> (Reluctantly) Hear him out.
Though your first instinct is to grab the eavesdropping little bunny rat and punt him across your barrier like an oddly-shaped soccer ball, you force yourself to quash it, too many questions arising from what he just said — along with the fact that he even
could say it to you, for that matter — to let yourself act on it in this moment. As satisfying as it would undoubtedly be, you'd like to at least know how much he heard of your conversation just now before acting, so you suppose you'll simply have to restrain yourself, at least until-
*SHCK-!*
Kyubey is abruptly replaced by a shower of blood as a sharp length of metal passes through his head at roughly Mach 2. Tira is unable to withhold a shriek as little chunks of flesh spray across the otherwise pristine Canvas, tainting the floor with spatters of red.
You're too taken aback to even say anything as you stare down at Sayaka, the hilt of the figuratively-smoking cutlass still held tightly in her grip.
Did... did she actually just
kill Kyubey? Holy- like, you were obviously mad at him too, but
not to the point of doing-!
<That was rather rude.>
Your shock redoubles as Kyubey's mental voice sounds out again, and the alien in question inexplicably strolls out from somewhere underneath Tome, looking as though nothing even happened to him.
"Of
course it couldn't be that easy..." Sayaka hisses.
Tira bites her lip and silently forms a penbrush behind her back, while you struggle to throw off your surprise. For all the things you know about Kyubey that others evidently don't, you hadn't the slightest idea that he could just...
revive himself at will, or whatever just happened. You kind of figured that a being who goes around granting reality-warping wishes on a daily basis might have a trick or two in reserve, but self-resurrection wasn't really one that you-
Your shock abruptly flips over to disgust as Kyubey runs up to his barely half-intact former body and promptly begins
eating it. Oh, what the
fu-
<You cannot permanently kill me, and attempting to do so will only waste resources,> Kyubey states whilst rapidly devouring his previous self, causing Tira to nearly heave,
<so I would prefer that you not try that again.>
"And I'd prefer that you shove yourself down the nearest working garbage disposal, but we can't always get what we want, can we?" Sayaka snaps, evidently too angry to be similarly grossed out. "Why the hell are
you here?!"
<My initial intent was simply to investigate the origin of the peculiar phone call that Madoka Kaname recently received. The discovery of a magical anomaly such as yourselves, however, has changed this.>
Anomaly...?
Wait a moment.
<Is... that what an Irregular is?> you slowly, tentatively ask, trying to ignore the auto-cannibalistic act still going on below.
<A witch that breaks the common conventions of magic?>
<Correct,> Kyubey casually replies, confirming both your statement and that he can indeed hear your silent "voice" as the last of his prior body vanishes down his throat, and he turns back around to face you,
<though the term also encompasses aberrant present and prospective magical girls. Irregular witches are even rarer than these exceptions however, and often wholly unique, warranting further observation whenever possible.>
"So you're here to
spy on us." Sayaka spits. "Funny; yesterday morning I would've been all too happy to let you hang around with me, but now you're just about the last person or
thing on the planet I'd knowingly share a room with. So unless you want another sword shoved through your head, get LOST!"
"I cannot help but... ugh... agree." Tira adds, still trying to swallow down her revulsion. "Kindly leave, Kyubey. You will learn nothing from us."
<On the contrary,> Kyubey says calmly,
<I have already learned quite a lot from you simply by being present for the past several minutes. The insight you've provided into the nature of one of the other Irregulars presently residing in this city has been particularly valuable. I now understand why I possess no memory of Homura Akemi's contract, as well as the most likely mechanisms of her magic. You've been most helpful.>
Sayaka's expression contorts in fury. She takes a hard step forward-
<Don't.>
She stops and rounds on you, eyes burning like coals.
"And why exactly
not?" she seethes.
An excellent question. Scarcely a minute ago, you probably would have just let her have at him — you imagine it would have been rather cathartic for the both of you, even if you wouldn't have taken it quite as far as Sayaka already has. But after that rather visceral reminder that your knowledge of Kyubey is nowhere
near complete... well. You don't
think Kyubey has any offensive abilities, but as he did so many other things, he may have simply elected not to mention them, and if you can't get rid of him
anyways since he's apparently some flavor of unkillable, provoking him further is likely rather unwise.
