Hard Mode (SAO/Dresden Files)
- Thread starter BossFight
- Start date
Chapter 7
- Location
- my house
Make sure to read the post above this one so you aren't confused.
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Diavel knelt in the grass of his backyard, the setting sun casting long shadows across the ground. The tall walls of his property hid him from the casual curiosity of his neighbours, and his parents had both left to deal with the fallout of the SAO incident's end. The next few weeks would be a crucial period of freedom for him, before school and parental oversight could limit his movements.
On the ground in front of him, a strip of aluminium foil compressed and folded like the samurai swords of old until it's thin sheet formed a solid metal blade. Above him, the Morning-and-Evening star shone, it's liminal light brightest, and most mystically potent, when night became day and day became night. With each fold of the metal, he trapped the light of Venus in between its mirror-polished layers, making it the perfect focus for his own luminescent magic.
He was on his 108th, and final, fold when Nozumi-san walked into the yard.
Nozumi was the very image of a salaryman. In his forties, he was dressed in an off-the-shelf suit and tie, with his hair cut short and his face clean-shaven. The suit fit awkwardly on him, clearly sized for a man quite a few pounds heavier.
Despite his dress, no one could look at Nozumi and think of anything so harmless as a salaryman.
Two years in SAO had changed Nozumi. He no longer carried himself like an office drone, head hung low and feet heavy from exhaustion. Now he carried himself like an assassin. He was silent as he moved, feet gliding soundlessly over dirt and grass and stone, breathing timed to blend in with the background noise of the city. Ears and eyes strained and constantly taking in the world around him, building a mental map of everyone and everything around him. Hands held loose at his side to grasp for knives that Diavel was almost certain weren't there anymore.
The air around him was unnaturally still, carrying no sound nor movement to those nearby.
Nozumi had been the head of Diavel's scouts, and a trusted friend. He had also been a [Roleplayer], the term given for those who had coped with Aincrad by taking on alternate personalities or roles. Nozumi-san had chosen to become a ninja and thrown himself fully into the deception, swearing his service to a lord he thought honourable. Diavel still felt a little embarrassed to remember that lord had been him.
It had been worth it though. When the game started the guilds had struggled, Diavel had struggled, to achieve coherence. It was simply too difficult to get thousands of deracinated players, most of whom had never fought before, to join together into a cohesive whole. Instead, most guilds had formed along existing social lines, friends banding together into small groups in order to benefit from the existing guild system. [Illfang] had changed that.
Diavel scanned the battlefield, constantly watching for any weakness in their line. [Illfang] was still fighting a group called [Fuurinkazan]. Their tank was starting to slow down and the rest the DPS was flagging. They would need to be replaced soon or they'd rout. [The Unforgotten 400 and 4] would have to be moved up to replace them. Elsewhere the line was solid, scattered pockets of guilds fighting battles against similarly clumped up enemies as the [mobs] tried to rush [Furrinkazan] from behind. It wasn't quite a line, but by virtue of careful planning they had managed to form a semblance of a defensive perimeter around [Illfang], each guild a position on the floor and told to stop any [mobs] which tried to get past them.
Shit! [The Horde!] just broke formation, moving to intercept a group of [mobs] entering from the right doorway. Leaving [Forgoten Winter]'s flanks exposed to another group of [mobs] approaching at an angle. [Forgoten Winter] could see that as well as he could. They were going to break.
Diavel had to go and reinforce them, and send [The Unforgoten Four Hundred and Four] to hold their flank, or the line would break and the [mobs] would sweep their line and hit [Fuurinkazan] from the rear. But if he did that, there wouldn't be anyone to replace [Fuurinkazan] and [Illfang] would break through their center and do the same.
Diavel panicked, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a plan. Did he move to reinforce the flank himself and leave [The Unforgotten Four Hundred and Four] to replace [Fuuinkazan]? His eyes darted to the right, where [Forgoten Winter] was already starting to break. They wouldn't last. He needed someone to replace them or it would just repeat down the line. Did he take both himself and the [The Unforgotten Four Hundred and Four]? Hope [Fuurinkazan] could hold on hold on long enough for [The Horde!] to come back? What if they didn't? What if they died? He'd never killed anyone before. Should he order a retreat?
What if, what if, what if!
Two shapes flew past him, swords glowing with magic. Kirito. And someone else. Twin heroes of old, riding in at the edge of catastrophe to turn the tide of battle. They struck [Illfang] like a storm, twin lightning bolts darting out in succession again and again and again. When one struck, the other retreated, and as the other retreated the other struck. Never relenting. [Illfang] reeled, his primitive AI unable to cope with the relentless barrage of attacks.
Diavel felt jealousy rise in his chest like black bile.
He turned his face from the conflict, now was no time to dwell. An order moved [The Unforgotten Four Hundred and Four] into position, while he moved to reinforce [The Forgotten Winter].
After that battle, everyone had realized the need for larger, more cohesive groups. Some players, including a few members of the actual JDSF, had attempted to replicate military command structures. Putting players through "boot camp", hazing and corporal punishment as they imitated what they knew had worked.
It was too much. Most of those guilds fell apart, the players unwilling or unable to commit to the training.
Simultaneously, so-called "Super -Guilds" started to emerge as various smaller guilds banded together into larger organizations. Such guilds were still only loosely organized, more loose alliances than anything else, with the leaders of each "sub-guild" working together to decide guide goals, but they practised mass combat at least semi-regularly and had a clearly defined chain of command during [raids].
Diavel's own guild, [The Order of the Ascendent Dawn] had been such a "Super-Guild", which made ruling it a careful balancing act. If he did too poorly, or upset too many of the guild leaders, then he could have his authority de-facto or de-jure stripped from him.
Nozumi was once of his guarantees against that. All the [Roleplayers] were, that was why he had so many of them. Not only was Nozumi personally loyal to Diavel, he also considered himself and honourable ninja, and Diavel his lord. As leader of his guild, [The Iga Clan] he both attracted and created like-minded individuals. Individuals who also saw Diavel as their lord.
It lent a certain amount of security to Diavel's position.
Diavel had begun the work of heat treating his blade as Nozumi-san approached, content to allow him to make the first move. Normally Diavel would want to do this by hand rather than with magic to avoid polluting the Venusian essence of his blade with other magic, but at the moment he didn't have the equipment on hand. Luckily, tempering a blade took fire and force, which were both Martian magics, and adding some extra aggression to the blade wouldn't present a problem.
As Diavel worked, he let his mind wander. It had been several days since he had left the hospital, and it still felt surreal. In the game, it had been easy to believe in magic. It had been a game after all. It was a lot harder to believe it in the real world, and that disbelief was dangerous. Magic, after all, required belief.
Diavel could still remember his first time reading the primer given to every player, spawned into their inventory during character creation. 'Magic', it had said "is an entirely mental phenomenon whereby the mage uses their enlightened mind to shape the ambient magical field to their will. To successfully cast a spell one must believe that they can cast it. This belief must be complete, total and unwavering lest the mage's doubts cause the spell to go awry, or worse, fail to work entirely. The stronger the belief, the stronger the spell.' Diavel turned the blade over, hands glowing the same cherry red as the aluminium. He prayed to Mars and Hephestus as he worked, a ritualistic chant which served to focus his mind on the task at hand. He'd never had the knack for it that some of the smiths had, but he had been forced to do repairs in field once or twice just like everyone else. "Spells then are the means by which a mage achieves such belief on a consistent basis. By making a deliberate effort to induce certain states of mind through the use of ritual behaviours and to associate those states of mind with the creation of certain effects, thereby allowing for the controlled replication of otherwise formless and unconstrained will-powered miracles. In the same way that language shapes thought, so does ritual shape magic."
Diavel was shaken from his musing by a polite cough. He turned, and saw that Nozumi had moved closer at some point, and stood quietly in front of him. Diavel hadn't even heard him move. Either he's gotten better or I've gotten worse, Diavel thought to himself.
"Diavel-sama," Nozumi said, slipping back into old habits. "or Nobuyuki-san suppose." His stance was wary, ready to bolt at a moment's notice, but he wasn't scared. His was the wariness of the wolf scenting a trap, not the deer caught in one.
"It's good to see you again, Nozumi-san, " Diavel paused in his work, wiping sweat and soot from his face. Martian magic was not his strong suit and making his spells small enough to hide while maintaining enough power to forge his blade was not easy. "And please call me Diavel, it seems appropriate for what I'm about to ask." Diavel turned the metal over once more, pounding it to shape with harsh blows from his fists. Each motion was a spell, a ritualistic imitation of a hammer blow which imbued his fists with that self-same force. "I must admit, I had expected my use of magic to be something of a surprise." Diavel scowled playfully into the glowing metal of his blade. "I had a whole speech planned out."
"You can still give it, if you want." Nozumi replied, his voice filled with that false interest that all employees use when discussing their boss's hobbies. Diavel would have preferred the feudal professionalism of the game, but at least it meant that Nozumi still considered Diavel his boss. "I'm sure it was very interesting."
