Senbrek, at his end, was far from a typical Blood Ape. He did not reach his advanced age by being reckless. His amorality and brutality were practical, effective, and refined. He intimidated, assaulted, and sacked as needed. Far more importantly, he kept his head down and refused to become engaged in affairs outside of his single alleyway avenue. This last point, more than any feat of strength, is what prevented the greater misfortunes of the Demon City from raining down on him like so much acid from the skies.
Unfortunately for his sense of self preservation, Emiya Shirou shared little of his caution, moderation, and restraint.
-Coelica, the Frozen-Light Chronicle, seventh soul-progeny of the Unlimited Bladeworks
[*****]
I'm telling you, it's easy. Plenty of demons down on their luck squatted in my territory and downright thrived for years sometimes before I caught them. Eventually I learned all the tricks and how to spot them, but that doesn't make them useless.
They just up and shared with you?
Well, no, I thrashed them once I caught them, and the smart ones shared tips and sometimes made a living for themselves under me afterwards.
And the dumb ones?
There were no dumb ones by the time I was done with them.
Charming.
Shirou had been mentally debating Senbrek on the merits of his unique approach to life in the city as he walked through Greyfalls. The gorilla apparently lived in a somewhat depressing-sounding city, from what Shirou could parse of the flood of contextless details. A brutal social caste system, an overall dog-eat-dog society, and some sort of glaring all-penetrating light that couldn't simply be the sun. As Senbrek lacked frames of reference for sizes and scales that Shirou was more familiar with, the new Exalt decided to attribute "buildings as far as the eye can see in all directions" as "being surrounded by skyscrapers and never actually leaving the area they enclosed around you," or something.
Senbrek's public works resume was more or less summed up as 'beating the hell out of all trespassers until they provided value to the public.' In this case, he was the public, and the only value he seemed to seek was 'reduction in trouble in his alley.' On pointing out that Senbrek himself sounded like trouble, the ape quickly dismissed the notion. "First circles don't count. Trouble means trouble for citizens. No one cares who I thrash so long as it isn't anyone important. And in my alley, no one thrashed anyone important." The demon paused for a moment. "Usually."
Further inquiry on this topic was tabled for a time as Shirou had entered a drinking establishment of sorts. He spotted a sign soliciting kitchen work and slipped inside along with the evening crowd. A quick word with the bartender had him sitting off to the side as the cook was busy with the dinner rush and couldn't evaluate him yet.
Various types filed in, apparently fresh off work. Mostly rougher looking men, Shirou assumed they were blue collar types and relaxed. Senbrek saw fit to quiet down for a while, and so they sat in silence until the doors opened to admit a couple women. Other than seeming slightly out-of-place, Shirou didn't really note anything worth mentioning about their arrival. This lasted until Sebrek apparently tapped into his sense of smell.
You wanted to avoid trouble, right? Then you should leave.
Huh? They don't look like trouble at all.
Well, of course not. But they're scared. They're not comfortable, and the horny types are going to- here we go.
A few patrons turned to the ladies and began speaking.
What? They're getting hit on in a bar.
This isn't the kind of bar you go to to get hit on. Well, not that kind of hit on, at least. And those two don't smell like whores. At least, they don't have a dozen other scents on them. Humans all smell the same.
That was rude.
Hey, whoring is a perfectly respectable and lucrative business back home. Entire races do it!
Shirou didn't quite know how to respond to that line, so he ignored it. Instead, he watched the women get less and less comfortable with the attention they garnered, and finally acknowledged that he didn't like the direction things were going.
After a few dismissive words were flung around, the crowd was made aware that they were waiting for someone. When one man reached out to grab the taller of the two regardless, Shirou stood up. When she reared back for a slap, he started forward.
Oy. You're not just going to - you said you'd avoid trouble!
Instead of responding, Shirou walked up behind the man getting slapped. As soon as he pulled back his fist for a strike of his own, Shirou grabbed it and held it back. Chatter went quiet. Before the man could speak, Shirou opened his mouth first.
"Get out," he growled.
Mentally, he recoiled a bit. He didn't mean to say exactly that or use that tone, but the damage was done. He was apparently a lot angrier than he gave himself credit for.
The man's friends had started to surround him, and he quickly went down his mental list of ways to diffuse the situation nonviolently. Surprisingly, Senbrek's opinion was succinct and accurate.
The only way you're dodging a fight is by scaring them shitless, and for now you don't look like much. Your new power would work, but that would just bring even more trouble.
So, he ignored the man's retort, he dismissed his friends' threats, and focused solely on the inevitable incoming strike. It came from the side, and he flexed the right muscles at the right moment to all but nullify what would have been a good sucker punch.
Now that he hadn't thrown the 'first punch' he began acting in self defense. The man whose arm he held tried to twist away, and was flung into one of his approaching companions. A few brutal punches intended to knock out the man who hit first landed true, and Shirou didn't even bother to watch him fall before turning to the final one.
Or, well, what would have been the final one, but a full-fledged bar fight seemed to be breaking out.
Why doesn't anyone ever accept that they've lost? Rejection, fights, it's all the same. Jealously, petty vindictiveness. People are always the same, and always create more victims.
He was almost operating on instinct now. All people in the tavern were either aggressors or bystanders. Bystanders took priority over aggressors. An aggressor about to take a hit took priority over the one hitting him. Shirou had mentally tagged and prioritized the whole population of the establishment and launched himself into the fray, already determined to end this conflagration without fail. Depressingly few patrons stayed out of the fight, and in a few short minutes Shirou was the last man standing. Catching his breath, he looked around.