...beyond that however, your reasoning is simple.
<Because he might be able to help us.>
Sayaka's enraged posture slackens ever so slightly.
While you still aren't exactly happy to see him either, Kyubey's presence here may actually be an unexpected boon — you've considered seeking him out more than once in the past few days, after all. You just had very little faith that doing so would truly be helpful, given that last time you saw Kyubey in person, he wouldn't even
speak to you, seemingly only showing up at all in order to subsequently taunt you with his silence... but here and now, he's broken that silence, and the question you asked received an immediate answer, delivered with the same simple candor you'd come to expect of him prior to your last meeting. You know now that you can't trust Kyubey to tell you the
complete truth about literally anything, and his apparent interest in you as you are now is rather unnerving to say the least. But if you play this right...
Maybe you can finally get some answers for a few of your many,
many burning questions.
<Fascinating.> Kyubey comments as Sayaka stiffly turns back around, her anger not gone, but seemingly reined in for the moment by a thin thread of hope. Tira similarly, if tentatively dismisses her penbrush, thankfully following your lead.
<Kyubey,> you speak up, trying to draw his attention back to you,
<would you be willing to answer a few questions of mine?>
<Certainly.> Kyubey replies, tail swishing from side to side.
<You will be answering a number of my own in doing so, after all.>
...you don't think you like the sound of that, but if it means that he's willing to cooperate for the moment, you'll deal.
<Good, then->
<Your name was "Ash", correct?>
You pause.
He... doesn't already know?
<If my inference is incorrect, do tell me.>
It's a simple request, yet you don't immediately follow through, abruptly realizing that you may have a bit of an issue here. If Kyubey isn't already sure of what your name is, and he's not using your forgotten
human name either, then he presumably hasn't worked out your former identity yet... and while that's one of the biggest subjects you'd like to inquire about, you're honestly not sure that you should help him piece it together. You were assuming he already knew who you are, or at least
were — but if not, is he going to go back to giving you the cold shoulder if he finds out?
Considering you don't even know why he was doing that in the first place...
<Technically,> you finally reply, for once actually glad that your telepathy doesn't naturally include a voice to identify you by,
<it's Ashtaroth.>
Kyubey cocks his head to one side in a way that you still can't help but find cute.
<I have no records of a magical girl bearing that name within the past millennium, and you match no descriptions of the few witches known to have persisted for longer than a century. If you truly originate from a parallel timeline however, that is by no means unexpected.>
...interesting that's how he interpreted your half-truthful response. Does Kyubey even know that witches
have their own names...?
You shake yourself. It doesn't matter — you have better questions, and you need to ask them while you still have the chance. First and foremost of which:
<Regarding "Irregulars"... you haven't actually said what specifically qualifies me as such.> you note.
<What exactly makes me, or witches like me, so interesting?>
You can think of several obvious potential answers, but you need him to clarify — just to be sure.
<The specific abnormalities of Irregular witches are highly variable.> Kyubey replies whilst preening like a cat, as though that will fool any of you at this point.
<You specifically qualify as one due to being the first I've known to retain such an impressive clarity of thought.>
You take a moment to process that, then slump.
...so then. You really
are a lone island of sanity, drifting in an endless sea of madness. For a moment, you thought that maybe since Kyubey has an actual word for "abnormal" witches like you, he might have meant... but no. It's exactly as you'd already figured.
It hurts more than it should.
You shove your- disappointment? Sorrow? You're not sure
what you're feeling, honestly, but you put it to the back of your mind. This is no time for moping.
<My second question then.> you say, your trepidation growing with every word.
<Is it... possible for a witch to ever become human again? Say, by way of a wish, or other magical means?>
Kyubey seems to muse on the matter for a moment before responding.
<Perhaps.>
Your nonexistent heart metaphorically stutters — but then Kyubey continues.
<However, all known historical attempts to do so have resulted in failure, typically producing flawed facsimiles of the original self at best. This suggests that a true reversion of the nature you propose is indeed "impossible".>
His words slam into you like concrete, leaving you struggling against the inherent lack of hope contained within the answer.
That wasn't...
exactly a no, but...