"No," he said, waving the offer off. "It wouldn't be the same, and I expect I'll be sick to death of giving the speech before the month is done."
"Ah," Nozumi said "You're doing it then? Reforming the guild?" Nozumi didn't pace, he had crushed that habit years ago, but he did go unnaturally still. Frozen like a statue, only the frantic darting of his eyes indicated the turmoil occurring in his mind.
Diavel worked his blade, pretending preoccupation to buy time. He wasn't ready to start that conversation yet. He didn't want to make his offer until he was sure of the answer. Better to switch the subject. "How did you find out about magic? I was rather hoping it would stay secret for a little while longer, and not just because it made things more dramatic."
Nozumi didn't comment on the sudden change in subject, letting it pass with the usual grace. "The same way you did, I imagine. I was in the kitchen yesterday, cooking something though I can't remember what, and one of our knives was out of reach so I just sort of…" Nozumi waved a hand vaguely, "and the knife flew into my hand. Needless to say I was rather shocked. I assume most players will have the same experience, though being a [Roleplayer] I might be a bit of an outlier. The game was always more real for me than most."
Diavel nodded his head. It would make sense that the [Roleplayer] would find out first, but he couldn't assume they would be the only ones. "It must have been quite a surprise. What did you do, after that? Did you talk to anyone? Your wife, your son?"
"Not yet," Nozumi said. "Or rather, I never planned too. I had half-convinced myself it was just my imagination. Some strange form of PTSD. I think I would have preferred that."
"Nozumi-san..." Diavel started, unsure of what to do. He hadn't expected his friend to take the news so badly. "I'm sorry. If I had been better…"
Nozumi pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a sigh. Diavel had thought he quit. "It's not your fault or your responsibility. I just didn't want this for my son." For a moment, Diavel considered ending the meeting there. Letting Nozumi go home to live his life. Rebuilding the guild without him. He couldn't do that.
"Your son…." Diavel said slowly. "He's in danger. You know that, right?"
Nozomi took a long drag of his cigarette, the wrapping burning down until the embers touched his fingers. He didn't seem to notice. "The thought has crossed my mind."
"What will you do?"
Nozumi went to take another puff of his cigarette and realized it was done. He drew another from his pocket, lighting it with a whispered spell. "I was rather hoping you'd tell me."
"It occurs to me," Diavel said, with feigned reluctance, "that we swore an oath, once upon a time. I see no reason that should end with the game."
Nozumi gave a short bark of a laugh. "You want me to be a ninja again? At my age?" He took a long drag of the cigarette. "What the hell, It won't be the dumbest thing I've ever done."
Tossing the cigarette away, Nozumi knelt in the soft grass. Diavel could see the dew seeping into the knees of his suit, probably the best one he owned, staining them a dark green. Nozumi didn't seem to mind. When he spoke, his voice was crisp and professional. "My lord, what would you ask of me?"
"I need you to find some people for me," Diavel said, handing Nozumi a folded up piece of paper. "The leaders of the other major guilds first, then as many members of our own guild as you can. Start with the [Roleplayers], they are the ones most likely to break the secret."
"It will be done, my lord."
Diavel nodded. "Good," he said. "We've got a lot to do before I call together the White Council."
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Diavel knelt in the grass of his backyard, the setting sun casting long shadows across the ground. The tall walls of his property hid him from the casual curiosity of his neighbours, and his parents had both left to deal with the fallout of the SAO incident's end. The next few weeks would be a crucial period of freedom for him, before school and parental oversight could limit his movements.
On the ground in front of him, a strip of aluminium foil compressed and folded like the samurai swords of old until it's thin sheet formed a solid metal blade. Above him, the Morning-and-Evening star shone, it's liminal light brightest, and most mystically potent, when night became day and day became night. With each fold of the metal, he trapped the light of Venus in between its mirror-polished layers, making it the perfect focus for his own luminescent magic.
He was on his 108th, and final, fold when Nozumi-san walked into the yard.
Nozumi was the very image of a salaryman. In his forties, he was dressed in an off-the-shelf suit and tie, with his hair cut short and his face clean-shaven. The suit fit awkwardly on him, clearly sized for a man quite a few pounds heavier.
Despite his dress, no one could look at Nozumi and think of anything so harmless as a salaryman.
Two years in SAO had changed Nozumi. He no longer carried himself like an office drone, head hung low and feet heavy from exhaustion. Now he carried himself like an assassin. He was silent as he moved, feet gliding soundlessly over dirt and grass and stone, breathing timed to blend in with the background noise of the city. Ears and eyes strained and constantly taking in the world around him, building a mental map of everyone and everything around him. Hands held loose at his side to grasp for knives that Diavel was almost certain weren't there anymore.
The air around him was unnaturally still, carrying no sound nor movement to those nearby.
Nozumi had been the head of Diavel's scouts, and a trusted friend. He had also been a [Roleplayer], the term given for those who had coped with Aincrad by taking on alternate personalities or roles. Nozumi-san had chosen to become a ninja and thrown himself fully into the deception, swearing his service to a lord he thought honourable. Diavel still felt a little embarrassed to remember that lord had been him.
It had been worth it though. When the game started the guilds had struggled, Diavel had struggled, to achieve coherence. It was simply too difficult to get thousands of deracinated players, most of whom had never fought before, to join together into a cohesive whole. Instead, most guilds had formed along existing social lines, friends banding together into small groups in order to benefit from the existing guild system. [Illfang] had changed that.
Diavel scanned the battlefield, constantly watching for any weakness in their line. [Illfang] was still fighting a group called [Fuurinkazan]. Their tank was starting to slow down and the rest the DPS was flagging. They would need to be replaced soon or they'd rout. [The Unforgotten 400 and 4] would have to be moved up to replace them. Elsewhere the line was solid, scattered pockets of guilds fighting battles against similarly clumped up enemies as the [mobs] tried to rush [Furrinkazan] from behind. It wasn't quite a line, but by virtue of careful planning they had managed to form a semblance of a defensive perimeter around [Illfang], each guild a position on the floor and told to stop any [mobs] which tried to get past them.
Shit! [The Horde!] just broke formation, moving to intercept a group of [mobs] entering from the right doorway. Leaving [Forgoten Winter]'s flanks exposed to another group of [mobs] approaching at an angle. [Forgoten Winter] could see that as well as he could. They were going to break.
Diavel had to go and reinforce them, and send [The Unforgoten Four Hundred and Four] to hold their flank, or the line would break and the [mobs] would sweep their line and hit [Fuurinkazan] from the rear. But if he did that, there wouldn't be anyone to replace [Fuurinkazan] and [Illfang] would break through their center and do the same.
Diavel panicked, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a plan. Did he move to reinforce the flank himself and leave [The Unforgotten Four Hundred and Four] to replace [Fuuinkazan]? His eyes darted to the right, where [Forgoten Winter] was already starting to break. They wouldn't last. He needed someone to replace them or it would just repeat down the line. Did he take both himself and the [The Unforgotten Four Hundred and Four]? Hope [Fuurinkazan] could hold on hold on long enough for [The Horde!] to come back? What if they didn't? What if they died? He'd never killed anyone before. Should he order a retreat?
What if, what if, what if!
Two shapes flew past him, swords glowing with magic. Kirito. And someone else. Twin heroes of old, riding in at the edge of catastrophe to turn the tide of battle. They struck [Illfang] like a storm, twin lightning bolts darting out in succession again and again and again. When one struck, the other retreated, and as the other retreated the other struck. Never relenting. [Illfang] reeled, his primitive AI unable to cope with the relentless barrage of attacks.
Diavel felt jealousy rise in his chest like black bile.
He turned his face from the conflict, now was no time to dwell. An order moved [The Unforgotten Four Hundred and Four] into position, while he moved to reinforce [The Forgotten Winter].
After that battle, everyone had realized the need for larger, more cohesive groups. Some players, including a few members of the actual JDSF, had attempted to replicate military command structures. Putting players through "boot camp", hazing and corporal punishment as they imitated what they knew had worked.
It was too much. Most of those guilds fell apart, the players unwilling or unable to commit to the training.
Simultaneously, so-called "Super -Guilds" started to emerge as various smaller guilds banded together into larger organizations. Such guilds were still only loosely organized, more loose alliances than anything else, with the leaders of each "sub-guild" working together to decide guide goals, but they practised mass combat at least semi-regularly and had a clearly defined chain of command during [raids].
Diavel's own guild, [The Order of the Ascendent Dawn] had been such a "Super-Guild", which made ruling it a careful balancing act. If he did too poorly, or upset too many of the guild leaders, then he could have his authority de-facto or de-jure stripped from him.
Nozumi was once of his guarantees against that. All the [Roleplayers] were, that was why he had so many of them. Not only was Nozumi personally loyal to Diavel, he also considered himself and honourable ninja, and Diavel his lord. As leader of his guild, [The Iga Clan] he both attracted and created like-minded individuals. Individuals who also saw Diavel as their lord.
