SF's "Write Your Butt Off!" Writing Competition XIV

[Rapier]

Use an old prompt, then.

Such ingenious plan had never reached my mind!

Seriously though, might just do that, or go with Anon's prompt idea (because I like it) with some touches (because building too many characters with that word count isn't easy =P).

I wish I'd be slapped with a fish everytime I procrastinate writing.

[Sunwoo]

How about I slap you with a fish every time you flake out of mafia?

[AnonymousSpeed]

But my prompt is an old one...

[Rapier]

How about I slap you with a fish every time you flake out of mafia?

I'd accept, but first I need to stop procrastinating on joining mafia games.

But my prompt is an old one...

Yes, using an old prompt was the idea.

Edited September 7, 2015 by Rapier

[Jotari]

"Anything goes" is the worst prompt for me because then I can't think of anything, ironically. I'll try, though.

If the old prompts don't suit you then I'll suggest a random new one. Write something set in Spain. Why Spain? I don't know, why not?

[jankmaster98]

If anyone wants to take this prompt I got one,

"Later, on his [Turin Turambar] tombstone, it was written, "...Master of Fate, yet by fate mastered," "

Inspired by the story of Turin Turambar, the tragic hero of the J.R. Tolkien's book The Children of Hurin, write a lament or a short story about a hero who fought against fate itself or the powers that be; and his or her eventual defeat brought about either through Fate, his or her own flaws or a combination of both.

I think I might write a small lament for the tragic hero, I just hope the ghost of J.R. Tolkien doesn't come after me for writing with his character.

[Snowy_One]

This may be a bit of a cheat since, you know, continuation of a prior story; but what the hey. Have fun and work out the writing muscle! Before you read on you should probably read this: http://serenesforest.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=52670&p=3924993It's the original post.

Title: Sugar, Spice, and Magic! The twin sister arrives!

Universe: OC universe used before in the comp.

Characters: Alexander, Rosemary, Thyme

Word count: ~5100

Notes: Be sure to read the original post to get a feel for the world.

[spoiler=Sugar, Spice, and Magic! The twin sister arrives!]

“So, you’re saying that, if I do this, you’ll let me into the seventh circle?” asked a young female mage with firey red hair. Her name was Thyme, a young mage whom had not even seen her twentieth year, but had achieved some very noticeable feats. She was dressed in a tight dress that clung close to her small, annoyingly ‘tiny’, body adorned with various pieces of jewelry and gemstones. In her hands was a small ring with a ruby red gemstone sitting upon it.

“Yes. Thyme.” replied another mage with a nod of approval. “Doubt its power? Here. Let me show you its might.” he quickly grabbed the ring and slid it onto his finger before raising his hands into the air as, without regard to the other magic students surrounding them, he shouted out “FIREBALL!” High overhead a massive bellow of flame burst forwards as a gigantic sphere, easily large enough to fill up a room, formed in the air and slowly started to descent, causing the first and second year students to run about fleeing in panic. Yet, oddly, Thyme’s face was dull and unimpressed as she stood beside the student.

“Wow. That sure is impressive.” she said with a wry tone in her voice.

“I know! And I’m willing to give it up to you in return for your help in getting revenge on the teachers!” he said with a grin as the sphere lowered a bit more. “And you had better hurry! This spell is so strong I can’t keep it aloft forever!” Thyme just rolled her eyes in response.

“Tell you what. I wager I can beat this great ball of fire with just one spell. One spell that won’t even require words.” she replied as she took a few steps forwards closer to the lowest point of the descending fireball.

“Ha! Go on! I know for a fact you can’t stop this spell! You’ll be easily a seventh level mage with my help!”

Thyme early raised her finger as a small piece of the floor, no larger than a tiny pebble that had been knocked off the walls and, somehow, managed to avoid the broom, floated up towards her hand. It hovered in the air just above her palms before Thyme gently put her other hand atop it, her lips seeming to move ever so slightly with hushed tones.

“Hey! I thought you said you didn’t need words!” shouted out the mage.