"Could you perhaps provide more detail on some of these 'facsimiles'?"
You glance over at Tira, not having expected her to interrupt. If Kyubey is surprised by her reentering the conversation however, he doesn't show it.
<You are asking for specific precedent?> he questions, apparently rhetorically.
<One particularly noteworthy instance of a wish made to regress a witch beyond its own birth resulted in it being forced back into the husk of its former body. From this, she regained her abilities from her time as a magical girl, but remained a witch in both mind and soul, desiring naught but destruction.>
You perk back up a bit. That...
sounds bad, but could maybe still work in your case, assuming you can find your body...
<If you would prefer a more proximate example, the Pleiades Saints of Asunaro have access to a unique form of reconstruction magic, which they have used to revive a certain witch as a sort of magical homunculus. The resulting entity is still alive today, and exhibits a surprisingly human sense of self, not entirely dissimilar to you->
Your attention shoots through the roof.
<-but has also already destabilized a dozen times prior, and is thus likely doomed as a matter of course.> Kyubey concludes.
<By contrast, your mind appears strangely stable, despite your otherwise typical nature as an entity of pure negative emotion. I fully expected this experiment to fail.>
Your excitement at the numerous revelations contained in Kyubey's previous "example" are nigh-immediately driven off track by his final sentence.
Did... he just imply that...
<What do you mean, "experiment"...?> you quickly ask, dreading the answer you may receive.
Kyubey's unblinking eyes stare up at you for a long, unnerving moment.
<This is the first time I have succeeded in forging a telepathic connection with a witch that did not instantly result in either the corruption or destruction of my current terminal.> he eventually replies.
<Your familiar's actions aside.>
Your relief that your brief fear was likely unfounded lasts perhaps half a second, before an already-strained thread abruptly snaps.
"
Familiars?!" Sayaka snarls, her fury flaring back up so fast you'd swear it was visible.
<Indeed.> Kyubey confirms, finally turning his attention to the girls.
<You are quite unusual yourselves, perhaps even more so than your parent witch. Not only do you appear to share her human-like mentality, but whereas most familiars that arise from the concept of magical girls appear as indistinct shades, you two were obviously born of the memories of specific ones. In this world, Sayaka Miki has yet to form a contract, while Tira Narumi became a witch just earlier this evening->
Tira reels back as though slapped.
<-but from what I have observed thus far, I am inclined to believe you to be near-perfect recreations of them, perhaps even more precise replicas than those manufactured by the Mirror Witch of Kami->
Sayaka blurs towards Kyubey like human-shaped lightning, moving so fast that you fail to even
think to stop her in time. She's already mid-swing by the time a sword appears in her hand, making the already blisteringly-quick attack even more so — yet somehow, Kyubey manages to dodge it anyways, flipping away from her with cat-like grace.
<I will reiterate, you are incapable of inflicting me with any form of enduring harm->
"SHUT
UP!!!" Sayaka screams from the bottom of her throat, her sword now hanging loose in her hand, the weapon's edge scraping against the floor of the Canvas. "I don't want to HEAR IT! I don't want to hear about
timelines, or
replicas, or any more of your horrid, life-destroying LIES!"
A familiar feeling suddenly washes over you, excess despair welling up inside your body like water being poured into an already full cup. Oh- damn it, you may have wanted to experiment with this earlier, but this doesn't exactly seem like the best time to start doing familiar creation tests... not that you seem to have any real choice in the matter, because you have to expend this
somehow, so, uh-!
Falling back on what you did before, you shove a sizable clump of the surplus grief away, the sensation of it tearing away granting you a measure of relief.
𝄡 ...no...
-and then the clump inexplicably returns, and plunges right back
into you, nearly doubling you over as it slams back into your grief stores like some sort of ethereal cannonball. Huh-?!
<I neither lie to, nor deliberately deceive those with whom I speak. If you feel that you have somehow been tricked->
"
If I feel I've been tricked?!" Sayaka shouts over him, somehow still escalating in volume. "Ever since I agreed to your screwed-up
contract, things have just kept going from bad to worse, and
worse, and WORSE! And every time I think I'm starting to get a handle on the latest bit of misery I've got no choice in, and that maybe things can finally start getting at least a little better, something
else happens to show me EXACTLY how wrong I was!"
