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Shared Resonance of Possession Experience	By : ArashiLeonhart Category: +. to F > Fate/stay Night Views: 9792 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own TYPE-MOON and associated verse and characters. I make no money on this, although in Japan, I could.

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Trace On

Coming home for the first time in over a year was stranger than Shirou thought it would be. It was not any different—the streets still had the same bustle of cars and insane drivers, the stores still had overly polite attendants and clerks, even the billboard adds promoted the same things. Nothing was, objectively, any different about it unless he thought about the extreme details.

But still, the sensation was there. Shirou had returned home, but could not go home.

He could not let Taiga, nor anyone else in Fuyuki, know that he was back in the country. The whole point he had to leave London was to make sure nobody was hurt in the promised struggle to “contain” him. Though Rin had been defiant in defending him, the damage was done. He was now a wanted person.

Not that he felt like a criminal, though. The Association had limited influence in the Far East and while Shirou assumed they would have certain ways to track him or discover his location, they were much more limited than if he had stayed in Europe. A watch was probably put on his house and the magical equivalent of a “bug” on or around people he might contact, but he was fairly certain that was the extent to which they could seek him out. What he would have to worry over is if they brought in a third party like his father had been, one who did not overlook the mundane to follow their prey.

His first order of business was to figure out what to do about his current situation. He had some money converted from what he had brought to London back to Japan, he had some of his things, and he had the instruction from Rin on his brand of magecraft. It was not exactly the start he wanted, but he had enough of a foundation to get going in pursuit of the future he knew waited for him.

Withdrawing money was easy. Though he rarely touched it, the account Raiga had set up for him was easy to access, but actually bore the Fujimura name. Though Shirou doubted that the Association had ways of tracking finances within Japan, he still appreciated the fact that if he was wrong, it was more likely they would be looking for accounts tied to the name “Emiya.” He also made sure to do so from a post office in Homura, avoiding the areas of Japan he was familiar to and could easily be tracked in.

Figuring out what he was going to do for some kind of semi-permanent workshop or base was a little harder to think about. Though he had learned since going to London of his father’s overall reputation and even some specific information—including locations he had apparently used as a base of operations at the height of his Mage Killer days—Shirou did not have any particular use for it himself. He was not going to be some kind of hired gun for the Association and truly needed to keep away from their grasp instead. Finding someplace secluded enough but still close to the places he could do some good in the world seemed almost antithetical to one another. He could keep on the move, but that would burn through what funds he did have in a hurry.

He would also have to figure out employment, then. Thankfully, the training he had managed was not absolutely for naught: he still could manage Reinforcement a lot more efficiently and smoothly now, so at the very least he would not tire out if all he could manage was a cash-only menial labor job.

Unfortunately, his training was still deficient everywhere else. Whatever place he could set up at would not have the benefit of a boundary field—he did not have the ability to set one up, and even if he somehow could, his own specific focus in magic would mean any response a field he created had to an intruder would probably be violent.

He did, however, know one thing: with the Church and the Association on bad terms, he could always deal with the other side. As Rin had once said, he wanted to find trouble, so hanging around members or locations of the strongest religious order in the world was probably a good way to do so.

He did not expect a situation to rear up so fast.

Shirou had only been back in the country for just over a week. Staying at cheap capsule hotels, he visited a simple little church every day, appearing every bit a young devotee that came to pray every day—though he simply practiced breathing exercises and meditated. For the most part, the clergy left him alone, though once or twice one of the priests had come to him, engaged in small talk, tried to see if he was interested in attending regular Sunday services. Otherwise, he was left alone and could simply take in the world around him and get his bearings. People came and went, the priests he had met would move about to their duties, the others that came for prayer or confession would commune with their god.

All in all, it was a normal day as far as he could tell, yet there was something in the air that spoke otherwise.

It was late in the day when he had ventured into the church, and fairly late as he made to leave—when what sat wrong with him became apparent. What was “wrong” did not cover his understanding, though, as it was more of an unordinary-infringing-upon-ordinary situation.

Church Executors. Demon destroyers and magi hunters.

Executors were a strange bunch. Besides the two he had met previously—one of which, when not wearing her habit, paraded around in clothing more suitable for a professional call girl—he had seen a few in passing while in London, ones that had communicated with Rin for various purposes. As a magus family with ties to the Church, Rin made sure to keep the connections necessary to continue their positive relationship. However, as the Association and Church were not exactly on the best of terms, they had always sent Executors, a show of force.

