atrophied from new growth not even a minute before. The bone sword jostles on the table behind him, half pried free of its mountings. The white shape has a a bloody stamp on the blade in the shape of a bent thumb (from trying to hold it steady with a mangled grip), and it is still waiting to be wrestled out of the cage of machined steel and put to rest. It's not the same as it was while Gwen was under her spell, but the grief and loss and pain linger in the blade from the poor beast that died for its making. His mistake feels raw, in the same way. Like an open wound that won't stop bleeding, worse for being self inflicted. ]

Nothing I say's gonna change how — 's not gonna fix what I did.

[ He just couldn't help it. The sight of someone dear to him who is shackled to a life full of grief, briefly unchained from it. Even if intentions are what matter the most, a lie is a lie, and letting himself slip under the waters of the dream to make the falsehood flow easier is as much a vice as any of the other hundred and seven of them. ]

Now cut it out.

[ He gives another fruitless tug, laughably weak compared to the strength he normally commands, and the sword rattles on the table behind him. Still, Yuta's power sinks into his circuits, coursing along their path towards his core; his heart thrums to try and move the mana through his body, and under Yuta's hands he is even warmer than usual.

(At this rate, his Magic Resistance will be kicking back in too, maybe.) ]

[copy]

[ Cornering Muramasa like this is probably not going to help matters, Yuta knows that. It's just that he'll take a flaring temper and raised defenses over Muramasa trying to run and hide again. He doesn't want a repeat of June where he was left to wonder and just assume the worst. He needs to know. The clatter of the bone sword on the table only briefly draws his gaze over Muramasa's shoulder towards it, the sight of the bloody thumb print merely another dash of vexation on a mountain of growing exasperation. It's not just that Muramasa was continuing to work with mangled hands, it's also that Yuta's aware of how those bone swords made Tasuke feel terrible. Whether it's some kind of messed up form of self-punishment or Muramasa simply being his stubborn self doesn't matter, the end result is the same: he's hurting himself. It only makes Yuta more mad.

Enough so for more cracks in his icy veneer, anger effusing into the tight tone of his voice now. ]

I'm not asking you to fix anything, I'm asking you to explain yourself.

[ Patience may be slipping beyond his reach fast, already worn thin for how tired and upset Yuta is. He's hurting and Muramasa is not giving him what he's asking for nor is he letting him do the one thing that he should have been able to do all along. For once he's angry enough not to be swayed by the rejections thrown at him. His firm hold remains, unyielding. ]

Why? You need this.

[ Even without the lack of his usual strength behind Muramasa's futile struggling, Yuta can feel it in his diminished presence, sense it through the tether of their hands where the positive energy flows through freely to fill the empty space within him, too. It's frightening to feel Muramasa so depleted, even more feverish under his touch. In these circumstances, depriving himself of much-needed mana seems like another way of punishing himself and Yuta won't stand for it. That does nothing to make any of this better. He lets the steady stream turn into a raging river in defiance, cursed energy swelling as he consciously lets go of what little control he has over it in favor of putting his sole focus on converting and channeling. ]

[misclassed]

[ The horn swords were never meant to be a self-flagellation. It's simply that holding a pair of pliers was as much as he could manage with the damage to his hands, and the act of destroying something is always so much easier than creation. Even if the blades made his head hurt and his heart ache, it was work. It was better than sitting here, with nothing more than his regrets for company. Now more than ever, with Yuta in front of him, Muramasa needs something to do with his hands. Anything to excise this feeling from his heart, to put it into the world rather than just him. Instead, he's pinned against his own workbench, his hands held captive, regret rattling around in his chest with nowhere to go. ]

And if I want it from you, I'll tell you.

[ Like hell will he ask, at this point.

Had Yuta simply healed his damaged hands and then asked without trying to restore Muramasa to his usual levels of energy, he might have an answer by now. But Muramasa has the bit between his teeth. He remembers, with angry humiliation, the way Tasuke latched onto Yuta's ambient unused energy in escalating friendly touches that culminated into the same hunger for more, the want to feel satiated. Tasuke didn't know the problem the way Muramasa does, and that want simply helped convince him that it was a good idea to... to do what he did. Tasuke didn't know he was a parasite, and Yuta didn't realize he was being used. Even though the love was there, and it was real as the rest of the dream.