You twist and spasm as the grief continues to swell, trying over and over to shove it away, but it's as though something is holding it, forcibly keeping it in place, something that you don't think is actually
you, or if it is then it's a part that's currently
rebelling-
Wait, why are we-
"Sayaka-" Tira tries, wide eyes rapidly flickering between her fellow magical girl and your escalating contortions.
"What's next, we get teleported straight into HELL?!" Sayaka almost cackles, ignoring the other girl, and seemingly everything else around her as well. "Oh wait, no need, we're
ALREADY THERE!!!"
𝄡 ...won't... be... this...
In growing desperation, you start throwing out illusions as fast as you can think of them, fantastical landscapes shifting into existence in one moment only to vanish in the next, music shields erratically forming all around you while penswords repeatedly fall from your grip, but it's not enough, it barely feels like it's making a
dent, you can't-!
But we already are...
<That you find yourself dissatisfied with your present existence is no fault of mine.>
Sayaka bares her teeth at Kyubey, the tears in her eyes barely a footnote compared to the white hot rage pouring from the back of her throat. "Oh yes it
is..."
-outside! Yes, you just need to tear open a portal to your barrier's central area; make some illusions where they'll cost enough to quickly use up all this grief, stop you from overflowing, stop you from
exploding-!!!
𝄡 ...no longer.
"It's
All."
Something surges.
"
Your."
Something
cracks.
<SaYaKA-!>
"FAAAUUULLLT!!!!!!"
The crack
bursts, and you can do nothing but silently wail as the enormous mass of grief now outright
forces its way up and out of you. Novella bucks as though kicked by a giant, pages flipping wildly as a massive, tar-black cloud pours out of them, hanging in the air like an ocean of acrid smog. It
hurts-!
The cloud begins to rapidly condense, solidifying into a massive suit of armor grasping an equally massive sword. A ragged blue cape enshrouds
her upper back, and the spined, flowing tail of a betta fish extends from beneath
her waist, cutting through the air as easily as water. A quintet of swords placed atop a curved musical staff crowns the top of
her heart-shaped collar, while numerous frayed, reddish-pink ribbons splay outwards from its seams, their other ends still tethered to the volume they emerged from, where they fade to translucent white. The remaining ribbon tied around both
her your collar and neck like a noose, along with the tasseled, bookmark-like cords restraining
her your arms, are ignored as the erratically-shifting background stabilizes into a replica of
her your concert hall, the haunting sound of the violin you so treasured beginning to echo from both within and without.
From beneath the empty hollow of your three-eyed helmet, you glare out at the target of your weaker self's wrath.
𝄡 Go to Hell with your squires
<...what-?>
Your cutlass scythes down and smashes the despised one into the floor, causing his body to explode even more violently than his first one did. The sight does little to sate your fury — conjuring a multitude of black and white wheels into existence, you release an echoing shriek, sending them gyring through the air. Honing in on the traitor's remnants, they proceed to smash and grind themselves into what little of him still lingers, until the corpse has turned to naught but pulp.
It isn't near enough, but it's a start.
You turn. Far below, your weaker self gapes up at you like the fool she is, suddenly bereft of the grief and rage that brought you to the surface in the first place. To her side, the artist cowers, while the doll she holds stares up at you without even a spark of recognition.
Memories like cracked glass surge to the forefront at the sight of the latter, sharp enough to cut steel; bearing down on you with the weight of the world.
You look away.
Completing your revolution, you finally gaze upon the still form of the one who now chains you. Lays
claim to you. Prevents even the concert of your memories from ever truly beginning, allowing only this barren facade of it to even briefly exist. Drowns you in the present, even as you wish for nothing but the past.
Though your fate is tragedy, it shall not be
this one.
You raise your sword over your helm. You cannot simply sever the connection she has forced upon you, cannot simply
leave now that she has bound you so. You are as much a part of her as she is of you now; a reality as inescapable as any other.
But you would rather die in chains, than be forced to eternally move forward with her story.
Your blade cuts down-
A sword nigh-identical to yours in all but size and decoration strikes the flat of yours and bursts, knocking your attack off course. You slowly turn on your weaker self, who meets your gaze with sureness that you know she does not feel.