“I’m not casting a spell!” she said. Her hands suddenly clasped tightly as she quickly spun around. As she came about the pebble shot forth from her hands, zipping through the air at high speeds as it struck the mage full-on in the hand. The loud crack of stone striking gem filled the hallway before, overhead, the fireball gave a sudden shimmer before dispersing away in a shower of light. A shower followed up a split second later by Thyme launching herself through the air to slam her fist hard into the annoying mage’s gut, causing him to collapse to the floor.

“I’m telling the stone how frustrated I am that such a dumb mage thinks he can cheat his way up a circle by using a damned ILLUSION in the middle of a MAGE academy! I worked hard to make it to sixth circle. So, what was your game plan? Give me an illusion ring and pray to the goddess I didn’t use it before you moved up a level? Hope I didn’t notice that, should I refuse, you would be charged with attempted murder and kicked out?” she said as she shook her head. “If you really had the kind of power I need to progress you’d be better off with a wedding ring than some cheap bauble.”

With that she turned to start walking away a bit down the hall as the students around her slowly started to come to their wits. No one above the third circle had been terrified in the slightest as being able to keep control of themselves when someone was attempting a powerful spell was VERY useful, but the lower students, those just learning the basics of the craft, had been terrified and Thyme was going to reassure them just a bit.

“A wedding ring? Why… Why would I want to marry such a foul-tempered woman like you? I mean, you’re not even pretty! You look like a fourteen year old!”

Thyme’s eye gave a sudden twitch before she turned around. Her foot stomped the ground and she accelerated forwards super-fast, a literal trail of flames in her wake as she stopped right in front of the student.

“You know, I WOULD be irritated, furious, and outraged if someone else had said those comments. But I know you’re kind well enough. You’re nothing but flash and show and are shouting out in rage. Trying to provoke me into saying something to get under my skin so I either rush off in a huff or blast you away in a show of arcane power. But let me tell you something. I just kicked your third-circle ass with a PEBBLE! All because you got so damned arrogant and confident any spell I fired off would be directed at your fireball instead of your basic illusion ring. But you know what? You just scared at least fifteen students to the point where they’re rushing for the teachers and security now and about half the teachers are seventh circle and FEMALE. So, in the minute you’ve been standing there trying to convince me to help you, they’ve been rushing to get here as fast as possible. You want to say something like that? Say it to the people whom you need to convince to not kick your ass out onto the street where you’ll spend the rest of your days dodging arrows in some rowdy bandit group.”

She gave him a small pat on the shoulder as a smile, happy yet somehow also cruel, crossed her face. “Also, it’s been a minute and a half now.” she said as the student suddenly turned pale as a sheet and turned to rush off as one of the teachers, a tall woman with windswept hair and a fan, turned the corner. Thyme merely pointed her towards the right student and continued to walk away down the hall.

“If your power can be stopped by a pebble you never had it in the first place.” she whistled to herself as she walked down the hallway.

—

“What? Detention?” cried out Thyme as, around her, three teachers stood about in a rough circle. Her ‘incident’ from earlier hadn’t played out quite as she had imagined it. Sure, the teachers had arrived only a moment or two later and the reckless student had been bound in golden chains before being lead off for a proper scolding, but she had been summoned to the eighth circle rooms where the teachers resided and the school was managed.

“What the heck for? I didn’t break any laws! No spell capable of inflicting harm or panic upon a student may be cast outside of the classroom or training room without the oversight of a teacher. A spell to lift small objects like that isn’t considered to be one of those spells!” she cried out, clearly outraged.

“True. True.” said one of the teachers, an older woman wearing light clothes that had been cut largely away leaving little to the imagination. A sad choice of attire for the majority of other students whom were NOT interested in seeing the rear of anyone in their late sixties dressed in a thong and garter stockings. “However, if you forgot, you cast TWO spells. The pebble and the fire step spell. The latter is not considered to be safe for use in crowded hallways on account of there being fire in cramped hallways full of books and cloth.”