Even in London, where Christians were significantly more common than anywhere in Japan, Shirou could tell there was just something a little strange about the Executors. It might have had something to do with how they fought distortions in the world, like they had picked up on the unreal sense of the entities they slay.

Three of them entering the church, moving like they had important business to attend to. They made straight for the priest that had spoken to Shirou before, spoke in hushed tones. At first, he thought they were there for him—Rin’s talk of Kirei Kotomine’s betrayal and their reputation for killing magi that got in their way floated through his mind—but it was quickly clear they were going to ignore everyone in the pews.

Already moving for the exit, Shirou pretended to ignore them, but the moment he was clear of the doors, found an inconspicuous place to set up watch on the building’s entryways. Like he thought, the three newcomers were not long and exited the church in turn, though once more it was not in a hurry, telling Shirou they were not after him. Still, he was fairly certain they were Executors, by the looks of them: though in the garb of church priests, they still carried an aura of strangeness about them. Additionally, one wore a pendant around their wrist, something that looked vaguely cross-shaped but was not, Shirou knew, a simple holy symbol for decorative purposes.

It seemed they were out for more than a leisurely stroll.

Following them turned out to be both easier and harder than Shirou thought. On the one hand, he had no magecraft abilities to enchant a person to trick them into not seeing him or erase their memory if they have. He could not use a Mystic Code to conceal him from sight, nor use a form of divination to simply track the Executors from a remote location. On the other hand, however, Executors would be trained in perceiving those things and their very usage might set off any number of alarms for them. So he had to, instead, rely on absolutely mundane means to follow them—and not look suspicious in doing so.

He at least managed to not attract the attention of the church members. He probably failed to look anything less than a complete stalker to the people in town.

They took a train to one of the more remote stations, then took to one street that led out toward the highways and rural areas beyond. Shirou was certain they were after something specific with how deliberate they made their decisions. The growing look of anticipation and anxiety on their faces as they got further and further into the remote areas of the town supported that. One fiddled with the “pendant” at hand, rotating it between his digits almost like he were fingering a rosary.

Shirou had the strangest urge to tell him to stop. Weapons were not toys.

The further from regular contact with people on the street they got, the further and further Shirou had to trail them by. He kept them within distant sight, though, as he was capable enough to Reinforce his eyes so they would match up with the knight in red he aspired to.

When they decided to enter an old, dilapidated building—apparently their destination—Shirou set up on the roof of another, still a fair distance away, but close enough that he could hear with magically-enhanced senses and make a shot if he felt it necessary.

“What do you want, Executors of the Holy Church?”

Apparently, whoever they were after was well-aware of the intruders. Though they had yet to ascend the first set of stairs and the voice had rang loud and clear from the top floor, two flights up. Though he could not see them with his eyes, he could visualize them glancing to one another, deciding what to do with silent looks and gestures, before the sound of their footsteps resumed. Shirou winced at what could happen through this all: in observing the building, he could tell that too much activity would cause the entire thing to collapse, as the structural integrity was ready to fail from cracked foundations, rotten supports, and rusty closures.

The Executors climbed up to the top story and through the broken windows, Shirou watched as they fanned out into a larger room. The speaker moved into sight as well: a young woman, clad in an odd-looking uniform and sporting a braid of hair that would make any manga heroine envious.

“Sion Eltnam Atlasia, by the powers granted from the Holy See and at the request of Atlas, you are to be taken into custody,” the lead Executor said. He was a tall and imposing man, so Shirou figured he was chosen to speak primarily out of his intimidating manner. The two others moved to flank either side of the girl, the one that had been carrying the pendant pulling the device fully off his wrist and activating it: a Black Key, one of the conceptual weapons of the Church.

Shirou considered what the speaker had meant. Usually, Executors were expected to shoot first and not ask questions later: their mandate was to destroy demons, exorcizing them from existence without a care as to what their individual stories were. Theirs was the power and judgment of God, and they came down hard and swift upon those deemed taboo to the teachings of Christianity. But to give anything this kind of care—even if it was a forceful order rather than a polite suggestion—it implied some kind of political reasoning as opposed to the pure weaponization the Executors usually represented.

The young woman shook her head, and over the distance Shirou could even make out the set look on her face. In the faint light from the street, it made her profile seem somehow mystical, and he wondered what kind of things she had done or distortions that could have affected her made up that presence. “I cannot comply,” she said, loud and clear. “Though it has broken the rules of Atlas, it is paramount that I stay here.”