Power keeps rushing from Yuta's hands into Muramasa through his wrists, spreading along his bones and circuits and into that vast empty part of his spirit where his power usually resides. It makes his nerves light up with the familiar (unwanted) electric thrill of sustenance, makes him want to be receptive for more. But RCT is not directed by a mudra or an incantation. It is a raw application of power, directed by Yuta's will alone. Were Muramasa willing to accept the gift, that would be enough.

There is no indicator of Muramasa's Magic Resistance finally kicking in on his part. None of the usual sparks of his magecraft, no electric blue light. One moment power flows easily into him from Yuta, and in the next it evaporates before it can even reach his skin. As if it never was there to begin with. ]

[copy]

[ In failing to even make any attempt at snapping Yuta out of his lovely dream, Muramasa has denied him who he truly is and there's a perceived reflection of that in the obstinate refusal of Yuta's auspicious gift of RCT. It feels like a rejection of his very personhood, of what he can do, who he fought so hard to become. (A jujutsu sorcerer.) It hurts, but it's a rejection he could have just swallowed if Muramasa's well-being wasn't also on the line. Who else is there to provide him what he needs when Yuta knows damn well Muramasa won't go around asking for that help as is evident by his drained presence here? The sting only serves to bring him to the very verge of snapping then. The anger is rising like bitter bile in his throat, ready to spill out in acrid words—

Until his attention is very abruptly derailed. He has never felt his reverse cursed technique repelled before, didn't even know it was possible without something like Angel's technique (the nullifying sort which LILITH seems keen to rob people of) or that Muramasa was even capable of such a thing. It's a jarring sensation to go from having a ready receptacle to suddenly finding nothing there at all. Yuta does not have the Six Eyes, can't perceive the intricacies of whatever might be happening inside of Muramasa without viewing it through the sensory nightmare eyes of his teacher's borrowed body, and yet his gaze snaps down to Muramasa's chest as though he can anyway, the slight tilt of his head sharp and birdlike, calculatingly puzzled. Try as he might, the positive energy can't find a path to follow and so he can only let the flow cease though his grip remains.

At least the diversion was enough to distract from his rising anger, making it so that when his gaze flicks back up to Muramasa's face, the eerie blankness from before has settled back into place. ]

You know, you're really starting to piss me off, Shishou.

[ It's said calmly and almost downright casually, matching his uncanny placidity in a stark contrast to what he's claiming to feel. The stillness before a storm. ]

This was never a problem before. Why keep yourself deprived now?

[misclassed]

[ Greeting Yuta's gaze is the familiar shallow rise and fall of Muramasa's chest, fluttering breaths that betray the his body's want for more and the sudden barely-fueled effort of resisting power all mixed up into one. None of his usual bellows-steady control and capacity. Whatever that was, it took something out of him to do — and the faint trickle of ambient absorption still hasn't stopped. His eyes are still dark with that same hunger, even as he does his best to resist it. ]

I don't need it to work. [ Just to fight. All he needs to work is his hands, and that he had accepted from Yuta with an air of condemned resignation, desperate enough to be functional however he could. ]

[copy]

[ It's maybe the most infuriating response that Muramasa could have given. Both in how it's not a real answer to his question at all and how, of course, it's made to be all about work. As if Yuta doesn't know how important mana is to him and that he needs the sustenance to comfortably exist so far away from his forge and outside his home turf of Japan. Even had he been more ignorant, Yuta can see the strain and need for more written all over Muramasa's body in shallow breaths and hungry eyes, made all the more clear in the wake of whatever it is that he did to repel his RCT. Muramasa's just making things worse for himself for seemingly no good reason. It's maddening. Yuta's been denied his very personhood by one of the people he loves and cares for the most and now he's not even allowed to do the one thing he said he would do and keep his word.

He's not sure if what Muramasa did will mean that touch won't work anymore either, but he stubbornly holds on and stays close anyway. ]

Just let me take care of you!