“Besides.” said the second one, a young man whom seemed to be even younger than Thyme, as if he was only eight. Thyme knew the man well enough to know he was actually in his late forties and relied heavily on curative magic to keep himself ‘as young and spry as a child’. “You have a history of this Thyme. Even if we were to accept that both your spells were acceptable you have a tendency to be rash and quick to action. You may not break the rules but you put yourself in positions where we have to constantly consider if you are breaking them or not.”

“Thyme.” said the last person. She was a woman in her early twenties with soft brown hair, a gentle smile, and a staff at her side. She reached down to touch Thyme’s chin, gently lifting it up. “You are a bright student. As the headmaster I have all your records at my disposal and you always score well on your tests. You should be seventh, even eighth, circle by now.”

“Then why the hell aren’t I?” shot back Thyme, reaching up to grab the headmasters hand. She wasn’t dumb enough to try and hurt it though, but she didn’t want to be touched by the same person who was punishing her! Or touched at all really.

“Your lack of experience aside you only follow the letter of the law.” replied the headmaster before her eyes narrowed down as she glared at Thyme full-on with a terrifying gaze. “We all know the truth about why you follow the law and we are NOT going to turn such a mage out upon the world.” she said before her gaze relaxed.

“Besides, there is another reason why this is being applied. We did not desire to punish you with detention; even though that is the befitting punishment. There is something… else.” she said before Thyme rolled her eyes in response.

“What? Let me guess. Some magical artifact needs confinement and you don’t want to draw attention or something?”

“No. It’s your sister.”

Thyme’s eyes went wide in shock as she rushed forwards, almost knocking the headmaster down as she tried to grab her. “My sister? What about her? Is she alright? Did something happen?”

“She’s vanished.” replied the headmaster as she pried Thyme’s hands off her shoulders. “Completely. Or, rather, she was in the temple when some vagabond assaulted her, kidnapped her, and forced her into slavery coming from the few reports we’ve gathered.”

“WHAT?!” screamed Thyme, practically shaking the headmaster around in her fury. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before? My sister is in danger and you only tell me now, days later, and after chewing me out over some dumb spell usage?”

“We wanted to be certain.” said the older teacher as she calmly grabbed Thyme and lifted the grip up before tossing her aside; part of her choice of magical body enhancements. “She’s been taken by a crazed prophet claiming to be of divine blood. He’s gone on a wild rampage of destruction slaughtering innocent animals and, recently, even stooped to wholesale slaughter of an innocent family that had been staying in the room next door to his in a local inn. We wanted to try and resolve this without getting you wrapped up in this but, when we imprisoned him, the man attempted to convince the guard that he was mentally deranged by attempted seduction and trying to convince rats to chew through his bonds. When the guard tried to transfer him to a mental ward Rosemary assaulted him as well. We’re now convinced she’s suffering stockholm syndrome as well.”

“So you let my sister get captured, become a murdering psycho, and become seduced by the man who did this all to her? Without telling me? Why? What is wrong with you?”

“I will firmly admit it was not my brightest of decisions and I stand by the fact that it was idiotic in hindsight. We can discuss if what I did was better or worse later, but for now we simply have no idea where the heck they actually are. She may try to contact you. Be aware that she’s not of sane mind and has multiple accounts of murder, theft, hearsay, assault with a deadly chicken, poultry destruction, one account of regicide of a douche noble that some are convinced will not be held against her, and failure to properly report income on her taxes due to the sudden acquisition of massive amounts of wealth.”

“Assault with a deadly chicken?”

“Just be careful if she comes for you.”

—

Two days later

“You know what the funny thing is?” said Thyme with a wicked grin on her face. Around her three mages stood with their faces grinning, seven more in the background with cruel, curved, knives in their hands as a dark alter, illuminated only by torches, with demonic runes carved into its side awaited her.

“People always assume that I’m some sort of pansy who can easily be fooled or tricked.” she wiped away a small bit of blood. “Someone who wouldn’t break the rules as she basically has a clean record.”