Tension rose—the one with the Black Key set himself for a fight, and the one opposite of him took a martial arts stance. The lead Executor said, “It is not a request. You will either return,” he motioned to his fellows, “or be destroyed. It’s your choice, but I would warn you not to underestimate our abilities.”

For some reason, Shirou swore he had heard that before.

Again, the young woman shook her head, though now she was reaching for her side where a pistol of some kind hung. This was going to escalate to violence real fast, and Shirou was still unsure as to where he sat on the duty scale of sides to take.

The speaking Executor sighed, settled into a fighting stance as well. The other two took this as a readying sign, and the one with the blade raised his arm, ready for a strike.

“I have to stop him…”

Something in her words, whispered so quietly that he could hardly hear them, words not even addressing her would-be slayers, had him convinced. It settled the feeling in the pit of his stomach and he made his decision.

“Trace, on.”

Tizona was the sword of El Cid, said both to startle enemies and burn as if alight like the swords wielded by the guardians of Eden. He poured enough prana into the sword to break it, sent it flying into the space between Atlasia and the Executors. The sword hit the dirty floor of the abandoned building and flared to life, bright as the sun, intense enough from the gathering dusk that even he, from far away, was momentarily stunned into haziness by his eyesight overloading.

Shirou thought that the actual story probably hovered somewhere in the middle of intimidating opponents and turning to fire, as the blade could emit such a bright light that it blinded a foe, forcing them to submit defeat.

The Executors all swore—Shirou thought that somehow funny—and the girl dove right out the open window to her back. This action also served to cement his choice: a person out for blood would have used an opportunity like that to try and recover quicker and slay the three attackers, but this one used the presented moment to flee. Shirou ducked atop the building he was on and watched, waiting for the Executors to either follow after their target or try to seek out who had just thrown a flaming sword into their midst—but the men all dropped suddenly out of sight and the curses began firing on all cylinders. Something within the building had tripped them up, and the one with the Black Key was suddenly too busy hacking away freeing his fellows to be bothered by pursuit.

Still, Shirou kept low to the rooftop and peered out toward the girl, who had crossed the street and was now looking around. He was thankful at how bright the sword had been, though, as she clearly was stunned enough herself to have lost some of her bearings and was probably having a hard time recalling from where exactly his weapon had flown in from. He watched her until she took down a side-street, considered going after her, but ultimately decided to stay put. He didn’t know whether she would appreciate help, what the entire situation was, and too, he was not exactly in the greatest of positions to help. He knew the name Atlas, knew they were tied to the Magic Association, and thought that he might in fact complicate whatever situation she had to deal with.

It was nice to know, though, that in the short time he had spent in London mastering his tools, he was getting to the level of ability that would allow him to truly pursue his dream.

“Well…damn,” Shirou grumbled.

“You should really have thought twice about utilizing a Noble Phantasm on your stunt with the Church.”

It was only two days later, and it looked like his adventure might have been cut short.

“How did you find me, exactly?” he asked.

She was fairly tall and wore a suit and tie like a professional, though the gloves she wore offset any idea that she might be a simple businesswoman. He had met her once before, very briefly, and knew that her abilities were well and simply something of a natural enemy to his own. She was a Mage Killer like his father, an enforcer of the Association, and a former Master of the Holy Grail War. She was Bazett Fraga McRemitz.

“The Executors you attacked were men I know. They contacted me to ask about what they had seen. I was already aware of the order for Sealing the Association has on you. It is not difficult to piece together everything from that. There is only one other magi in the world that could possibly have utilized a Noble Phantasm, and only one would have used it so readily.”

It was not just that he had been found, but apparently Bazett had seen right through his own habits as well. He had felt all day that he was being followed, so as the sun began to set he had made for the wooded area some kilometers beyond even where the fight between Executors and the Atlasia girl had occurred, away from civilization. Though he was safer where people roamed, he did not like the thought that a magi might simply attack him regardless to innocent bystanders and look at covering up any victims afterward. Usually, it would not happen like that, but Shirou knew there were some real sociopaths that could justify it within the ranks of the Association.

Out here, he had confronted his pursuit, and now knew they had been waiting for that exact condition to be met as well.

“I bear you no grudge, Shirou Emiya,” Bazett said, “but you will come with me one way or another.”

“No. I’m not going to be their plaything or their pawn.” He really did not like the position this put him in—striking against someone who had nothing to do with his goals nor one who wanted to use him to their own ends.