It lent a certain amount of security to Diavel's position.
Diavel had begun the work of heat treating his blade as Nozumi-san approached, content to allow him to make the first move. Normally Diavel would want to do this by hand rather than with magic to avoid polluting the Venusian essence of his blade with other magic, but at the moment he didn't have the equipment on hand. Luckily, tempering a blade took fire and force, which were both Martian magics, and adding some extra aggression to the blade wouldn't present a problem.
As Diavel worked, he let his mind wander. It had been several days since he had left the hospital, and it still felt surreal. In the game, it had been easy to believe in magic. It had been a game after all. It was a lot harder to believe it in the real world, and that disbelief was dangerous. Magic, after all, required belief.
Diavel could still remember his first time reading the primer given to every player, spawned into their inventory during character creation. 'Magic', it had said "is an entirely mental phenomenon whereby the mage uses their enlightened mind to shape the ambient magical field to their will. To successfully cast a spell one must believe that they can cast it. This belief must be complete, total and unwavering lest the mage's doubts cause the spell to go awry, or worse, fail to work entirely. The stronger the belief, the stronger the spell.' Diavel turned the blade over, hands glowing the same cherry red as the aluminium. He prayed to Mars and Hephestus as he worked, a ritualistic chant which served to focus his mind on the task at hand. He'd never had the knack for it that some of the smiths had, but he had been forced to do repairs in field once or twice just like everyone else. "Spells then are the means by which a mage achieves such belief on a consistent basis. By making a deliberate effort to induce certain states of mind through the use of ritual behaviours and to associate those states of mind with the creation of certain effects, thereby allowing for the controlled replication of otherwise formless and unconstrained will-powered miracles. In the same way that language shapes thought, so does ritual shape magic."
Diavel was shaken from his musing by a polite cough. He turned, and saw that Nozumi had moved closer at some point, and stood quietly in front of him. Diavel hadn't even heard him move. Either he's gotten better or I've gotten worse, Diavel thought to himself.
"Diavel-sama," Nozumi said, slipping back into old habits. "or Nobuyuki-san suppose." His stance was wary, ready to bolt at a moment's notice, but he wasn't scared. His was the wariness of the wolf scenting a trap, not the deer caught in one.
"It's good to see you again, Nozumi-san, " Diavel paused in his work, wiping sweat and soot from his face. Martian magic was not his strong suit and making his spells small enough to hide while maintaining enough power to forge his blade was not easy. "And please call me Diavel, it seems appropriate for what I'm about to ask." Diavel turned the metal over once more, pounding it to shape with harsh blows from his fists. Each motion was a spell, a ritualistic imitation of a hammer blow which imbued his fists with that self-same force. "I must admit, I had expected my use of magic to be something of a surprise." Diavel scowled playfully into the glowing metal of his blade. "I had a whole speech planned out."
"You can still give it, if you want." Nozumi replied, his voice filled with that false interest that all employees use when discussing their boss's hobbies. Diavel would have preferred the feudal professionalism of the game, but at least it meant that Nozumi still considered Diavel his boss. "I'm sure it was very interesting."
"No," he said, waving the offer off. "It wouldn't be the same, and I expect I'll be sick to death of giving the speech before the month is done."
"Ah," Nozumi said "You're doing it then? Reforming the guild?" Nozumi didn't pace, he had crushed that habit years ago, but he did go unnaturally still. Frozen like a statue, only the frantic darting of his eyes indicated the turmoil occurring in his mind.
Diavel worked his blade, pretending preoccupation to buy time. He wasn't ready to start that conversation yet. He didn't want to make his offer until he was sure of the answer. Better to switch the subject. "How did you find out about magic? I was rather hoping it would stay secret for a little while longer, and not just because it made things more dramatic."
Nozumi didn't comment on the sudden change in subject, letting it pass with the usual grace. "The same way you did, I imagine. I was in the kitchen yesterday, cooking something though I can't remember what, and one of our knives was out of reach so I just sort of…" Nozumi waved a hand vaguely, "and the knife flew into my hand. Needless to say I was rather shocked. I assume most players will have the same experience, though being a [Roleplayer] I might be a bit of an outlier. The game was always more real for me than most."
Diavel nodded his head. It would make sense that the [Roleplayer] would find out first, but he couldn't assume they would be the only ones. "It must have been quite a surprise. What did you do, after that? Did you talk to anyone? Your wife, your son?"
"Not yet," Nozumi said. "Or rather, I never planned too. I had half-convinced myself it was just my imagination. Some strange form of PTSD. I think I would have preferred that."
"Nozumi-san..." Diavel started, unsure of what to do. He hadn't expected his friend to take the news so badly. "I'm sorry. If I had been better…"
Nozumi pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a sigh. Diavel had thought he quit. "It's not your fault or your responsibility. I just didn't want this for my son." For a moment, Diavel considered ending the meeting there. Letting Nozumi go home to live his life. Rebuilding the guild without him. He couldn't do that.
"Your son…." Diavel said slowly. "He's in danger. You know that, right?"
Nozomi took a long drag of his cigarette, the wrapping burning down until the embers touched his fingers. He didn't seem to notice. "The thought has crossed my mind."
"What will you do?"
Nozumi went to take another puff of his cigarette and realized it was done. He drew another from his pocket, lighting it with a whispered spell. "I was rather hoping you'd tell me."
"It occurs to me," Diavel said, with feigned reluctance, "that we swore an oath, once upon a time. I see no reason that should end with the game."
Nozumi gave a short bark of a laugh. "You want me to be a ninja again? At my age?" He took a long drag of the cigarette. "What the hell, It won't be the dumbest thing I've ever done."
Tossing the cigarette away, Nozumi knelt in the soft grass. Diavel could see the dew seeping into the knees of his suit, probably the best one he owned, staining them a dark green. Nozumi didn't seem to mind. When he spoke, his voice was crisp and professional. "My lord, what would you ask of me?"
"I need you to find some people for me," Diavel said, handing Nozumi a folded up piece of paper. "The leaders of the other major guilds first, then as many members of our own guild as you can. Start with the [Roleplayers], they are the ones most likely to break the secret."
"It will be done, my lord."
Diavel nodded. "Good," he said. "We've got a lot to do before I call together the White Council."
Chapter 11 - Meeting
- Location
- my house
Asuna stared as she walked through the portal, excitement and fear making a noxious mixture in her stomach.
Aincrad.
It didn't feel real. Or rather, it felt too real. Like her life since the hospital was just a dream, ephemeral and beautiful and already fading away.
She grabbed Kirito's hand, finger's interlaced tightly with his own.
They were in the Forum of the [Black Iron Palace] the grand amphitheatre in which the guilds had met to discuss issues, create laws and, most importantly, plan the war.
Light shone down on them as it passed through the stained glass windows lining the walls, casting the room in rainbow shades. One hundred different mosaics stretched from floor to ceiling, each depicting a different victory in the field, a different boss defeated.
It was with no small amount of pride that Asuna noted the plethora of white and red light which decorated the chamber. The colours of the [Knights of Blood, a testament to the many battles won thanks to their efforts.
There had been ninety-nine mosaics when she had last entered this room. When she and the other leaders of the White Council had briefed the assembled players about their plan to assault [The Castle at the Top of the World].
There was a new one now. One not built by their hands.
The latest, done in shades of purple and black, drew her eye. It depicted Kirito, swords raised in battle against Kayaba, her own form bleeding on the ground, staining the bottom of the mosaic in vivid red.
She wrenched her eyes away, forcing herself to scan the room.
They were in the centre of the room, in which stood a simple round table, with seven seats arrayed about its sides, two more than usual to accommodate Argo and Agil. Around them rose the seats of the forum, ten rows of ten benches arrayed in a circle about their table, each one encircling and rising above the last. It gave the forum the shape of a funnel with their table at the spout.
Along the walls at the top of the forum, Asuna could see members of Diavel's "Ascendant Dawn" armoured in almain rivet, with their namesake sigil emblazoned on the chest. With an almost clinical detachment, Asuna noted that they weren't here for show. Each bore shield, spear and sword as if expecting battle.
Diavel noticed her looking. She moved on without comment, taking her seat at the table, Kirito standing a step behind her and to the left.
The other's started at her movement, walking quickly to catch up. By unspoken agreement, each took their seats around the table, allegiances drawn in the placement of seats. Asuna sat to Diavel's right, with Thinker on his other side. Next to Thinker Kibaou had conspicuously refused to be seated, a scowl on his face and his arms resting on the back of his own chair. Presumably, he meant to be intimidating, but Asuna found it more annoying than anything else. Next to his empty chair sat Kumiko, chair tilted back and feet resting on the table in performative nonchalance, her previous gregariousness replaced with the thoughtful silence she brought to these meetings. Beside her sat Agil, looking vaguely nervous to sit in on a planning session hosted by the Council of Five.