“Shut up girl.” said one of the mages, drawing his own knife as he started to approach her. He had bested her in magic only a few seconds before and sent a magical blast right into her belly, causing her to cough up blood.

“Yet when I found out my sister had gone psycho I looked into whatever I could and one name kept coming up. Malcolm. Little bit of cross checking and I find out he has a fan club conveniently located in the sewers.”

“Like I said, girl, shut up!” said the lead mage as he quickly kicked Thyme in the belly causing her to cough up some more blood again as she flopped backwards. She stood up a moment later, seemingly struggling to do so.

“So then I go down to the sewers all alone. Me. The weak, law-abiding, mage girl. To confront multiple mages.”

Thyme’s eyes suddenly glowed with a bright and furious light as it seemed as if fire bellowed forth. The closest mage, armed with his dagger, quickly dropped back onto the defensive as a magical barrier formed around him. They had gotten the drop on her, coming up from behind.

“Did you think I came unprepared?” she screamed out as she stomped her foot hard on the ground as a wave of fire rippled outwards, washing up against the walls of the sewers with a glowing fury. Not a second was wasted as she quickly rushed forwards towards the first mage who quickly raised up his arms to reinforce the barrier. Thyme didn’t bother trying to break the magical wall for even a second as she dropped down to one knee and slid forth, the fire upon her body being extinguished as it came in contact with his barrier. The exact second she reached his knee, though, her leg shot out with a mighty kick towards the joint, hitting it full on and shattering the kneecap. The mage dropped to the floor with a scream as Thyme quickly grabbed his dagger as it fell and shoved it hard into his neck.

Instantly the remaining nine went on guard as a flurry of spells prepped and readied within their hands. Fire, ice, thunder, poison, and every other element that they could think of. Thyme grabbed the body of the magus, still gurgling as blood flowed down his chest, before kicking him hard in the back to send him stumbling forwards towards his fellow companions before, as fast as she could, she muttered the pebble spell. A huge chunk of rock ripped itself out of the sewer flooring as it rose up at her command to come between herself and the plethora of spells. Spells which had just been unleashed at the former leader of the group. There was no scream as metal blocked his voice and the remaining spells impacted against the hunk of rock, protecting Thyme.

With a flick of her wrist Thyme sent the boulder hurtling towards the others, not bothering to guide or empower it in any way. It was large enough as-is. Two of the remaining nine broke off to try and surround her, but the narrow confines of the sewer wall kept them from getting too far from her. She didn’t care as she focused her next spell on one, simple, thing. Light. Drawing in as much light from the surrounding area as she possibly could manage, dimming the world about her as a sphere, seemingly invisible as the light warped around the magical focus, unable to escape. As the lights dimmed three of the mages realized what she was about to do and quickly raised their arms up to cover their eyes, but for the other six there was no chance to resist. Darkness filled the room and their eyes tried to adjust as quickly as possible before a brilliant light, as bright as the midday sun, flooded the entire room. No spell ward could protect against such a thing as there was no magic directed at them; only pure radiance. Six of them fell down, clutching their eyes and screaming in pain and agony before Thyme brought her arms down at her side, each one glowing with a different color. Fire, and thunder.

The three remaining mages quickly cast their own spells to rip up chunks of earth from the walls and floors as, a second later, a bout of flame and head smashed up against the hunks of stone and earth which fell to the side. The mages grinned as they had successfully blocked the spell using her own trick and flung the boulder at her with the same apathy that she had, not caring as Thyme easily darted around it. Around it with her second, thunder, spell ready and primed. She quickly shouted out as loud as she could manage and seemingly channeled as much power as she could muster into it. In a panic as the massive ripples of sound and only a split second to decide the mages reverted to their prior spell, ripping out more of the wall and ceiling to bring up barricades that gave off a mighty plume of light and sound as the lightning struck. Yet it dissipated fast and without even charring the boulder as if it had only been a first-circle spark spell. As the chunks were tossed aside the remaining three looked at her, confused, only to see a smirking Thyme standing before them.

“I wasn’t.”