[ A sharp snap like the deep crack of splitting ice. Akin to water rushing up along the fracture towards freedom, the control he'd previously released means his cursed energy goes spilling out in response to his volatile emotions with wild abandon; a veritable ocean coming to fill the entirety of the smithy's space to cast it into rosy shadows and an unsettling frigidity that lowers the temperature by several degrees, his very presence made oppressive and choking and undeniable. ]

[misclassed]

[ Like a piece of red hot metal dropped onto ice, the air around Muramasa is a pocket of heat and resistance. An eddy of warmth, with the very border between Yuta's cursed energy and Muramasa's shrinking magic resistance rippling in the air as the temperature drops on one side and begins to raise on the other. ]

That ain't your job!

[ Bristling, angry, cornered. He ignores the weak pleas of a boy in a dream, still not dead but dying like the last handful of coals in a cinder smothered hearth, who rattles his heart with the want to lean in to Yuta's arms, instead of pull away further. To let Yuta do what he wants, a familiar safe refuge after a terrible experience. Muramasa shoves the fading boy aside and tries to pull his indignation up higher as shield, calling it principle to ignore the want and shame. ]

It was my godddamn job to take care of you! [ And look where they are now. ] And since I royally fucked that one over, you could— could just—

[ Could what? Fuck off? Leave him alone? Let him get on his knees and beg with his last shred of dignity offered up in apology? Whatever he's trying to ask of Yuta just comes out in a strangled growl of frustration; he heaves at his captured wrists once again, the bone sword still rattling on the table behind him. ]

[copy]

[ Yuta does not pay any mind to the clashing temperatures around them, his cold fury not tempered and made milder for the heat in the slightest. Wild and unfettered alive thing that his cursed energy is when he's relinquished what little control he does have over it, it seeks to drown everything else out; battering waves heedless of the rocks upon the shore. He's unmoved, too, by the angry protest thrown back at him because Muramasa is so very wrong. As Muramasa finds his purpose through his work—whichever jobs he decides to take on—so does Yuta in the taking on of responsibilities.

And Muramasa has already been one for a while now; a need to look after someone who will lose himself to work and isolation if left alone and whose kindness can be taken advantage of all too easily. ]

What? Stop caring about you? That's not how this works! I said I would look after you too and I'm not going back on my word. [ He may be furious, he may be a ruthless monster when he needs to be, but he will not be made a liar and he cannot stop caring about someone who has already so thoroughly won his love and his devotion. ] Even if you did.

[ Because letting him stay lost in a lovely dream sure as hell wasn't taking care of him, but Muramasa clearly knows that. ]

So let me.

[ To avoid turning his grip into something painful and bruising, Yuta responds to the continued struggling by taking yet another step forward, removing the space necessary to even try to pull his wrists free. It leaves Yuta staring down at Muramasa, eyes narrowing in consideration of his options. Would it help to use an amplifier and make a clearer path for the energy to follow as Muramasa once explained it? Perhaps channeling it within will get past whatever is repelling his RCT. It's worth a try. If nothing else, it's offering a different source.

So. Saliva and blood. Combining both for a stronger effect seems practical and it takes little effort to draw the corner of his own bottom lip into his mouth and bite down hard enough until he tastes iron and feels warmth trickle down his chin. He barely feels the sting of it when it doesn't compare to the aching in his chest. ]

[misclassed]

[ For the last eight months, Yuta has been a part of Muramasa's life. Almost half as long as he's been manifested, all told. With every day it takes up more and more of his total existence. By the time spring returns, Yuta will have spent more time in his company than he ever did with Hephaestus. He's familiar with the awful current of Yuta's power. Under most circumstances, it's even something he can ignore, like a bruise that is forgotten until someone presses their fingers into it with a blooming ache. He's learned to bear it, the awfulness blunted by familiarity.

That is when he's feeling well, or when Yuta isn't overflowing with anger and grief. And even with it pounding down on him like a rough surf at high tide, he ought to be able to weather it. But he's exhausted and worn too, his emotional stamina worn down by the sight of suffering from every human, unicorn, and kaiju in England. His indignation at not being able to do what he thinks might be right this time gutters, running out of wick as the waves of cursed energy swamp him.