Where Agil was nervous, Argo was blissfully, almost ludicrously, nonchalant. She had chosen to wander off and examine the room around her, rather than take a seat at the table, examining the world with all the mischievous curiosity of her namesake. Asuna knew better than to think her show of distraction would prevent her from following the conversation, or providing her usual cutting insights.
Diavel waited for Argo to move to the table, but when she made no indication to do so, Asuna noticed his smile strain at the edges. Clasping his hands, he began to speak, voice loud and clear. Judging by how his soldiers reacted, he had cast that oratory spell of his.
"Frontliners, Allies, Friends. This," Diavel said, as he tapped the stone table in front of him "is Aincrad. I do not have any answers. I cannot tell you how or why this happened. But this is real. It is not an illusion, nor a fake, nor a trick of the mind. Aincrad was real. And so are it's monsters." So saying, Diavel cast something upon the table in front of them, a cloth sack soaked black with blood.
Asuna recoiled from the stench, the smell of it lying thick in her mouth. The others had as well, faces showing a dozen different emotions between half as many people.
Kumiko reached across the table and opened the bag.
The head of a Red Courtier was inside, black fur matted with dried blood. Too long tongue lolling from a too-large mouth filled with too large fangs. It's cartoonish proportions rendered ghoulish by the realities of stretched flesh.
The room erupted into shock at this revelation. Exclamations of surprise and impossibility flying loud and fast through the air. It was one thing to know Aincrad was real. Even the existence of magic had not been too great a surprise. They had lived two years in the game. Where magic was fact and way of life. It had been a surprise, yes, to see Diavel open that portal, but no great shock. They hadn't yet had time to grow accustomed to its absence, or a world in which it was fake.
The existence of monsters, that was different. They had fought long and hard to escape the game, to reclaim their former lives. To be safe. This though, meant that all their battles had been for not. That their great victory had been a temporary reprieve, and not the lasting peace they had thought.
"I can't say I'm surprised," Kumiko spoke, with her typical drawl. "Not after you opened a portal straight into the nevernever, but still this is a lot to take in." She gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "I mean, magic is one thing, I could see that being hidden, but monsters?"
"Not as hard as you'd think," Argo said, speaking up from where she stood at the benches. "After all, who would you tell? The police would just dismiss your case, and your family wouldn't help you. At best they might place you in an asylum. And if you try to do some investigating of your own?" Argo pulled out a notebook from the front pocket of her hoodie, opening it to a bookmarked page. "Well, official statistics list an average of 80,000 missing person cases a year, but most experts on the Johatsu believe those numbers to be woefully under reported. An average of 20,000 people commit suicide each year, and 950 are murdered. It wouldn't be hard to add a few more to that number. Make your victims jsut another suicide or disappearance, quitely ignored by society at large." She spun around slowly, hands behind her head. "And if people keep looking? Well then they just get added to that number, any investigations proof that they were unwell. After all, they were sneaking out at night in search of monsters, or talking about how the Johatsu were quite literally spirited away." She closed her book with a loud snap."An open and shut case."
Asuna raised one hand to her mouth. "That's not right," Asuna muttered, horror marring her face. "It can't be that easy."
"Sometimes it is, Aa-chan." Argo said, voice sad. "Sometimes people just disappear, and nobody cares to look."
Asuna looked away, hands clenched in anger.
"None of which matters," Kibaou cut in. "Kayaba is dead, so the how's and why's of what he's done doesn't matter. What we need to decide is what happens next."
Diavel nodded his head at that, a fencer acknowledging a point well struck. "Agreed. Magic was one thing, but the existence of monsters changes things. The White Council must act if we are to protect ourselves. Until we do, none of us are safe."
"What do you suggest," Asuna asked.
"We seize the initiative," Diavel said, voice hot with conviction. "Right now, nobody knows we exist, but that advantage won't last forever. That vampire wasn't the first to start sniffing our people, and it won't be the last."Diavel paused a beat, letting the implications sink in before he continued. "So we take the fight to them. Hit them hard, and hit them fast, so we can negotiate from a position of power."
By Diavel's side, the air swirled into a violent gust of wind and dust, blocking the area near him from view. When it faded, it revealed a figure dressed in the traditional garb of the Shinobi standing by Diavel's side. The figure gave a brief bow before passing each member of the table a simple manilla folder. "I have Nozumi-san leading investigation teams all over the city, looking for an opportunity we could use. We have learned that the Red Court is not usually this active in Japan, but that they have recently been making moves to secure a foothold in the country. As part of this effort, they have been muscling out several smaller groups, and attempting to ally with one of the great Yokai families. The attempts have begun to bear fruit. At some point in the next month, the heads of the Inagawa-Kai will be meeting with the Red Court to discuss the terms of their alliance. The Red Court will be bringing a sizable donation to seal the deal. If we can capture this money, we can use that capital to fund our own activities, giving us time to set up more permanent methods of funding."
Asuna flipped through her folder as he spoke, reading through the dossier he had provided with the keen tactical mind which had led her guild to so many victories. The plan wasn't bad but... "At least from a tactical standpoint, the plan is solid. If the information contained here is correct, and I have no doubt it is," here she nodded at Nozumi. He had always done good work. "Then we should be able to pull this off. But I worry if it is the right choice from a strategic perspective."
"I'm with Asuna on this," Kumiko added, voice languid as if she were deciding on her words even as she spoke them. "Even if we succeed, these resources won't last forever. We'll need to find another form of income, and I worry about getting into what may well be a protracted war before one is secured."
"And if we wait," Diavel sneered. "You know what the Red Court can do. Can we really afford to wait around doing nothing while they get a foothold in the country?"
"Can we afford not to," Asuna asksed. "We need supplies to fight the Red Court, and we don't know how long the war will take. If we rely on conquest to fund our armies, then one bad month could make us fall apart."
"Well, then, why don't we just take over?" Kibao said. When everyone just looked at him in confusion, he continued. "Diavel said these guys run protection rackets right? Why not do the same?" Seeing the anger on everyone's face, he raised his hands defensively. "Now hear me out. If the supernatural really has taken over most of the criminal element, then that means that people are in danger." Everyone settled down at that, a wary tension filling the air as they waited to see what Kibaou had to say. "Danger they need to be protected from. It is not immoral, by any stretch of the imagination, to offer them protection in return for the fund needed to supply that protection."
"You're talking about a protection racket," Asuna said sharply.
"I'm talking about a business," Kibaou replied. "People are in danger, and we can't protect them if we don't have funds. It only seems fair that they chip in."
"And if they refuse to pay," Asuna said. "What do you do then?"
"Nothing," Kibao said with a shrug.
"Nothing," Asuna said, suspicion lacing her voice. "No threats? No extortion?"
"Why bother? If they don't want our protection then they can see how well they live without. We're under no obligation to help those who don't pull their weight."
"How pragmatic of you," Asuna said. She fit more venom in the word pragmatic then any curse or spell could achieve.
"It wouldn't be practical anyway," Agil said. "There simply aren't enough of us to run something like that. I think we should look to the crafting guilds instead. Given the right influx of cash, we could produce all sorts of potions and magic items. Things people would pay through the nose for, in both the regular and moonlit worlds. We set up the right supply chain, and the organization could easily pay for itself."
"Not a bad idea," Thinker said. "We have a lot of low level players who produce things like health potions, sleep reducers, good luck charms. If we put them to work, they could easily make back our investment ten times over."
"Perfect," Diavel said. "We can start putting something together right away. Asuna-san, Kumiko-san, would this be satisfactory to you?" At their nods, he continued. "Good, then I'd like to begin discussing the specifics of the operation. Asuna-san, I was hoping you could take a look…"
Aincrad.
It didn't feel real. Or rather, it felt too real. Like her life since the hospital was just a dream, ephemeral and beautiful and already fading away.
She grabbed Kirito's hand, finger's interlaced tightly with his own.
They were in the Forum of the [Black Iron Palace] the grand amphitheatre in which the guilds had met to discuss issues, create laws and, most importantly, plan the war.
Light shone down on them as it passed through the stained glass windows lining the walls, casting the room in rainbow shades. One hundred different mosaics stretched from floor to ceiling, each depicting a different victory in the field, a different boss defeated.
It was with no small amount of pride that Asuna noted the plethora of white and red light which decorated the chamber. The colours of the [Knights of Blood, a testament to the many battles won thanks to their efforts.
There had been ninety-nine mosaics when she had last entered this room. When she and the other leaders of the White Council had briefed the assembled players about their plan to assault [The Castle at the Top of the World].
There was a new one now. One not built by their hands.
The latest, done in shades of purple and black, drew her eye. It depicted Kirito, swords raised in battle against Kayaba, her own form bleeding on the ground, staining the bottom of the mosaic in vivid red.
She wrenched her eyes away, forcing herself to scan the room.