A faint trickle of dirt was their only warning as the ceiling above, weakened by the sound, fire, and having hunks of its support ripped out from it, gave way as a torrent of earth and stone buried them alive. Calmly Thyme went over to one of the dazed mages, still clutching their eyes, before taking one of their daggers. Once the threats were gone she sighed.

“You relied only on magical power and numbers. Pathetic. Not even worthy of being a first circle student. No wonder your kind couldn’t even fend off the beasts to live in a secluded forest vale. The only things you could best were the rats.”

With that, wiping away her own blood onto her gloves, she approached the alter. Calmly she bent over it, doing her best to make out what runes she could.

“When… Blood… Dark… Hag…” she said as she squinted and leaned closer. “Why does it have to be demonic? No one READS demonic! Even the demons rely on English or at least a proper language!” she said with a groan.

“When… Time… Dinner… Blood… Sausage? Based in… Dark red… Wine? With… Fish. Hagfish?” she groaned before thumping her head on the alter hard.

“It’s a dining table. A demonic dining table that they wanted to kill me on. Guess I can’t blame the demons for wanting their meals on a clean table. But this looks like a bust. Rosemary won’t be here to sacrifice some innocent animal on a demonic dining table in the sewers. Why? Why did you have to go bonkers and follow some crazy prophet sis? Sure, I got the magic, but you had the looks, the smile… the… bust… Just…”

Thyme tossed the knife coated with the cultist blood on the alter as she turned around.

“WHY!” she cried out as she slammed her hand down hard on the table. Sharp pain lanced through her hand and arm as she screamed out. Her blood mixed with that of the other mages flowed down onto the alter as a massive bought of shadow and darkness issued forth. It clawed up her arm like a hideous monster, each claw ripping hard into her flesh and seeming to flay skin from bone apart as her insides felt like hot lead had been poured inside her, boiling her from the inside until it churned out her mouth and poured down her body as shadow took her.

—

“Thyme.”

“W-wha?” Thyme’s voice was weak, barely audible, as she tried to remember the word. The world around her was dark, impossible to see, and… horrifying. She could feel her body falling apart, being twisted and mutated, boiling out of her skin.

“Thyme.”

“Am I… Alive.”

“No. Thyme. You are dead.”

“I… messed up big time. Didn’t I?”

“Yes.” came the voice again. “You were always so arrogant. Willing to flaunt your power at the slightest whim. Using unconventional methods to win fights to demonstrate your superiority.”

“I don’t see why it matters now. I’m dead. How am I even talking to you if I am dead? Who are you anyways?”

“A second chance.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Okay. How about I’m your soul that’s been disconnected from your body and trying desperately to not get siphoned away or corrupted while the practically vestigial remains of your mind try to comprehend your body that’s been horribly twisted and mangled into the shape of a demon that, even now, is currently destroying a waffle stand as it fights a crazy lunatic and your sister after disposing of what appeared to be the local mercenary group. Except for one cry-baby holding the hand of his former lover tightly in a corner.”

“I think I preferred the other answer.”

“So did I.”

“What difference does it make though?”

“Your sister can save you still. Even now she’s trying to rip your body free from this monstrosity.”

“Heh… If she wasn’t crazy before, she sure is now.”

“Maybe. Please… Keep talking. Don’t fade away.”

“It’s so hard.”

“Maybe, but you’re THYME! You’re strong. Sure, you flaunt your power, but you had that power in the first place!”

“Unlike… some… dumb schmuk who had to rely on rings.”

“Or demonic alters.”

“Yea. I was strong.”

“You are strong. You know better too.”

“Know better?”

“Reign in your temper a bit and focus on getting friends. Having even one might have saved you back there.”

“But I don’t… have any.”

“If you act like a stuck-up jackass who uses the rules as her shield of course you won’t. Oh. By the way… In three seconds you shouldn’t freak out.”

“Three seconds? Why… Three? OH NO!”