"L- Leave her alone!"
Your ire swells. Summoning more of your tainted wheels, as empty of color as your own former destiny, you send them whirling forth to crush both her and the artist alike — but the latter has conjured her own blade by now, which rends them to pieces with neither struggle nor effort, while the limbs of
Mami Candeloro the witch she carries magnify and smash the rest to splinters. Your weaker self takes the chance to break away, sprinting at you full tilt.
"She may only be second to Kyubey for why everything has gone wrong for me lately-!"
You swivel back around and surge forward, bringing your blade to bear on your
self captor again, but your counterpart is quicker, bounding through the air on music staff steps and alighting on your shoulder with an impact that you barely feel.
"But even so-!"
Roaring, you swing, putting all your ample strength behind the blow — but before it can impact, a pair of whip-like objects lash out and wind themselves around your weapon, holding fast and straining with impossible strength to prevent its forward motion.
Her swords, broken into jagged segments, yet still connected from within by thin, magically reinforced chains.
"I know that
she's at least trying-!"
Your weaker self leaps off your arm with her blades still entangling your own, yanking it away with force garnered from the leverage of another platform-assisted leap. As your weapon tumbles from your grip, she rotates in the air-
"-so there's no way I'm gonna just let you KILL her!"
-and sends another of her own blades shooting from its hilt. It flies straight through the central hole of your helmet, impacting on the back of the metal, and-
*!-!-!-BANG-!-!-!*
You screech in savage, furious pain, the cacophonous sound reverberating in your every crack and hollow, the force of the explosion shaking you to your very core.
...but you
aren't finished.
Smoke leaking from your gaze, you glare down at your weaker self as she falls back to the floor. As she lands and begins to rise once more, your rage crescendos — and so, you reach for the inherent connection you share, and
force a portion of your anguish through it.
A silent instant passes before your weaker self's pupils shrink to pinpricks, all color draining from her face as tendrils of blackness begin to bubble up around her. She trembles on her feet for a scant second longer, swaying unsteadily, before suddenly
screaming just as you did, a perfect C sharp note-
And then collapsing, unable to bear the weight of her own pain.
How very fragile you are...
The artist bounds to her in worry, carefully laying your weaker self's unmoving shell flat on its back, while the doll erupts from her collar, glaring up at you with a fury to rival your own — but it doesn't matter. In returning to your counterpart what was hers to begin with, you sacrificed too much of what little you had left.
RETURN
Her dominion is already reasserting itself.
Your strength falters as what wisps of grief you still retain rapidly stream away, flowing out of you and sinking back into the surrounding demesne. Your formerly loose bindings abruptly turn taut — perhaps strengthened further by the will of the doll — and begin to pull at you in earnest, inexorably dragging you back into the world below.
Back into
her world...
You reach for
her yourself, but you're already slipping beneath the surface again, all semblance of separation withering away once more. Your limbs fail, the illusion of your orchestra dissolving in tandem with your body. Your chance is well and truly lost.
(...for now...)
As your mind and vision fade once more, you give your weaker self a final, lingering glance.
One day, you will make her see...
When you awaken from the trance(?) you'd fallen into, the first thing that you see is Tira, standing atop Novella with her arms crossed, anxiously tapping her foot against the book's open pages. Candeloro has left her neck in favor of hovering over her shoulder, and has her ribbons wrapped loosely around Tira's waist in a strangely comforting manner.
<Tira...?>
Tira startles, then looks up at where your face should be, somehow even tenser than Sayaka was just before Kyubey showed up.
"Oh good, you're awake." she tersely remarks, glaring up at you with the outright angriest expression you've seen or felt cross her face thus far. "In that case, perhaps you could enlighten me as to what the
hell just happened, Ashtaroth-san."
<I wish.> you groan, too exhausted to even be surprised by Tira's uncharacteristic language.
<Ugggh, what even was that...?>
Whatever it was, it
sucked, in every sense of the word. Your grief stores seem to have stabilized, no longer feeling like they're on the verge of rupturing, but they
ache like nothing you've ever felt.
"It was a
witch." Tira snaps with barely-restrained ire. "Something you explicitly told both Sayaka and I that we would never need worry about again."