They were in the centre of the room, in which stood a simple round table, with seven seats arrayed about its sides, two more than usual to accommodate Argo and Agil. Around them rose the seats of the forum, ten rows of ten benches arrayed in a circle about their table, each one encircling and rising above the last. It gave the forum the shape of a funnel with their table at the spout.
Along the walls at the top of the forum, Asuna could see members of Diavel's "Ascendant Dawn" armoured in almain rivet, with their namesake sigil emblazoned on the chest. With an almost clinical detachment, Asuna noted that they weren't here for show. Each bore shield, spear and sword as if expecting battle.
Diavel noticed her looking. She moved on without comment, taking her seat at the table, Kirito standing a step behind her and to the left.
The other's started at her movement, walking quickly to catch up. By unspoken agreement, each took their seats around the table, allegiances drawn in the placement of seats. Asuna sat to Diavel's right, with Thinker on his other side. Next to Thinker Kibaou had conspicuously refused to be seated, a scowl on his face and his arms resting on the back of his own chair. Presumably, he meant to be intimidating, but Asuna found it more annoying than anything else. Next to his empty chair sat Kumiko, chair tilted back and feet resting on the table in performative nonchalance, her previous gregariousness replaced with the thoughtful silence she brought to these meetings. Beside her sat Agil, looking vaguely nervous to sit in on a planning session hosted by the Council of Five.
Where Agil was nervous, Argo was blissfully, almost ludicrously, nonchalant. She had chosen to wander off and examine the room around her, rather than take a seat at the table, examining the world with all the mischievous curiosity of her namesake. Asuna knew better than to think her show of distraction would prevent her from following the conversation, or providing her usual cutting insights.
Diavel waited for Argo to move to the table, but when she made no indication to do so, Asuna noticed his smile strain at the edges. Clasping his hands, he began to speak, voice loud and clear. Judging by how his soldiers reacted, he had cast that oratory spell of his.
"Frontliners, Allies, Friends. This," Diavel said, as he tapped the stone table in front of him "is Aincrad. I do not have any answers. I cannot tell you how or why this happened. But this is real. It is not an illusion, nor a fake, nor a trick of the mind. Aincrad was real. And so are it's monsters." So saying, Diavel cast something upon the table in front of them, a cloth sack soaked black with blood.
Asuna recoiled from the stench, the smell of it lying thick in her mouth. The others had as well, faces showing a dozen different emotions between half as many people.
Kumiko reached across the table and opened the bag.
The head of a Red Courtier was inside, black fur matted with dried blood. Too long tongue lolling from a too-large mouth filled with too large fangs. It's cartoonish proportions rendered ghoulish by the realities of stretched flesh.
The room erupted into shock at this revelation. Exclamations of surprise and impossibility flying loud and fast through the air. It was one thing to know Aincrad was real. Even the existence of magic had not been too great a surprise. They had lived two years in the game. Where magic was fact and way of life. It had been a surprise, yes, to see Diavel open that portal, but no great shock. They hadn't yet had time to grow accustomed to its absence, or a world in which it was fake.
The existence of monsters, that was different. They had fought long and hard to escape the game, to reclaim their former lives. To be safe. This though, meant that all their battles had been for not. That their great victory had been a temporary reprieve, and not the lasting peace they had thought.
"I can't say I'm surprised," Kumiko spoke, with her typical drawl. "Not after you opened a portal straight into the nevernever, but still this is a lot to take in." She gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "I mean, magic is one thing, I could see that being hidden, but monsters?"
"Not as hard as you'd think," Argo said, speaking up from where she stood at the benches. "After all, who would you tell? The police would just dismiss your case, and your family wouldn't help you. At best they might place you in an asylum. And if you try to do some investigating of your own?" Argo pulled out a notebook from the front pocket of her hoodie, opening it to a bookmarked page. "Well, official statistics list an average of 80,000 missing person cases a year, but most experts on the Johatsu believe those numbers to be woefully under reported. An average of 20,000 people commit suicide each year, and 950 are murdered. It wouldn't be hard to add a few more to that number. Make your victims jsut another suicide or disappearance, quitely ignored by society at large." She spun around slowly, hands behind her head. "And if people keep looking? Well then they just get added to that number, any investigations proof that they were unwell. After all, they were sneaking out at night in search of monsters, or talking about how the Johatsu were quite literally spirited away." She closed her book with a loud snap."An open and shut case."
Asuna raised one hand to her mouth. "That's not right," Asuna muttered, horror marring her face. "It can't be that easy."
"Sometimes it is, Aa-chan." Argo said, voice sad. "Sometimes people just disappear, and nobody cares to look."
Asuna looked away, hands clenched in anger.
"None of which matters," Kibaou cut in. "Kayaba is dead, so the how's and why's of what he's done doesn't matter. What we need to decide is what happens next."
Diavel nodded his head at that, a fencer acknowledging a point well struck. "Agreed. Magic was one thing, but the existence of monsters changes things. The White Council must act if we are to protect ourselves. Until we do, none of us are safe."
"What do you suggest," Asuna asked.
"We seize the initiative," Diavel said, voice hot with conviction. "Right now, nobody knows we exist, but that advantage won't last forever. That vampire wasn't the first to start sniffing our people, and it won't be the last."Diavel paused a beat, letting the implications sink in before he continued. "So we take the fight to them. Hit them hard, and hit them fast, so we can negotiate from a position of power."
By Diavel's side, the air swirled into a violent gust of wind and dust, blocking the area near him from view. When it faded, it revealed a figure dressed in the traditional garb of the Shinobi standing by Diavel's side. The figure gave a brief bow before passing each member of the table a simple manilla folder. "I have Nozumi-san leading investigation teams all over the city, looking for an opportunity we could use. We have learned that the Red Court is not usually this active in Japan, but that they have recently been making moves to secure a foothold in the country. As part of this effort, they have been muscling out several smaller groups, and attempting to ally with one of the great Yokai families. The attempts have begun to bear fruit. At some point in the next month, the heads of the Inagawa-Kai will be meeting with the Red Court to discuss the terms of their alliance. The Red Court will be bringing a sizable donation to seal the deal. If we can capture this money, we can use that capital to fund our own activities, giving us time to set up more permanent methods of funding."
Asuna flipped through her folder as he spoke, reading through the dossier he had provided with the keen tactical mind which had led her guild to so many victories. The plan wasn't bad but... "At least from a tactical standpoint, the plan is solid. If the information contained here is correct, and I have no doubt it is," here she nodded at Nozumi. He had always done good work. "Then we should be able to pull this off. But I worry if it is the right choice from a strategic perspective."
"I'm with Asuna on this," Kumiko added, voice languid as if she were deciding on her words even as she spoke them. "Even if we succeed, these resources won't last forever. We'll need to find another form of income, and I worry about getting into what may well be a protracted war before one is secured."
"And if we wait," Diavel sneered. "You know what the Red Court can do. Can we really afford to wait around doing nothing while they get a foothold in the country?"
"Can we afford not to," Asuna asksed. "We need supplies to fight the Red Court, and we don't know how long the war will take. If we rely on conquest to fund our armies, then one bad month could make us fall apart."
"Well, then, why don't we just take over?" Kibao said. When everyone just looked at him in confusion, he continued. "Diavel said these guys run protection rackets right? Why not do the same?" Seeing the anger on everyone's face, he raised his hands defensively. "Now hear me out. If the supernatural really has taken over most of the criminal element, then that means that people are in danger." Everyone settled down at that, a wary tension filling the air as they waited to see what Kibaou had to say. "Danger they need to be protected from. It is not immoral, by any stretch of the imagination, to offer them protection in return for the fund needed to supply that protection."
"You're talking about a protection racket," Asuna said sharply.
"I'm talking about a business," Kibaou replied. "People are in danger, and we can't protect them if we don't have funds. It only seems fair that they chip in."
"And if they refuse to pay," Asuna said. "What do you do then?"
"Nothing," Kibao said with a shrug.
"Nothing," Asuna said, suspicion lacing her voice. "No threats? No extortion?"
"Why bother? If they don't want our protection then they can see how well they live without. We're under no obligation to help those who don't pull their weight."
"How pragmatic of you," Asuna said. She fit more venom in the word pragmatic then any curse or spell could achieve.
"It wouldn't be practical anyway," Agil said. "There simply aren't enough of us to run something like that. I think we should look to the crafting guilds instead. Given the right influx of cash, we could produce all sorts of potions and magic items. Things people would pay through the nose for, in both the regular and moonlit worlds. We set up the right supply chain, and the organization could easily pay for itself."
"Not a bad idea," Thinker said. "We have a lot of low level players who produce things like health potions, sleep reducers, good luck charms. If we put them to work, they could easily make back our investment ten times over."
"Perfect," Diavel said. "We can start putting something together right away. Asuna-san, Kumiko-san, would this be satisfactory to you?" At their nods, he continued. "Good, then I'd like to begin discussing the specifics of the operation. Asuna-san, I was hoping you could take a look…"
- Location
- Elsewhere
Or a government...
