Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Add Reply
The First Casualty; Fate/stay Night Fanfic
Topic Started: Feb 11 2010, 10:23 PM (51 Views)
TheInterloper
Member Avatar

So I'm not usually one to write fanfics, but I couldn't curb my enthusiasm for the original Visual Novel or the anime at the time that I wrote this last summer. Right now, this project is currently in hiatus, but if you guys like it, I'll post up the rest of what I have so far, and I might even start writing again if that's still not enough. After all, the only /real/ reason I stopped writing was because I needed to work on my novella for Capstone. XD

WARNING: If you've never read the VN or seen the anime, you'll likely be confused in several parts of this story despite my rudimentary explanations of some basics of this war. If you have questions, feel free to ask; I tried to make this reader friendly when I wrote it, but in the end, this was definitely a story written to be enjoyed by fans of this universe. If you're not already a fan, but happen to like what you see of the story, I highly suggest you check out the series!

This will also have mostly original characters, but I'm borrowing the universe and its system for the Holy Grail War. Just to let you know. ;)

So without further ado, here's the beginning of my story. Enjoy!




“The First Casualty”
A Fate/stay Night Fanfic by TheInterloper


He wanted to mutter something silly, something grand…

The taste in his mouth was fresh, warm, familiar, accumulating along the floor of his mouth and submerging his tongue. His body cradled itself in a pool of crimson liquid, but the pain still churned along the man’s chest, bittersweet. Whatever surprise shrouded his face all but vanished in his mind.

Like those kids with wild imaginations, the heroes in video games or movies, and those D20 jocks…

Images flashed, raced like sports cars constantly running on turbo. Some he recognized, some he didn’t; emotions fluctuated into spectrums he never could’ve expressed, only to lose them in the spectral void. Involuntarily he gazed; if he could cry, he would. If he could stand, he would leave. And if he could leave the man would lope away and leave this god forsaken moment behind.

Perhaps he was simply childish, driven by greed. But an opportunity had presented itself. A wish…

He never felt so fearful for anything. Despite those he hurt and slew, the fact he should be dead already, he had been indulgent enough to reject his own fate. Such a foolish notion…

The risks seemed worthwhile. He was competent. No one could match him or anything that was summoned by these hands…

Foolish. Worthwhile. He wanted to laugh despite the blood clogging his throat. To be at death’s doorstep, he still doubted his own existence ever being silenced. Yes, he would be that arrogant – to think his actions did anything but good for himself. He might even be right in some twisted manner.

Everyone who stood in his way would be strewn aside, even eliminated if need be. He wasn’t particular about killing, nor did he really think about it. The concept seemed simple… yet so distant from him.

He now wanted to mutter something silly, something grand…

Maybe if he actually experienced something called “death”, to risk everything…

Oh, how easily a life could be taken, only this time…

No, it was impossible for him to anticipate. He still had plenty of life ahead of him. Fate simply came much too soon.

“God damn it.”

He attempted to spit, but only ended up drooling crimson from the corner of his lips. His barely movable fingers clenched the dirt beneath them, and for a moment he felt himself in the spotlight. Inhaling, a powerful scream erupted from his lips, his chest, his very being, rolling with emotion since locked in his heart. Though that familiar body now lay as still as a corpse in that crimson puddle, he spoke a name in an anxious cry for preservation. “Lancer…!”

---



A dream.

Streams of light flowed from the forest canopy like leaks in a rainstorm, changing course and direction with every sway of the wind. As the lights danced on the surface below, they revealed inklings of grass and weeds growing from the leaf litter, hardly competing with the trees for much needed nourishment and sunlight. Everywhere else, the shadows roamed freely, even in the morning hours of the day.

The last bits of dew had already vaporized or trickled down to the wet forest floor, and the coos and noises of the forest were missing. Insects failed to march and flutter through the surroundings No signs of wildlife were visible as if nonexistent altogether, leaving hardly any traces behind. The beautiful woodlands were completely silent aside from the cool flow of air tracing between the wooden trunks, and though some would call this peaceful, it proved merely a distraction from reality.