Still, ever stubborn, he continues to try and pull out of Yuta's grasp, wearing that expression of a man at his own execution under the barrage of cursed energy and truth. He wears it until Yuta pushes even closer into his personal space and switches tactics. First confusion swims up on his face at the sight of blood, Yuta's mouth almost eye level with him exactly, before his brows twist down into worry (because he can't suppress that, even if he tries) and finally to indignation, a furious realization. He knows Yuta's going to try and bypass his Magic Resistance with a physical substitute. He never should have told him that there were other options, but he never imagine he'd be in a position to need to refuse such a gift as Yuta's freely offered energy as it is without a physical path. He can't accept this, he doesn't want to accept it, not until he's done the right thing by Yuta and gives him the first thing he asked for. Not until he's lain his mistake out to be seen for what it is and then put the dream to rest. It's as good as theft, otherwise, falsehoods tarnishing a gift he ought to be grateful to receive, which the boy had taken in ignorance because Muramasa failed to keep a handle on things. ]

Hell no —

[ Pinned between Yuta and the workbench, his wrists still trapped in Yuta's grasp, he has no way and nowhere to escape. Not without drastic measures, equally hated or more harmful. He doesn't need his hands to conjure a blade, only his will; the mana he lacks in his spirit exists in his spirit origin, waiting for a spark to set it align; even without that, he could do as he had in the underworld and slam his head into Yuta's face, hoping that the impact staggers him at least a little. All of these options are things he could do, but not without harming Yuta. Which is worse? A leech or the man in his myth? It's not even a question.

He begins to cant himself backwards, pulling as far from Yuta's bloodied mouth as he can, a last ditch attempt at keep away. The boy clamors with worry, with the want to surrender to someone he can trust and has always found comfort in, rather than back towards that workbench with that awful sword, but Muramasa doesn't care. ]

Yuta, don't.

[copy]

[ This isn't like him. The thought is there, somewhere far in the back of his mind. It isn't like him to ignore any personal boundaries of those he cares for, ever politely mindful of other people's spaces as he is, but Muramasa has never really set them before. Has more or less invited Yuta into his space and always let him do as he pleases, allowing Yuta his fill of affection and warmth while receiving what he needs to feed his spirit in turn; a mutually beneficial arrangement. So to be denied already turns this into an unusual circumstance. It also isn't like him to get angry at loved ones, but it does happen, however rarely. And right now he is livid and hurt and unwilling to let Muramasa keep himself in such a depleted state. It's no wonder, now, how much Tasuke kept vying for more, how starved for mana Muramasa must have been all this time. (Was that all it was about? Yuta can't bear to linger on that thought, not in this moment.)

He lets the anger make him bold and ruthless. Same as it had when he'd shouted down his friends and respected elders as he refused to budge on his awful, heinous plan to turn himself into a monster and do the unspeakable to a man who deserved more than to be used as the tool he'd been viewed as all his life. It had made the most logical sense then. This makes the most logical sense now when Muramasa is not providing any reasonable grounds to base his refusal on.

Trapping Muramasa against the workbench has been somewhat incidental with Yuta's increasing encroachment upon his space, but it turns into something far more deliberate as Muramasa tries to lean back as much as he can in the limited range he's afforded. Yuta follows and eliminates most of what little remains, actively pinning Muramasa's wrists against the surface of the table, spine bending, abdomen coming to press against abdomen. It makes him seem utterly heedless of Muramasa's protest until he stops, face hovering a few inches above Muramasa's, eyes twin slates of unmoving stone, gravity already working to redirect the flow of crimson, pooling in preparation to spill straight down from his lip instead of his chin. ]

Then give me one good reason for you to remain like this.

[ There isn't one so the pause that follows is a perfunctory courtesy at best. Yuta's all but set to lean in, to let go of Muramasa's wrists at the last second to grab hold of his face instead and keep it in place — trusting his weight and the cursed energy reinforcing his body to be enough to keep Muramasa sufficiently pinned in his weakened state — for a kiss more befitting for killing another curse with in all its brutal efficiency rather than the tender and covetous ones previously exchanged between two supposed boys in a lovely dream. ]

[misclassed]

[ It's the bone sword which is the executioner's blade in the end, not Yuta. Grief swamps Muramasa the moment the flat of blade the touches the bare skin at the nape of his neck; someone else's fear and loss swell in his chest, mingling with the awful battering of Yuta's cursed energy and the sight of his favorite apprentice's suffering, whole and complete and unhidden for the first time in weeks, and with the boy who is a part of him but burning out with each passing hour. Muramasa doesn't want to give in so easily, and it is uncharacteristic of him to stand down, ever, but his work up until now had been through the safety of the bandages covering his burns, and he's worn down.