- Location
- my house
Fun story, that was the original metaphor he used, but I didn't feel it fir Kibaou.
Something is wonky with the thread mark on this one. Chap. 11 seems to have been inserted in between chap.7 & chap.8
- Location
- Elsewhere
It might be a comment from Thinker.
After all, he started The Army.
- Location
- my house
So I know its been awhile, but I want to promise that this isn't dead. I've been trying to get into graduate school and so that has been eating up my time. I still have every intention of finishing this story, and to prepare I have started a new quest: Lex Quest! A Quest About Failure
Hopefully it will get the creative juices flowing and help me get back into the swing of things.
Hopefully it will get the creative juices flowing and help me get back into the swing of things.
Chapter 12 - Before the Battle
- Location
- my house
Diavel peered through bleary eyes as he stumbled through the streets of Kabukichō. He was dressed for a night on the town, with a bright red silk shirt, black jeans and the tips of his brown hair a vibrant blue. A few subtle bits of makeup to make him seem older - and a couple of friends dressed the same - and he was able to pass as a young man celebrating some milestone or another. Getting into college perhaps, or reaching legal drinking age.
Whatever the cause of celebration, it was clear he was on his last legs. By his smell it was clear he had nearly as much alcohol on him as in him at this point, and he could barely keep himself standing.
Diavel tried to undo another button on his shirt - it was so hot! - but found his arm didn't move quite the way he wanted to. Staring at it with bleary eyes, he noticed it was wrapped around the shoulders of… Diavel floundered, Tana-something. It didn't matter.
With his other hand Diavel took a swig of the bottle of wine they had… borrowed from the last bar. Diavel giggled. He didn't think they'd be welcome back.
Diavel stumbled, nearly taking Tanasomething down with him, but managed to catch himself on the doorframe of a nearby building. It was old, and unusual for a city as dense as Tokyo, it looked abandoned. It probably wouldn't be safe to go in.
But his father was a member of the Diet! He would hardly cower before a mere door! Diavel strode boldly, if a little shakily into the building.
Once out of sight, Diavel swept his hair from his face. As his fingers passed through his hair, the greasy brown curls transformed into straight blue waves as clean and as soft as the ocean.
Diavel took a sniff of his shirt, and waved the group - Tanaka, Shiro, and Fuji - on ahead. He'd need a shower and a change of clothes before he was ready to inspect the camp, and they had their own preparations to get to.
------
Inside, hidden behind a wall made of dreams and faerie dust, waited the Players who were taking part in this operation. They had stumbled into the warehouse in small groups over the last few days, disguised as transients, alcoholics and drug addicts. The sort of people who nobody would question entering Kabukichō, nor their disappearing from there.
It was loud. In the confines of the warehouse the many sounds of the camp seemed amplified. The dull susurrus of conversation, the thump of heavy footfalls, the ring of steel against steel. All the little sounds of life that defined a camp such as this echoed off the walls. Amplifying each other until they seemed to fill the space. Creating the impression of a much larger group then the mere seventeen people he had been able to gather.
It reminded him of Aincrad. Of his many days spent in camps just like this, different in magnitude but not in make.
It was a nostalgic feeling. Comforting even. Like coming home after a stressful day, or sitting in front of the fire on a cold winter day, a blanket wrapped snug around him as the snow fell thick and heavy outside until the only sounds were the crackling of the fire, the quiet rustling as his mother turned the pages of her book, and the slow, gentle snoring of his father.
Diavel realized with a start what that feeling was.
Safety. For the first time since leaving Aincrad, Diavel felt safe.
He almost laughed. Surrounded by soldiers and about to start a war, and now he felt safe.
He shook his head, there was work to be done.
Diavel ambled through the camp, making a slow circuit as he inspected their preparation. As he passed, players would stop what they were doing, hastening to some semblance of attention with a quick 'Sir!' or even 'My lord!' Diavel would greet each and everyone with a slight smile and a gentle 'At ease.' before pausing to speak with them. Most of the talk was of simple things. Asking after their family, or hobbies or even simply discussing all the baseball they had missed when in Aincrad. Simple topics, but such things were the foundation on which a successful relationship was built.
Most of those he talked to seemed, if not at ease, then comfortable at least. The long wait before battle was a familiar experience for Clearers, and most had learned to cope with it in one way or another. And for those who hadn't, Diavel made sure he was there with a kind word and a confident mien to lift their spirits. As a leader, one of his most important duties was simply to be seen. Especially during times of hardship, people looked towards their leader for direction. If Diavel was calm and confident, well then they simply assumed he had reason for the confidence.
Diavel didn't show it, but he was dismayed at the state of their equipment. In Aincrad, the Clearers worked with the Crafting Guilds to create their equipment. Outfitting themselves in shining panoplies of mystical might. Swords of solid light, shields made from the reflection of the moon on water. Armor made from dragon scales.
Here they had no such things. Instead, each Player had been forced to make their own equipment, using only what they had at hand. The results were… eclectic. Clothes enchanted to armor hardness, bokken enchanted to work like real swords, fetishes made from ofuda or jewellery. Weak things, unlikely to survive the night, but they would do well enough for now.
Diavel didn't let his worry show on his face. As their leader, he couldn't afford to. People looked towards their leader for direction. If he worried, then they would wonder what he wasn't telling them. They would wonder if they should be worried too. Conversely, as long as he remained calm, then so would they. Even in the face of disaster, they could look at his unflappable mien and tell themselves everything was under control.
So Diavel smiled his politician's smile and pushed his worries to the back of his mind. It was too late to back out now.
Diavel was making small talk with one of the Players - Jiro was his name - when he saw Thinker making his own rounds. Handing Jiro back the Onusa he had been inspecting - an authentic one from the local shrine - he said his goodbyes and walked over to the man.
Thinker was wearing a blue overcoat with a military cut, a good match to the one he owned in Aincrad, with subtle stitching worked into indicating defensive wards of some sort. On his face he had a pair of intricate spectacles - probably his most heavily enchanted item - and in his right hand he bore a simple metal staff topped with a large magnifying glass.
Solid choices all. The staff would act as foci for a broad range of magic, and the coat would keep him alive long enough to cast it. As for the spectacles, Diavel could only guess at what they did but more information was always useful for a commander.
Diavel himself had gone a different route. On his side he wore a simple European style blade, 5 handspans long, polished to a mirror sharpness. On his back he wore a shield, emblazoned with the sun and enchanted to store and release the light of the evening star. Over his clothes he had donned a set of ornate plate armor. Forged of lies and glamor, it was light as a feather and as strong as steel and as brittle as glass. Too strong a blow and the illusion would shatter.
"Are we doing the right thing?" Thinker asked as they walked. He was looking at the Players as they walked, a concerned frown on his face. It took Diavel a moment to understand why. Their age. The majority of the Players were highschoolers like himself, avoiding parental supervision through fabricated sleepovers or the simple expedient of sneaking out. Of the adults present, only those without close relatives had been tapped to come, as they could afford to disappear for a day or two without much explanation. And because their disappearance wouldn't be noticed, a treasonous part of him whispered.
"They fought in Aincrad. You do them a disservice, worrying about their age." Diavel's voice was stern as he spoke, though not unkind. He understood Thinker's reservations, shared them in many respects. But Diavel had been 16 himself when he entered Aincrad. He was not much older than many of the other Clearers. He would not allow his youth to push him aside, and he would be a hypocrite to demand the same of others.
Thinker grimaced. "I know but…" he shook his head. "It feels wrong, asking them to sacrifice like this. It was one thing in the game, but they're free now. They should be going to school. Making friends. Enjoying life. Not fighting in wars."
"You know that isn't an option," Diavel said. "Aincrad changed our lives."
"And what if they die?"
"Then it's on my head, not yours." Diavel looked around at the Players. His own guild made up the majority for this operation, easily distinguished by the purple-and-gold they wore. Only a token force provided by the other guilds. He had put up a show of displeasure at the idea, but the other guilds simply couldn't mobilize quickly enough, and he had hardly been upset to claim the lionshare of the glory. In the end, they were here more to provide legitimacy to his own actions, then for any help they could truly provide.
"As Guildmaster, I decided who would fight." Diavel said, and his voice had all the sharp finality of an guillotine. Diavel had chosen only his best Clearers for this mission. People he had fought alongside for nearly two years. They had earned his trust, and more than earned their right to be here.
Thinker frowned. It was clear he didn't like the answer. Diavel wondered if Thinker resented him for forcing the issue. Thinker wasn't dumb. He may not have had Diavel's head for politics, but Diavel had not hidden that he wanted a battle.
Diavel braced himself for an argument.
One which never came, as an exuberant 'Diavel!' interrupted him, followed by a hand slapping Diavel's back with near enough force to knock him over.