And at the center of the scene, a breadth opened up where the light cascades down without intervention, contrasting with the shade of the surrounding woods. As if pushing back any traces of shadow, of departure and deceit, the sway of surrounding branches alluded to the continuing struggle between the two foes on the forest floor, neither the glow nor the gloom giving away ground to the other. But within this clearing lay the hope of this wooded land, apparently dormant despite appearing perfectly healthy. In a patch of emerald grass, highlighted in the halo of light, was the sleeping form of a girl.

She had been the tapestry of every dream since before he could remember, and not once had he ever observed the girl other than in those summer clothes, lying silently on her side. Long, golden brown hair hung like waves of silk down to along her back, partially expanded out along the ground while the scalp was hidden by a straw summer hat which also hid her face. Only her small lips remained completely visible, partially agape but in a light shade of pink that reflected the light like water.

The liveliness of the child’s skin had been the only sign she was alive, but her chest didn’t heave and her breath was too shallow to discern from a distance. At best, the girl had to be asleep, but at worst she was mere moments from death. But this world spared the dreamer from owning a body; even as he tried reaching out, he felt no reaction; only his senses remained in the loosest sense – merely an observer of this quiet landscape and its sole inhabitant. Watching the helpless person in front of him, however, could only be explained with one word: peaceful. If this dream, this existence continued on forever, then he, in turn, would eternally be enthralled by the sleeping girl. In all the world, there could be no other being capable of pureness; to think and comprehend meant only an inclination for corruption, so to live her meaningless life meant being uninflected by the outside, but exempt from bias and opinion, good and evil, law and chaos… a pure existence ironically like not existing at all.

He couldn’t afford to live like that. The world was a cruel but rewarding place, a haven for those unable to live pure existences and take on their role as human beings. Regardless of the circumstances, people are always given choices; pure existences live without understanding or the capacity to make a difference for themselves. Only the adulterated, such as him and the other six billion people in the world, would desire the imperfections that make up their day-to-day lives, whether it is to keep or maintain power or protect something dear to them – in the end, even a unanimous decision for the good of the people carries negative consequences, and those involved are the ones at fault.

So the dreamer could only adore and admire the unconscious child. He could only guess at a name, age, or personality for her, what she could be dreaming about… but a guess could never be the truth without verification. The girl had no identity, and could only be perceived through a dream. Though the observer barely understood it, the girl’s form only represented something pure. She didn’t even have a face or a background, and thus couldn’t be anything without the dreamer’s imagination.

And as he decided all this through the many nights he slept, the dreamer was left with one critical question that always dazzled him along with the girl’s innocent beauty. Why? Why did he have the same recurring dream for so many years in a row? Why was he always possessed by this peaceful visage? It hardly carried a purpose for him; the dreamer was far from being a pure existence, and waking this girl was impossible. No matter what he did, neither of them could be considered alike and never would be. The two lived in separate worlds altogether and could never meet. Coming to any sort of awareness between the two of them meant one of them would change. The observer could never go back, and this girl would forever sleep, ignorant of the silent, shrouded forest around her.

---

Sitting up, I gaze sleepily at the digital clock at the end of my room, begging for it to turn off by itself and remaining blissfully ignorant of the alarm in my vain efforts to convince myself to go back to bed. Well, more of a futon, really, which sits firmly on the floor not too far from ground level. Even though it’s not the most comfortable thing to sleep on, or even all that useful as a foldable couch, I still haven’t replaced it. A testament to my procrastination, I guess.

It’s only with my first useless and unimportant thoughts every morning that I finally find the willpower to stand, walk across the scantily lit room, and firmly end the device’s erratic reign of noise with a click of a button. I take a short moment to breathe, filling my lungs with as much oxygen as possible, before stretching my limbs a bit so I’m at least capable of trekking through the hallway to the bathroom. It’s an everyday chore, but I have to suck it up and be ready to move in about thirty minutes.

Eventually I’m dressed, groomed, and ready to leave. Right on cue, my stomach growls as I enter the small kitchen. The apartment itself is hardly something to brag about, what with only the living area, a niche for a kitchen, and a diminutive hallway that leads to a laundry room, bathroom, and two bedrooms. The one I sleep in is the smaller of the two and basically empty – just my futon and a nook for my clothes, with a dressing table holds my personal items. I always keep the other bedroom closed and locked, with the key either in my possession or hidden in one of the drawers where my room is situated. It’s standard procedure, but it’s where I spend a lot of my time in the evenings.