Bazett sighed. “Shirou, though I don’t know you that well, I know your type well enough. I don’t want to fight if I don’t have to, because I know that if this escalates, you are just skilled enough that I will not be able to hold back. And in doing so, I might kill you.”

“I am a magus, and I will stake my life on living my life the way I’ve chosen.”

It was the mirror to his own position. The entire reason he had been marked for Sealing was not particularly due to his Reality Marble—though rare, the fact that he was otherwise a terrible magus with nothing in the way of usable research overrode the threat factor. Instead, he was now wanted because of politics. When it became clear he would not be convinced to use his power at the behest of the Association, to act as one of their enforcers—that was the real reason. Unlike Kiritsugu Emiya, he had not already established himself as a viable independent power. He was still a boy, and one the Association thought could be brought under its heel.

The fact that he refused was the reason he was deemed a criminal.

Fidgeting with the grasp of her gloves, Bazett gave a slow exhale. “So be it.” She took her stance, then like a boxer moving in to test the reach of an opponent, moved in with feather-light steps.

Kanshou and Bakuya formed in Shirou’s hands. Facing this one with only Reinforced limbs of his own was like asking to be murdered.

“Huaah!”

Bazett made the first strike, and he tried catching her blow in between the flats of his twin scimitars.

The blades broke.

Somewhere, he was certain Archer was laughing at him.

The block was enough though to deflect her strike. Bazett spun on her heel and came around with a backhand strike that would concuss him into unconsciousness. Shirou raised another pair of blades to block, this time keeping the image in his head strong enough that they merely groaned in reverb at the enforcer’s strike.

He managed another handful of blocks to keep her at bay, tried to maneuver her into position where he could box her in and cut off her much faster attacks. When her fifth blow shattered his blades once more—her blows were definitely stronger than Souichirou Kuzuki’s Reinforced strikes—he withdrew from her range entirely and made to ready what he thought could disable her.

She did not move to pursue him at first, instead crouching down and making motions with her hands over her feet.

Shirou growled to himself. The Fraga were also rune users, he recalled.

It was an action-repeat of his fight with Kuzuki. Kanshou and Bakuya formed in hand and Shirou managed a half-step backward instead of moving in for his combination attack. Bazett was too fast for him, however, and her blow blew right through the crossed swords and into his chest. He flew at the impact, rebounded off of a tree, and rolled into the dirt, awkwardly managing to stay at least facing his opponent. Once more, Bazett moved in, her stance up, ready to respond to anything he threw back at her.

Souichirou Kuzuki. The memory gave him a desperate idea. “Trace, on!”

The blade that formed was not a Noble Phantasm, nor even a sword, per se. Longer than even Assassin’s laundry-hanging pole, the weapon resembled something more like a flat bullwhip. Though sharp, it was significantly more flexible than a sword—

Shirou flicked his wrist and sent the weapon unraveling out like a charging eel. It was not fast enough, however, as Bazett sidestepped the thrust and moved in to beat him at a range his new weapon would not cover.

Shirou flicked his wrist again, sending the point veering off perpendicular from Bazett’s charge.

The movement sent a sort of wave of oscillation down the length of the weapon, more exaggerated the further from the point it went. The sharp side of the weapon swept out opposite from the point in a curve and came in toward Bazett at a strange angle. The cut was shallow but precise, striking right at the elbow of her arm, locked back for a strike. The enforcer gave a yelp, and while she continued through with her attack, Shirou had just enough of her attention divided to get away. He leapt past to the side with her uninjured arm and made a pull with his weapon, trying to sweep another quick attack into her while he had the chance.

Bazett was too good for him, though, and she dove right up and over his slash like a high bar, landing on her hands and shoulders, flipping back up to her feet in the same motion.

Another flick of his wrist, though, and a flourish that was half-spin on his part, followed by a hard yank, and the weapon had curled itself around the enforcer like a lasso.

The metal moaned in strain as Bazett pulled herself free, but the time it took her was just enough. Shirou made it a full couple of meters away and had reformed the paired scimitars once more. He moved so that from his perspective, she was right between him and a tree, keeping her from making a calculated move backward to completely avoid his maneuver.

“Spirit and technique, flawless and firm—”

Blades flew through the air, crossing like an x right before striking Bazett. Without enough time for a strike, the enforcer raised her arms to simply block the blows, but the blades then went flying past her at the waist to either side without hitting her.

“Our strength rips the mountains, our swords split the water, our names reach the Imperial Palace—”

Two more blades flew out at distant angles. The four in total began to arc around strangely, polarized or magnetized by their pair or by the opposing pair.