Diavel turned, and was unsurprised to see Kenji standing behind him. A large man, he stood a head and again taller then Diavel despite being only a year older, and nearly twice as wide. He wore no armor, but instead bore an intricate series of - presumably temporary - tattoos which Diavel suspected hardened his body and strengthened his muscles.
He was prone to bouts of moodiness, switching between sunny smiles and dark moods at the drop of a hat. It made him unpredictable, and set Diavel's teeth on edge. But he was the strongest tank in the guild.
He also had a bad habit of yelling his words rather than speaking them. "You actually showed up! I thought you might have turned chicken now that we were out in the real world!" He smiled a shark's smile as he spoke. All teeth and false cheer.
Diavel shrugged off the arm he had laid across his shoulder - an arm large enough to choke out a crocodile, Diavel knew from experience - and gave him a hard look. His hand had drifted down to his sword, but he hadn't gripped it yet. "You know me better than that."
Kenji's face fell flat, eyes darting towards Diavel's sword and then back to his face. An oppressive silence stood between the two as they stared each other down. Each looking for the other. Then Kenji laughed - that shark smile plastered on his face once more - and the moment passed. "I suppose I do," he said, as cheerful as if their exchange had never happened.
"Oh! And don't worry boss-man. I've already created my squad. Scouted out a few of the stronger players that I could find in here. Figured I'd end up as tip of the spear anyway, and this would give you one less thing to worry about."
Diavel wanted to grit his teeth. Kenji was testing him. Seeing how much he could get away with. Unfortunately, they both knew Diavel couldn't afford to call him out on it. Not so close to the battle. Not in front of everyone here. Not over something like this. So he just gave Kenji his politician's smile and continued on towards the back of the warehouse, where a small platform had been placed in preparation of his address to the troops.
Diavel mounted the platform - a simple thing of raised dirt - before turning to face the crowd. The dull murmur of conversation began to replace the more general sound of a camp at work, people stopping their tasks as they turned towards him and whispering to others that he was about to speak. Even those noises died down as he raised one arm in adlocutio.
"Players, Clearers, Heroes." Diavel said, voice ringing out with practiced ease. This was hardly his first speech. Kayaba had made sure to provide them with more than just a magical education. Other knowledge was provided as well. Books on warfare, and engineering. On logistics and leadership and hunting had been provided. Everything needed to survive and thrive in the world they found themselves in. It was from these books, and the speeches contained within, that Diavel learned to create his own. "For two long years, we fought. Against vampires and oni and fey. We fought to escape the game. To earn our safety."
Diavel's eyes scanned over the crowd. Watching them take in his words in rapt attention. "Tanaka," he said, gesturing to the man. "In the fields of Alakur, you held the line. Jiro, Akemi. Together you faced down He-Who-Whose-Glance-Withers-The-Leaves-From-The-Vine. Eiko, you fought at my side in the Halls of the Mountain King and drove him from his home. And all of you, every single one, fought by my side against Kayaba. Struck him down, and freed us from his Nightmare. And I tell you, to all of you, that these actions were not in vain. Because of what you did, because of what we did, fifteen thousand players made it home, to friends and families that missed them. I look upon you, and I see the best of us. Brave men and women, who sacrificed everything to free us from Aincrad."
Diavel's voice grew somber now. A fitting reflection of the words he spoke. "And I wish that were enough. That I could say that the story was over, and we all lived happily ever after. But it is not! We are not safe. Our friends and families still live in danger. Monsters are real, and they lurk ever out of sight. In the back alleys and dark corners of the world do they roam, preying on those who cannot defend themselves. " Diavel paused for a beat, letting the words sink in. When he continued, his words were full of fire and passion. "I will not lie to you. This fight will not be an easy one. We face dangerous foes, and our resources are few. If we fail, then we will end up dead or slaves to the Red Court, and nothing will stand between them and our families. But if we win, we will have struck a vital blow against the Red Courts efforts in Japan. We will have denied them the resources they plan to use to conquer our island nation, and we will force the denizens of the moonlit world to negotiate with us from a position of strength. And I have no doubt we will succeed. Because we have done it before.
"Good luck, and I'll see you all again at the afterparty."
------------
Whatever the cause of celebration, it was clear he was on his last legs. By his smell it was clear he had nearly as much alcohol on him as in him at this point, and he could barely keep himself standing.
Diavel tried to undo another button on his shirt - it was so hot! - but found his arm didn't move quite the way he wanted to. Staring at it with bleary eyes, he noticed it was wrapped around the shoulders of… Diavel floundered, Tana-something. It didn't matter.
With his other hand Diavel took a swig of the bottle of wine they had… borrowed from the last bar. Diavel giggled. He didn't think they'd be welcome back.
Diavel stumbled, nearly taking Tanasomething down with him, but managed to catch himself on the doorframe of a nearby building. It was old, and unusual for a city as dense as Tokyo, it looked abandoned. It probably wouldn't be safe to go in.
But his father was a member of the Diet! He would hardly cower before a mere door! Diavel strode boldly, if a little shakily into the building.
Once out of sight, Diavel swept his hair from his face. As his fingers passed through his hair, the greasy brown curls transformed into straight blue waves as clean and as soft as the ocean.
Diavel took a sniff of his shirt, and waved the group - Tanaka, Shiro, and Fuji - on ahead. He'd need a shower and a change of clothes before he was ready to inspect the camp, and they had their own preparations to get to.
------
Inside, hidden behind a wall made of dreams and faerie dust, waited the Players who were taking part in this operation. They had stumbled into the warehouse in small groups over the last few days, disguised as transients, alcoholics and drug addicts. The sort of people who nobody would question entering Kabukichō, nor their disappearing from there.
It was loud. In the confines of the warehouse the many sounds of the camp seemed amplified. The dull susurrus of conversation, the thump of heavy footfalls, the ring of steel against steel. All the little sounds of life that defined a camp such as this echoed off the walls. Amplifying each other until they seemed to fill the space. Creating the impression of a much larger group then the mere seventeen people he had been able to gather.
It reminded him of Aincrad. Of his many days spent in camps just like this, different in magnitude but not in make.
It was a nostalgic feeling. Comforting even. Like coming home after a stressful day, or sitting in front of the fire on a cold winter day, a blanket wrapped snug around him as the snow fell thick and heavy outside until the only sounds were the crackling of the fire, the quiet rustling as his mother turned the pages of her book, and the slow, gentle snoring of his father.
Diavel realized with a start what that feeling was.
Safety. For the first time since leaving Aincrad, Diavel felt safe.
He almost laughed. Surrounded by soldiers and about to start a war, and now he felt safe.
He shook his head, there was work to be done.
Diavel ambled through the camp, making a slow circuit as he inspected their preparation. As he passed, players would stop what they were doing, hastening to some semblance of attention with a quick 'Sir!' or even 'My lord!' Diavel would greet each and everyone with a slight smile and a gentle 'At ease.' before pausing to speak with them. Most of the talk was of simple things. Asking after their family, or hobbies or even simply discussing all the baseball they had missed when in Aincrad. Simple topics, but such things were the foundation on which a successful relationship was built.
Most of those he talked to seemed, if not at ease, then comfortable at least. The long wait before battle was a familiar experience for Clearers, and most had learned to cope with it in one way or another. And for those who hadn't, Diavel made sure he was there with a kind word and a confident mien to lift their spirits. As a leader, one of his most important duties was simply to be seen. Especially during times of hardship, people looked towards their leader for direction. If Diavel was calm and confident, well then they simply assumed he had reason for the confidence.
Diavel didn't show it, but he was dismayed at the state of their equipment. In Aincrad, the Clearers worked with the Crafting Guilds to create their equipment. Outfitting themselves in shining panoplies of mystical might. Swords of solid light, shields made from the reflection of the moon on water. Armor made from dragon scales.
Here they had no such things. Instead, each Player had been forced to make their own equipment, using only what they had at hand. The results were… eclectic. Clothes enchanted to armor hardness, bokken enchanted to work like real swords, fetishes made from ofuda or jewellery. Weak things, unlikely to survive the night, but they would do well enough for now.
Diavel didn't let his worry show on his face. As their leader, he couldn't afford to. People looked towards their leader for direction. If he worried, then they would wonder what he wasn't telling them. They would wonder if they should be worried too. Conversely, as long as he remained calm, then so would they. Even in the face of disaster, they could look at his unflappable mien and tell themselves everything was under control.
So Diavel smiled his politician's smile and pushed his worries to the back of his mind. It was too late to back out now.
Diavel was making small talk with one of the Players - Jiro was his name - when he saw Thinker making his own rounds. Handing Jiro back the Onusa he had been inspecting - an authentic one from the local shrine - he said his goodbyes and walked over to the man.
Thinker was wearing a blue overcoat with a military cut, a good match to the one he owned in Aincrad, with subtle stitching worked into indicating defensive wards of some sort. On his face he had a pair of intricate spectacles - probably his most heavily enchanted item - and in his right hand he bore a simple metal staff topped with a large magnifying glass.