His heart is hammering in his throat with something else's fear and his skull throbbing like the sword's been buried into the spot right between his eyes. There's barely any need for Yuta to hold Muramasa's face in place — he goes limp under Yuta's hands barely even moments after he's fully pressed to the workbench, with no heart to try and argue. The sin in the sword's making cuts right through his remaining resolve to do right.

Yuta's fingers are cold on his face, almost icy, like a corpse decided to get up and walk into his forge instead of staying buried in the autumn mud. His mouth is cool too, but his blood is warm, the feeling of power and life fizzing against his skin where their lips meet. Like Tasuke had only a week before, Muramasa curls his fingers around Yuta's wrists (weakly imploring that he let go with one last tug lacking any strength behind it), but he doesn't fight it. He can't fight it, not with Tasuke clamoring to give in inside of him, and the sword desperate to live behind him. Under the kiss, Yuta's blood is warm and sweet, full of life and power. He can practically smell it in the iron.

Muramasa closes his eyes, so he doesn't have to see the edge in Yuta drawing the worth of that life on what he can do, and so he doesn't have to keep looking at the reason he let the dream linger for so long. ]

[copy]

[ Muramasa goes pliant beneath him and it's not the relief that it should have been. It's only cause for more worry when Yuta had been more or less expecting the resistance to continue. Knowing exactly how stubborn Muramasa can be, part of him had been braced to maybe get bit or have his nose broken again, prepared to ignore any injury his master's wrath might have incurred and let any additional blood just add to the fuel he's offering. None of that happens and it's taken as an indicative of the impaired state Muramasa must be in. There are only too warm fingers enclosing his wrists to give a weak, single tug before all the fight seems to drain out of Muramasa.

It's fine, Yuta tells himself. It makes his job easier.

Blood and spit. It's what he needs to provide when Muramasa gives him no other avenue to provide the mana he needs. So provide he does, not hesitating to deepen the kiss. Yuta wouldn't really know what he's doing, normally, but he's had plenty of practice with Tasuke now and invading Muramasa's mouth is done with practiced ease. Only this time it's not about the action itself or any sentiments behind it. The kiss isn't really a kiss in the same way locking lips with Kurourushi to breathe RCT into the cockroach curse and destroy it from within hadn't been. It's practical. Cold and clinical rather than the amorous kisses shared and stolen in moments of privacy between their unwitting bodies.

He is doing what he feels he needs to do and so, like usual when that is the case, shutting down all emotion is easy.

Or rather, it should be.

It isn't long after Muramasa's surrender until it feels like something inside of him just breaks and shatters—his heart, maybe—and Yuta finds himself faltering. The memories are too fresh, Muramasa too feverishly warm under him, too reminiscent of Tasuke. The unexpected wave of grief that hits him largely douses the fire of his anger, leaves him feeling empty and like he wants to cry all over again when he thought he excised that urge back in the graveyard by giving in to it. He can't give in to it again now, can't let his resolve waver. ]

Shishou, why...?

[ Stubbornly unwilling to break the kiss, the words are murmured against Muramasa's lips, soft and anguished. ]

[misclassed]

[ He can't speak until he swallows down the bitterly warm life in his mouth. Even after drinking it down, the taste of Yuta's blood lingers, a warm reminder of the worth of his life. ]

Get off.

[ Muramasa drags in a deep breath through his nose, trying to ignore the taste and the feeling of Yuta's mouth on his own, instead attempting to focus on the faint ridge of scarring he can feel on Yuta's arm through his useless bandages. The scar of a dismemberment, physical proof of the life Yuta lived and suffered through back in his home is a shadowy reminder that he can barely feel the outline of through the new dull feeling in his fingertips that has replaced the pain of the burns. ]

You can have whatever you want, just get the fuck off of me.