Broken chairs, tables, and dishes littered the room. Virtually all the fallen men were at the ends of the trajectories Shirou had put them on, groaning or simply unconscious. As his mind replayed the fight, he realized that the majority of the men had eventually zeroed in on him, and he methodically put them all down. He was not proud to note that as he inched closer and closer to being overwhelmed, he had been gradually more brutal in his methods.
It . . . it was like when he was a kid all over again, beating up bullies in alleys on the way home from school. Rage and single minded determination won out over his decades of swordwork, archery, and magecraft. Suddenly he felt sick.
Ah, boss, we're missing those girls and a couple of the guys that bothered them.
And the sickness was dismissed as Shirou blinked and verified Senbrek's words. By this point the owners had come out and started yelling, but he paid them no heed as he ran outside and looked around. If he was lucky, he'd see the girls running away in terror, or they'd be long gone, and that would be fine. If he was unlucky . . .
He rushed down the road a bit and ducked into the closest alley. Sure enough, both women were on the ground and two of the less injured men that started the fight were bearing down on them, their intentions clear. Their heads jerked around to face Shirou, and he could see tiny motes of green light reflected in four pairs of eyes.
Why?
I beat them.
I saved people from them.
They were already utterly defeated.
What is it going to take to stop them from doing this again?
He clenched his fist in frustration, and blinked as he felt a pop.
He looked down.
He was at the back of the alley, kneeling down.
To his left, slumped over, was the barely-breathing body of one of the two men. In front of him were the two women, pushing themselves back against the wall in abject terror. At his feet was the second man, and in his hand was the mangled and pulped ruins of the second man's elbow. The entire scene was lit by hellishly green light, and he could barely make out the details of the injuries he apparently inflicted in the wildly moving shadows.
He looked up at the terrified women, then back down at the- his victim.
"No."
Boss?
"No. I won't let this happen." He immediately began tearing a strip of the man's shirt off for use as a tourniquet. Frisking him revealed a knife and a flask. A sniff confirmed it was strong alcohol.
"Good enough."
Pouring some on the knife and wiping it would have to do. He looked at the remains of the arm and chose the best place to cut, severing the limb cleanly with a concave swipe of the blade, allowing him to pinch spare skin shut over the stump of bone. He idly noted that it should have been much more difficult to do so with just a knife and his bare hands. Tying around and around, he cut off the bleeding as best he could with the cloth and eyed the actual wound. He had no needle and thread for stitches.
Cauterization, then.
One problem. He needed two hands to hold the wound shut. He glanced up at the women. They looked more confused now than terrified.
"One of you come here and hold this shut, please."
Startled at being addressed, they gaped at him for a moment. The shorter one recovered first.
"Wh- what are you doing?"
"Saving his life."
"Why?"
The taller one was pulling on her companion's sleeve, apparently trying to awaken her to the questionable wisdom of speaking to the monster in front of them. Shirou shoved those thoughts aside and replied.
"Because it's the right thing to do."
"But you just-"
"I know. I was angry, and then I woke up. Will you help me, or not?"
No threat in his words or tone. A surreal calm filled him. He would deal with the details of whatever just happened in good time. For now, there was a life to be saved, and he would not, would NOT, break down just yet.
The shorter one hesitated, and just as Shirou decided it was a lost cause the taller one moved forward. She splashed her hands with some of the liquor from the flask and grabbed onto the man's arm. At Shirou's mildly surprised look she glanced away and mumbled.
"Pa- Father always said that a good hard drink would clean wounds, hands, and souls, at home or on the battlefield."
Shirou just nodded and let go, allowing her to secure her grip. Grabbing the flask, he poured the rest on the wound carefully, making sure not to get any on any clothes or the bandage. He tossed it aside and sighed.
Green fire, eh?
Senbrek didn't respond.
He looked each woman (girl? he couldn't tell) in the eyes deliberately.
"Do not panic, whatever you see."
Then he held up one hand and forced power through, and flames answered his call.
[***]
It took focus, but eventually he reduced the flame to a single finger. If he had to describe it, back when he pushed prana out of his hands to make (or more accurately, draw out) a sword, he used his whole palm and all five fingers. What he was doing now was like trying to project a dagger balanced on one fingertip, so with his 'new' power he managed a single jet of flame from one finger.
He then looked the taller woman in the eye and she nodded, and he dragged it across the wound, searing flesh shut with a single motion. She let go and let the stump rest on the dying man's chest, and backed away to her friend.
The other man's breath caught short, and Shirou turned his head. He made eye contact, and hardened his expression as he stood up. He loomed over the second man and frowned.
"You know a doctor?"
The man returned his stare without moving. Shirou's gaze ran over the body. Bruises and abrasions, but nothing lethal. Nothing keeping him from walking beyond the shock of being slammed into a wall.
His options were all bad. However, he was still pragmatic. If he was a monster to these people, he could use that to save a life without flinching. He grabbed the man's shirt and lifted him up without effort.
"Stand up."
He let go and the man stayed standing. However, the shifty eyes and balance told Shirou he was about to run at the first chance he got. So, Shirou punched the wall next to his head and let green fire scorch the wall a bit. Suddenly he had the man's full attention.
"You will pick up your friend. You will take him to a doctor. You will do these things, or else-"
He slowly backed up and knelt down, picking up the severed arm. The man did not take the opportunity to run, probably because doing so would bring him closer to the glowing embers on the wall than he wanted to be.
Shirou held up the arm and flared the fire from his hands, melting and burning the limb in front of the man's eyes.
"Do you understand?"
Nodding. Rapid, terrified nodding.
The women looked on as the ruffian picked up his fallen friend and limped out of the alley. Shirou spared them a glance and waved past him to the exit.
"Go. You don't want to get caught near me."
They edged around him without a word and made haste to leave.
Only once he was certain they were gone did he finally fall to his hands and knees and throw up.