Solid choices all. The staff would act as foci for a broad range of magic, and the coat would keep him alive long enough to cast it. As for the spectacles, Diavel could only guess at what they did but more information was always useful for a commander.
Diavel himself had gone a different route. On his side he wore a simple European style blade, 5 handspans long, polished to a mirror sharpness. On his back he wore a shield, emblazoned with the sun and enchanted to store and release the light of the evening star. Over his clothes he had donned a set of ornate plate armor. Forged of lies and glamor, it was light as a feather and as strong as steel and as brittle as glass. Too strong a blow and the illusion would shatter.
"Are we doing the right thing?" Thinker asked as they walked. He was looking at the Players as they walked, a concerned frown on his face. It took Diavel a moment to understand why. Their age. The majority of the Players were highschoolers like himself, avoiding parental supervision through fabricated sleepovers or the simple expedient of sneaking out. Of the adults present, only those without close relatives had been tapped to come, as they could afford to disappear for a day or two without much explanation. And because their disappearance wouldn't be noticed, a treasonous part of him whispered.
"They fought in Aincrad. You do them a disservice, worrying about their age." Diavel's voice was stern as he spoke, though not unkind. He understood Thinker's reservations, shared them in many respects. But Diavel had been 16 himself when he entered Aincrad. He was not much older than many of the other Clearers. He would not allow his youth to push him aside, and he would be a hypocrite to demand the same of others.
Thinker grimaced. "I know but…" he shook his head. "It feels wrong, asking them to sacrifice like this. It was one thing in the game, but they're free now. They should be going to school. Making friends. Enjoying life. Not fighting in wars."
"You know that isn't an option," Diavel said. "Aincrad changed our lives."
"And what if they die?"
"Then it's on my head, not yours." Diavel looked around at the Players. His own guild made up the majority for this operation, easily distinguished by the purple-and-gold they wore. Only a token force provided by the other guilds. He had put up a show of displeasure at the idea, but the other guilds simply couldn't mobilize quickly enough, and he had hardly been upset to claim the lionshare of the glory. In the end, they were here more to provide legitimacy to his own actions, then for any help they could truly provide.
"As Guildmaster, I decided who would fight." Diavel said, and his voice had all the sharp finality of an guillotine. Diavel had chosen only his best Clearers for this mission. People he had fought alongside for nearly two years. They had earned his trust, and more than earned their right to be here.
Thinker frowned. It was clear he didn't like the answer. Diavel wondered if Thinker resented him for forcing the issue. Thinker wasn't dumb. He may not have had Diavel's head for politics, but Diavel had not hidden that he wanted a battle.
Diavel braced himself for an argument.
One which never came, as an exuberant 'Diavel!' interrupted him, followed by a hand slapping Diavel's back with near enough force to knock him over.
Diavel turned, and was unsurprised to see Kenji standing behind him. A large man, he stood a head and again taller then Diavel despite being only a year older, and nearly twice as wide. He wore no armor, but instead bore an intricate series of - presumably temporary - tattoos which Diavel suspected hardened his body and strengthened his muscles.
He was prone to bouts of moodiness, switching between sunny smiles and dark moods at the drop of a hat. It made him unpredictable, and set Diavel's teeth on edge. But he was the strongest tank in the guild.
He also had a bad habit of yelling his words rather than speaking them. "You actually showed up! I thought you might have turned chicken now that we were out in the real world!" He smiled a shark's smile as he spoke. All teeth and false cheer.
Diavel shrugged off the arm he had laid across his shoulder - an arm large enough to choke out a crocodile, Diavel knew from experience - and gave him a hard look. His hand had drifted down to his sword, but he hadn't gripped it yet. "You know me better than that."
Kenji's face fell flat, eyes darting towards Diavel's sword and then back to his face. An oppressive silence stood between the two as they stared each other down. Each looking for the other. Then Kenji laughed - that shark smile plastered on his face once more - and the moment passed. "I suppose I do," he said, as cheerful as if their exchange had never happened.
"Oh! And don't worry boss-man. I've already created my squad. Scouted out a few of the stronger players that I could find in here. Figured I'd end up as tip of the spear anyway, and this would give you one less thing to worry about."
Diavel wanted to grit his teeth. Kenji was testing him. Seeing how much he could get away with. Unfortunately, they both knew Diavel couldn't afford to call him out on it. Not so close to the battle. Not in front of everyone here. Not over something like this. So he just gave Kenji his politician's smile and continued on towards the back of the warehouse, where a small platform had been placed in preparation of his address to the troops.
Diavel mounted the platform - a simple thing of raised dirt - before turning to face the crowd. The dull murmur of conversation began to replace the more general sound of a camp at work, people stopping their tasks as they turned towards him and whispering to others that he was about to speak. Even those noises died down as he raised one arm in adlocutio.
"Players, Clearers, Heroes." Diavel said, voice ringing out with practiced ease. This was hardly his first speech. Kayaba had made sure to provide them with more than just a magical education. Other knowledge was provided as well. Books on warfare, and engineering. On logistics and leadership and hunting had been provided. Everything needed to survive and thrive in the world they found themselves in. It was from these books, and the speeches contained within, that Diavel learned to create his own. "For two long years, we fought. Against vampires and oni and fey. We fought to escape the game. To earn our safety."
Diavel's eyes scanned over the crowd. Watching them take in his words in rapt attention. "Tanaka," he said, gesturing to the man. "In the fields of Alakur, you held the line. Jiro, Akemi. Together you faced down He-Who-Whose-Glance-Withers-The-Leaves-From-The-Vine. Eiko, you fought at my side in the Halls of the Mountain King and drove him from his home. And all of you, every single one, fought by my side against Kayaba. Struck him down, and freed us from his Nightmare. And I tell you, to all of you, that these actions were not in vain. Because of what you did, because of what we did, fifteen thousand players made it home, to friends and families that missed them. I look upon you, and I see the best of us. Brave men and women, who sacrificed everything to free us from Aincrad."
Diavel's voice grew somber now. A fitting reflection of the words he spoke. "And I wish that were enough. That I could say that the story was over, and we all lived happily ever after. But it is not! We are not safe. Our friends and families still live in danger. Monsters are real, and they lurk ever out of sight. In the back alleys and dark corners of the world do they roam, preying on those who cannot defend themselves. " Diavel paused for a beat, letting the words sink in. When he continued, his words were full of fire and passion. "I will not lie to you. This fight will not be an easy one. We face dangerous foes, and our resources are few. If we fail, then we will end up dead or slaves to the Red Court, and nothing will stand between them and our families. But if we win, we will have struck a vital blow against the Red Courts efforts in Japan. We will have denied them the resources they plan to use to conquer our island nation, and we will force the denizens of the moonlit world to negotiate with us from a position of strength. And I have no doubt we will succeed. Because we have done it before.
"Good luck, and I'll see you all again at the afterparty."
------------
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- Location
- Elsewhere
Charms or jewelry made from fetish gear...
Skelethin
Barebones Writer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
In addition to the weirdly described fetish gear/charms, you have several paragraphs that have dialogue in the middle of them that it isn't broken up into multiple lines. This leads to those paragraphs being huge, hard to read, and easy to gloss over anything that is actually said in them.
The paragraph that started with "Thinker frowned again." and the final paragraphs are the worst offenders for that.
The paragraph that started with "Thinker frowned again." and the final paragraphs are the worst offenders for that.
Chloe Sullivan
Subdefective
- Location
- 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale CA
A fetish is a magical charm. Not to be confused with the sexy stuff.
- Location
- my house
Wrong fetish lol
an inanimate object worshiped for its supposed magical powers or because it is considered to be inhabited by a spirit.
- Location
- my house
Good feedback, is this better?
- Location
- Elsewhere
Yes, but it does go the other way too.
"Nice collar."
"Thanks! I managed to enchant it so I can use it as a focus for a shout attack. Sometimes you just can't count on having a blasting rod in hand, you know?"
"Yeah I've been there. But where did you get the collar? You don't have a dog..."
"I found it in my parent's closet. Maybe they were planning on getting one?"
"..."
"..."
"That's not what they were planning."
Skelethin
Barebones Writer
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Generally anytime someone starts talking after description ends up on a new line. This brings the words to attention of the reader and makes them stand out. Words that are a completion to a thought or earlier sentence earlier in the paragraph don't necessitate a new line though.
Also ending on 'see you on the other side of this war' when they are just going through an opening strike seems very premature. Perhaps something more limited to the upcoming direct conflict, like battle, fight, day, or this coming conflict.
- Location
- my house
R
Thank you for the feedback.
Ran some edits. Hope this reads better.
Thank you for the feedback.
My only complaint is the shortness of the chapter, but it did end at the perfect ending point.
I'm more interested in the fallout after the raid. The Red Court is gonna be pissed about this and may complain to the IRL White Council alleging a treaty violation.