[ Biting words with no force in his voice, just a miserable resignation as the disgust at his own parasitism and the fear of culling douse the firey resistance to having his answer paid for in advance. ]

[copy]

[ A part of him (possibly the one that just shattered) is desperate to listen to the words dragged along his lips and to back off, to gain the distance needed to allow himself the opportunity to pick up the pieces and keep his composure in tact, while another is reluctant to give up the ground he's claimed and potentially give Muramasa a chance to continue denying himself what he needs. What makes the former win out eventually is mostly his ignorance. He doesn't know how much Muramasa gained from the forced kiss just now nor how much more he would need to be sufficiently replenished. It's that not knowing combined with his own faltering heart and the miserable quality to the biting words Muramasa hits him with that has him relinquishing his advantage.

Muramasa also said he can have whatever he wants and Yuta believes him.

So he lets go of his master's face, unbends his spine, and steps back, shoulders hunched slightly inward in a subconscious bid for protection and self-comfort though his face is schooled back into careful blankness to hide the inner turmoil quickly enough. A swipe of his thumb across his lip sees the wound vanish, leaving only a ruddy smear behind as he regards Muramasa with a dead-eyed, tired gaze. He could just ask Muramasa to let him use RCT again, but... ]

An explanation, please.

[ Short words yet somehow spoken even more politely than usual. ]

[misclassed]

[ Eager to get away from that horrible sword, the fearful animal pulling at Muramasa's heart urges him to pull himself up from the table so fast that it almost makes his head spin. The pain at the front of his skull throbs with the movement — Muramasa blinks away the nausea with heavy, forceful breaths dragged through spit and blood, staring blindly at the floor between their feet as his hands grip the edge of the workbench for steadiness.

Yuta has to wait while he reorients himself, carefully putting pieces of his miserable dignity together in their ill-fitting homes. Unwinding the bandages from the worst burns, now healed, comes first. Yuta's blood is still all over his lips, in his mouth, clinging to his throat with a delicious electric charge of power. When his tongue slips out to lap up the easiest to reach mess, still hungry for mana, he doesn't even notice until it's almost all gone. But it's too late now to even spit out the dregs onto the dirt floor; all he can do is tug his sleeve up over his hand and try to wipe away the spit and squash that hunger for more that vibrates in his nerves. Free from the sword's grip, his body remembers the power he turned down, and aches for more. It doesn't care that he has principles, or wants to do things properly, it only knows that without mana a Servant will die, even if eight months in LILITH's employ has proven otherwise plenty of times. Yuta stands just at the edge of his reach, and it would be easy to take that step forward and offer up his hand and ask.

Like hell is he slipping up like that again.

Instead, Muramasa turns away from Yuta, back towards his workbench. He picks up the pliers from before, tests them once in his newly healed grip, and reaches back across the wooden boards to grab that awful sword once more, this time by the hilt.

The "explanation" is meagre, offered up with his back turned. ]

... 'S not like I was trying to get stuck like that. Just thought it'd be easier to keep an eye on you lot, is all.

[copy]

[ In spite of everything, the desire to reach out with anchoring hands is there from the second he witnesses Muramasa struggling to steady himself. Much like the desire to offer more—more RCT, more saliva and blood, whichever—when he sees Muramasa lick the crimson staining from his lips. Yuta shoves the urges aside, ignores the weird twist in his gut at the sight, and simply stays where he is. After disregarding all boundaries and being told to get off, he severely doubts any further aid from him would be welcome and so he keeps his hands to himself and sticks to his own space. The only gift he gives is patience, waiting Muramasa out for an answer as he watches him with blank eyes that betray nothing of the hurt inside.

He does not move, does not budge an inch, does not say anything when Muramasa turns his back on him even as the action merely adds to the sting he's already feeling. He just waits, listening to the sound of the pliers and the drag of the sword across the wooden surface. The sparse explanation he eventually receives is hardly worth the price of his patience or the mana he offered in both positive energy and bodily fluids (like Muramasa saw it as), but it does well to begin confirming Yuta's suspicions. It's something.

Just not enough. ]

So you had a choice. [ Unlike everyone else affected. ] You let Tasuke take over to play along instead of even trying to snap anyone out of it and you lost yourself because of it.

[ He lays it all out, tone back to the eerie calm from before, almost close to bordering on sounding light when he asks, pointedly in a goading dig for more than the bare scraps of an answer: ]

Just because it was easier?