—

The world suddenly came into existence around Thyme as her mind, body, and soul snapped back into reality. Standing above her, embracing her fully… and… with her lips… locked… tightly… on hers… was… Rosemary. Thyme tried to scream out and push her sister away in a pure panic. Was her body okay? Was she alive? WHY WAS HER SISTER KISSING HER? Why did it feel like she was covered in slime? Was that a third arm or some demonic vestige? WHY WAS HER SISTER KISSING HER?!

“Thyme! You’re alive!” cried out Rosemary, hugging her even tighter causing the mage to cough up some fluid that no textbook she knew of described.

“Rosemary! Gah! What… Wha?”

“DUCK!” screamed out Rosemary as she practically yanked Thyme down as a table flew by overhead, almost removing Thyme’s own head in the process. A short distance away a monstrosity of a thousand clawed hands, seven shrieking maws, and glaring red eyes shredded through a wall as a young man armed with a sword quickly ran out of the way of a blast of foul, putrid, black fluid that ate through solid stone.

“You’re alive! I knew you weren’t dead in there! I had to claw through that monstrosity but I knew my sister was alive.”

“I… I wasn’t. It got me sis.” replied Thyme weakly. “I could hear it, my own soul trying… to… get back into my body.”

“I don’t care.” said Rosemary, hugging Thyme harder. “You’re alive!”

“Didn’t you just hear me?” she said as she tried to pull away, only to feel pain in her weak, exhausted, body.

“Hey you two!” called out Alexander. “If you don’t mind, as much as I like the hottie and the lovely, I don’t want to get melted into slag!” A massive bellow of sound came forwards that ripped through the wall and the cobblestone, sending it flying down the street as a torrent before seven hands shot out only to be sliced off by Alexander a second later.

“You said this thing would die once we got the core out!” he cried out as he ran behind a corner as the beast followed. Suddenly the glaring red eyes in front of it were covered by hands before several hands on the front flipped open with a terrifying screech. Shadowy hands rippled along the walls before bursting forth from above, dangling down to try and grab Alexander as he scampered away.

“I said it COULD die!” replied Rosemary as she grabbed her staff which had been tossed aside when Rosemary had revived Thyme. Rosemary took a deep breath as she raised it up high, a faint light glowing atop it, before slamming it hard to the ground as a faint ripple of light came forth. The demonic beast stopped in its pursuit of Alexander as its eyes vanished and reappeared looking at Rosemary.

“I am Rosemary. Sister of the church.” she said simply and firmly as she took a step forwards. The beast screamed in fury as it snarled at her.

“I am Sister to Thyme, whose body you pillaged, whose soul you sought to destroy.” she said as she took another step forwards. The beast howled out at her as it sent a torrent of hands flowing forth to rip her to shreds. Rosemary raised up her staff and slammed it down again causing another wave of light to issue forth causing the hands to rip apart and burst into flame like a river breaking upon a rock.

“You have committed unholy and foul acts against the goddess.” she said as she continued to slowly walk forwards, her face set and unfazed in the slightest by the demon. A blast of fluid shot forth to try and dissolve Rosemary. Wards of light started to glow around the holy woman only for a sudden flurry of debris to intercept it as, behind her, Thyme dropped to one knee; her body exhausted from the spell.

“Most of all, you have harmed my sister.” she said as she came up close to the demonic beast. “By my hand you shall be judged for your sins in the name of the Goddess.” She raised her staff up high before thrusting it forwards into one of the many maws of the beast. Brilliant, pure, holy light flowed forth from within. The beast screamed and shrieked, writhing in pain. It thrashed about hard, slamming into a wall before sending a chunk of street high into the air in a wild toss before, at last, collapsing and bursting into fire. As the flames started to subside the form of the beast came into view. The form of… Thyme.

Alexander quietly walked up to Rosemary, sheathing his blade as he did so. “That was some quick thinking Rose. Snatching your sisters soul away in your own, breathing life into a store dummy to store it, than besting the husk.”

“W-what?” said Thyme, weakly coming up behind the pair, confused as to why there were two Thymes.