Still technically half-asleep as I grab an orange from the counter, I barely miss slicing my finger with a knife as I’m working it into wedges. Realizing my mistake, I start chopping faster and with more precision, giving it my all to stay awake. I keep telling myself I need more sleep than I usually get, but things never really go the way I plan them to. Losing track of the time is simply a bad habit of mine, leading to lackadaisical mistakes that could potentially cause, well… a chopped finger.

I stick one of the wedges in my mouth before gathering my belongings. Once I think I have everything – pencils, paper, pens, calculator, yadda yadda yadda – I set it down on the floor next to my mat near where I’d set the orange slices on the table. Turning on the TV, I lean back a little to stretch a little more. My body isn’t exactly reacting as I wanted it to, feeling stiff and resistant to my commands. I could probably go back to bed now and fall asleep without a problem. What’s wrong with me? I’m not much of a morning person, but…

…Wait.

The TV suddenly catches my attention. I’d changed it to the news out of habit, looking out for odd happenings that might not be explainable through normal means. Though far from being thorough reconnaissance, the broadcasting stations occasionally gave stories of odd happenings through town, but Fuyuki City… well…

“…we’re currently getting reports that suggest the presence of gas leaks near the water tower. The details on how this could have caused the half-dozen people to go missing is still under investigation, but officials assure us that this accident can and will be taken care of.”

That was it. The entire broadcast concerning six people, killed the night before, ended with a suspicion of gas leaks. What did that mean, anyways? It simply seemed odd that an otherwise functioning urban city would allow such careless occurrences to cause fatalities. If something like this happened again, he would have to take action. Whether people died didn’t concern him morally; death was an absolute occurrence capable of happening anywhere and to anybody at anytime. Attempting to save the lives of people you don’t know, especially, had to be the most reckless thing a person could do. I can only pity them, nod, and move on. I’m hardly going to be insulted if another human is killed.

My fingers combed through my hair. I finally felt awake, aware, enough to understand the possible situation. To think the war would begin so soon… but then, that also meant I know that gas leaks probably weren’t the problem here. This is good news. Very good news. I could pity the dead all I want, but this meant someone, at least one, is in way over his or her head.

Having insight into the conflict of this Holy Grail War, a battle between magi often resulting in death, I could easily say the one who attacked those people at the water tower had been a novice. I knew of the Masters, mages who summoned their powerful familiars, the Servants who heeded them and fought together to attain the greatest prize imaginable: a wish from the Holy Grail, which could only be allegedly obtained by defeating all the other Servants and their Masters. Alone, a single magus stood no chance, but apparently this clod had already begun preparations by summoning a Servant and, through the familiar, started siphoning prana, or magical power, from innocent people.

Ideally a contender wouldn’t have to rely on such methods; competent magi were more than able to supply the prana themselves to their Servants via their magic circuits, so going through the trouble of killing unrelated mundanes meant the Master in question had been weak. With such an easy target, getting started as quickly as possible would be a major priority.

I couldn’t contain my excitement. Even though I rarely find true happiness in anything and considered every task merely a step further into the future, I now seek a prize worth obtaining. I wasn’t even sure what I will wish for – I just knew that winning would be my goal. I’ll seize victory as if Fate had deemed it so, crushing anyone and anything in the way.

“I am a magus after all.” I said it loudly enough so that even the other, lingering presence in the room could hear the words clearly. As I stand from the table, I grasp another orange wedge, clenching it with my teeth before turning for the door, leaving the other slices there in my growing fit of anxiety. Little time could be wasted contemplating; at school and on the way to and from, I’ll have to keep an eye out. I finally realized why I felt so depleted this morning, being reminded by the scant purchase of a spirit following my every move. Because of that, other Masters would be on watch as well, and the academy will be a hotspot for gatherings. More so than that, I require a plan of action.

I close the door and it clicked, locked. The surrounding city around me suddenly felt hostile, more so than yesterday, as if entering disputed territory for the first time...
Edited by TheInterloper, Feb 11 2010, 10:23 PM.
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
Sgt. Tacoz
Member Avatar
Rawrawradinosawr
I remember this! :D

I still liek it. :3:
Offline Profile Quote Post Goto Top
 
1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous)
« Previous Topic · General Fanfiction · Next Topic »
Add Reply