“The two of us cannot hold heavens together—”

He readied a third pair of blades and charged in to strike. If she went to block any particular set, she would be perfectly in line for another pair, each boomeranging blade carefully aimed to strike at her limbs for a disabling blow—

“Crane Wi—”

Bazett backhanded paired Kanshou and Bakuya flying at her from the front just as she came up in a one-footed cartwheel kick like a professional gymnast that swept in an arc and struck the Kanshou flying at her from behind. The second Bakuya sped into a straight line at that, missing her by centimeters, and she brought her body back to face her attacker, hips swinging, and a double-fisted punch that blew right into his exposed chest as he opened up his stance to bring his own Kanshou and Bakuya down into her arms.

The only thing that he realized saved him was a jerk at her wrists as if she were somehow impeded by the air around her.

Shirou staggered back into a crouch, his vision swimming.

Bazett looked curiously at her own fists.

“One good turn deserves another, does it not?”

Both glanced to one side to find Sion Eltnam Atlasia there, watching from the shadows of the deeper forest, her out like she was holding something.

Despite the blood rushing to his ears and the pain he felt in his sternum, Shirou knew that the address was directed to him. Without another thought, he brought his blades back up to slash at Bazett from either side. The enforcer easily grabbed his wrists in turn, though he wanted her to do that—

The shortest distance between any two objects was a straight line. Though the distance was not great, his head was still closer to hers than any kick from either of them could cover. He shoved himself up toward Bazett with all of the energy he had left in his legs and headbutted her right above the bridge of her nose and hoped to anything and everything listening that she had no protective rune that guarded against an idiot’s desperate move.

Bazett fell, and he fell in turn, though something cushioned them both as they did, cradling them like a hammock.

Sion pulled Shirou along, one of his arms braced over her shoulders.

“You are a strange person, Shirou Emiya.” She helped him along even though his feet dragged as if made out of lead. “You insist upon giving unsolicited help, but do not even attempt to allow one to know who it is that helped so the favor can be returned.”

Shirou wanted to sigh, but it hurt to do so. He thought that Bazett might have fractured every rib in his body and some bones he didn’t actually have between the two strikes she had made on him. Plus he was also certain he had cracked his own skull when returning the favor—and he thought that, in fact, he might have actually hurt himself more than hurt her when he did so. Still, it had been enough to knock her—them both—unconscious.

Grass and weeds swished beneath them as Sion helped him back toward civilization. Upon waking to find that Sion had stuck around to make sure he would make it back fine, he wanted to get them both a cab and to a different part of town until they could be fairly certain that, for the night, no members of any order whatsoever would be able to find them.

“Isn’t it alright to just help someone?” he asked, trying not to wince as his lungs rebelled against each word.

“Rhetorical question. You do not actually expect a response. You should not waste energy on such things.” Though, something in her tone suggested a faint sense of amusement. “Though I would suppose the answer is yes.”

He looked at her up close now, trying to get a read on her. She was a pretty young woman, somewhat exotic looking—definitely not Japanese, in any case—though her accent was perfect. The stoic expression she wore reminded him of Rin when Rin was at her most serious, and there was something else there that he could not quite put a finger to that also made him think to the mage. She eyed him from the corner of her gaze in response, and he knew she was expecting him to start asking questions. “How do you know my name?”

“I have been watching you all day, actually, and heard the enforcer say your name.”

Shirou glanced back to where they had left Bazett, alive and well, though she would wake with a headache for sure. “And whatever you’ve been using…some kind of alchemy, right? A strange monofilament that I can’t see?”

“I will explain it to you later, perhaps. I highly doubt that you will retain anything I say to you now.”

He mostly agreed with her there. His head felt worse than the times Taiga had smacked him into shape with her shinai. Most of them, anyway. “I’ll hold you to that. And I’d shake your hand, but, I can hardly lift it.”

“Perhaps it will be enough that, as an alchemist, I believe in equivalent exchange. So you should know that, if I am to explain my ‘monofilament’ to you, you must satiate my curiosity as to how one produces Noble Phantasms out of Gradiation Air.”

For some reason, the throbbing in Shirou’s head increased. Perhaps that was the reason this Sion reminded him of Rin: the dangers of one who knew more about yourself than you knew about yourself, at least from a technical standpoint.

Mage killers, Executors, and alchemists.

He sighed, and it hurt.

To be continued.
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Shared Resonance of Possession Experience