[misclassed]

[ When Yuta says it like that, of course it sounds bad. It's not like he had chosen to be the boy out of malice. Just the opposite, in fact. The accusation is clear, though. Muramasa tugs his sleeve over his hand to grip the blade and peels back the first metal tine holding the bone sword in place with creaking groan, then another. ]

You were closing ranks because the others kept blundering into the differences. [ He'd seen the group messages. ] And nobody else was...

[ Who else would there have been to reach out and find out what the others were doing? If someone had planned something truly drastic, something final, wouldn't it have been better to stop them by planting a man on the inside? With his heart full of anguish and loss from Gwen and the swords, he hadn't wanted to risk losing the ability to keep an eye on Yuta because someone else stuck their foot in their mouth instead of being reasonable. ]

It wasn't a problem at the start.

[copy]

[ Yuta gets it. He does. The strategic importance of having someone on the inside of those affected when they were growing increasingly more suspicious of those who weren't is not lost on him. It's just that Muramasa went about it all the wrong way and took it too far as is evident by everything that followed and transpired. The choice to discard himself had devastating consequences in how it rippled out.

(And he didn't even try to get Yuta back. That cuts deep on a personal level, but Yuta would have been able to accept it and swallow the hurt if it had only affected him. It didn't.)

Staring hard at Muramasa's back, listening to the creaking metal, Yuta's emotions keep being all over the place. The anger he arrived with permeates through again, seeping into his tone by turning it frigid; a hard edge to the calmly spoken words. ]

Wasn't it? You really thought it was the best course of action to keep going like that?

[ Maybe he's being unfair. Possibly Muramasa couldn't have known Tasuke would take over like he did and it snuck up on him without any warning at all. That doesn't change the fact that Muramasa made the conscious choice to discard himself again and again though. Nor does it change how infuriated the very thought makes Yuta. Enough so to spur him into doing the rare thing of raising his voice like a sudden cold snap. ]

How could you be so foolish!?

[misclassed]

[ Muramasa hangs onto the sword in his hand and the work, such as it can even be called that, like a lifeline. The metal twists under his pliers, deformed from its intended shape. He'd much rather be working the fire and striking the anvil than something like this, but it's all he has. It's his last defense. ]

What else was I supposed to do? Leave you be? [ You. Singular. ]

I'm not some onmyoji— I can't just... fix something like that. And this whole place is just— [ He lifts his hand from the sword, and grabs at the air, trying to find the right words for what it feels like. How can he explain to Yuta that he knows the fragility of his life, his heart, despite that monstrous strength? ]

It was working fine, 'til Tezcatlipoca pulled that stunt.

[ And then Muramasa had burnt himself out pushing Tasuke down to keep him from seeing something he should never have seen, keeping a creation as abnormal as a Servant, a prime target for elimination out of the view of Daybit's passengers, and the boy took hold of the body. ]

[copy]

[ You. Singular. Maybe it's a good thing Muramasa has his back turned so he can't see the way Yuta's face utterly falls in concurrence with the icy plunge his stomach takes. The implication behind the rhetorical question is clear and it only makes everything about the entire situation and series of events that much worse. ]

Me. [ The word a hollow sound. ] So it was about me?

[ His love is a curse, Yuta knows this. It keeps being proven over and over again and this is not the first time Muramasa has suffered and lost something of himself because of him. Last time it was an arm, this time his sense of self. It matters little that Yuta did not ask for any of it, would never want Muramasa to do such a thing least of all on his behalf, but that does not change that it happened. Because of Yuta.

His fists clench fruitlessly by his sides, jaw locking and teeth gritting together for a brief moment as he lets the wave of familiar despair pass over him, clinging to his vestiges of anger so as not to be dragged under by it. At least it adds to the overall upset, making it easier to pick it back up after a rough shake of his head. It's not as if he'd expected Muramasa to fix this on his own, just... ]

At least Tezcatlipoca-san tried something and succeeded! It would have been better if you left me be, you— [ His climbing voice cuts off with a choked noise. He refuses to lose composure entirely and cry again, taking a second or two to wrangle his tone back into something at least a little quieter and more even. ] You lost yourself and got hurt.

[ Because of him. That's the worst part of this to Yuta. But it does not help that... ]

You were supposed to take care of me, Shishou. What you did wasn't that.