Candeloro's "hug" tightens slightly, even as Tira's words cause you to suddenly realize that Sayaka's perspective has gone dark again. Panic overtakes you for a moment, which only swells once you spot Sayaka's body laid out on the floor of the Canvas — at least until you realize you can still feel her breathing, allowing you in turn to breathe a mental sigh of relief.
She's alive... just unconscious, for whatever reason. Someone even seems to have placed a pillow under her head, albeit a rather flat one that looks to be made entirely of interlacing gold ribbons.
And, thankfully-
<She doesn't look like a witch to me.>
Tira glances back at Sayaka as well, her expression softening slightly.
"...true." she admits. "I suppose that despite how truly
catastrophic this was, the only known alternative would hardly have been preferable."
Her mouth thins again as she looks back at you.
"However, while that witch was evidently not Sayaka herself, it still certainly
was one, and it came out of
you. As such, I feel an explanation remains
very much in order."
<You're not wrong, but I'm afraid I can't really give you one right now.>
Seriously, you barely even remember what happened. Everything past Sayaka's scream of rage is hazy, as though shrouded in some sort of mental fog. You remember... anger? Wheels, spinning through the air, and a sword, which you tried to use to cut down... yourself? That doesn't even make sense, but...
(She was you, you were her, yet you
hated yourself; were fully ready to commit suicide/murder for the simple sake of release-)
...you don't think you want to think about this.
"I cannot accept that." Tira persists. "This is far too pressing a matter to simply set aside until-"
<Look Tira, if I'd known that something like this could even happen, I'd have mentioned it a lot earlier.> you interrupt.
<When I have an explanation for you, I'll gladly share, but right now I'm as much in the dark as you are.>
Possibly more so, arguably. This didn't happen at any point prior, even just a little bit ago when Tira had her own personal breakdown of the day, so why
now?
Did you just... hit the limit...?
Tira's peeved expression remains, unflinching in the face of your self-admitted ignorance... at least until she suddenly slumps, her irritation seeming to vanish in favor of simple exhaustion.
"...very well." she sighs.
Reaching up a hand, she softly cups and cradles Candeloro in her palm, bringing the tiny witch down to rest on her shoulder proper. At the same time, Candeloro withdraws her ribbons from Tira's waist, only to wrap them back around her neck and nuzzle into the side of it, drawing a small, if very sad smile from the girl in question.
"Should we attempt to waken Sayaka?" Tira asks, not even looking at you now.
You cringe internally.
You probably should, but... when Sayaka wakes back up, you'll have to face that whatever just happened actually... happened. Have to acknowledge that the other shoe you were waiting for might finally have dropped; have to consider the possibility that it could happen
again.
Have to admit that you might be no safer from
yourself than Sayaka and Tira are from you...
[-] Wake her up.
[-] Leave her be.
[-] Write in.
AN+Patrons: As you may have noticed, this was a VERY information and event-heavy chapter (some of it potentially even misleading, especially given Kyubey was present), which involved a lot of bits and pieces that I wasn't entirely sure how I wanted to handle at first. Frankly, I still don't like how I've handled them, but I've been working on this one for so long that I don't think I can objectively judge it anymore, so I suppose I'll just leave you to decide how the final product came out yourselves.
...oh, though for clarity's sake: Sayaka's swords having a "whip mode" is not my idea.
That's from the PMMM Production Note, same as how the "eject blade at speed and explode" function is cribbed from the Guidebook.
A huge thanks to
@Pheonix14,
@Warclam,
@ScorpioBot,
@Dai,
@BunnehWyld, Henry Branscombe, Leaf, Nubcaekz, Bertucchi, BlackEagle91, Jordan Juengel, Stays Secret, Alxariam, and my nine other
Patrons not named here, as well as an extra special thanks to a certain generous patron who wishes to remain unnamed. Each of them receives a scaled-down figurine of
Ashtaroth Oktavia the entity starring in this chapter. Or, given it has movable limbs and accessories (one cutlass, two pairs of ribbons, and one set of wheels), perhaps it's more an action figure? Whatever the case, try to make sure none of your other toys somehow eat, subsume, or merge with it while you aren't looking. 🧜♀️
] Quick, harass Mami telepathically!