“A demon possesses a body to make its way into the world, flaying and splitting the soul separate and using it as a magical anchor. With the body as the form and the soul as the anchor it is near unstoppable except by divine magic.” said Rosemary. “Your soul was the anchor so… I absorbed your soul into my own, then let it flow out via kiss into a shop dummy. Dummy took your form for the soul. You were probably close enough in the first place.” said Rosemary with a smile.

“Your body… should be… safe now.” she said as she took a knee, clearly exhausted. “Go on sis! Kiss the dummy, dummy.”

—

Thyme coughed as a wooden store dummy that looked identical to her collapsed to the street side beside her. She was… alive. She could feel bits of her body weren’t 100%, but she was… alive. Looking over to her sister, clearly exhausted, along with the warrior at her side, she could do little more than smile. She was safe. They all were safe. Slowly moving upright she came over to Rosemary and hugged her tightly.

“Sis. I heard so many bad things. I’m so glad to see you safe.” she said happily as a tear came down her cheek.

“I’m glad to see you’re safe as well. I knew better though. No demon could stop the mighty Thyme. Not like that.” replied Rosemary with a smile before, a second later, Alexander hugged them both at once.

“And I’m glad both of you are safe as well. I know better than to doubt Rose.”

“Rose.” said Thyme as she quickly pulled away. “When… So much has happened. I’ll need time to explain. But when I was trying to find you a certain name kept turning up in relation to demons and the dark god.”

“Was the name Malcolm by any chance?” asked Alexander.

“Yes. How did you know.”

“Him and I have a score to settle. He is going to pay for killing my family.”

“And for his many acts of evil.” added in Rosemary.

“And someone is going to pay for turning my body into a demon, so may as well be the guy trying to bring back their leader!” said Thyme with a smile.

“After… a nice hot bath and good nights rest.” said Rosemary with a smile.

Edit: Not my best work as it's a bit... jerky... among other things. Still, I had fun writing it. I couldn't really work in too much comedy, sadly, but not everything needs to be comedic.

Edited September 22, 2015 by Snowy_One

[Jotari]

This may be a bit of a cheat since, you know, continuation of a prior story; but what the hey. Have fun and work out the writing muscle! Before you read on you should probably read this: http://serenesforest.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=52670&p=3924993It's the original post.

Title: Sugar, Spice, and Magic! The twin sister arrives!

Universe: OC universe used before in the comp.

Characters: Alexander, Rosemary, Thyme

Word count: ~5100

Notes: Be sure to read the original post to get a feel for the world.

[spoiler=Sugar, Spice, and Magic! The twin sister arrives!]

“So, you’re saying that, if I do this, you’ll let me into the seventh circle?” asked a young female mage with firey red hair. Her name was Thyme, a young mage whom had not even seen her twentieth year, but had achieved some very noticeable feats. She was dressed in a tight dress that clung close to her small, annoyingly ‘tiny’, body adorned with various pieces of jewelry and gemstones. In her hands was a small ring with a ruby red gemstone sitting upon it.

“Yes. Thyme.” replied another mage with a nod of approval. “Doubt its power? Here. Let me show you its might.” he quickly grabbed the ring and slid it onto his finger before raising his hands into the air as, without regard to the other magic students surrounding them, he shouted out “FIREBALL!” High overhead a massive bellow of flame burst forwards as a gigantic sphere, easily large enough to fill up a room, formed in the air and slowly started to descent, causing the first and second year students to run about fleeing in panic. Yet, oddly, Thyme’s face was dull and unimpressed as she stood beside the student.

“Wow. That sure is impressive.” she said with a wry tone in her voice.

“I know! And I’m willing to give it up to you in return for your help in getting revenge on the teachers!” he said with a grin as the sphere lowered a bit more. “And you had better hurry! This spell is so strong I can’t keep it aloft forever!” Thyme just rolled her eyes in response.

“Tell you what. I wager I can beat this great ball of fire with just one spell. One spell that won’t even require words.” she replied as she took a few steps forwards closer to the lowest point of the descending fireball.

“Ha! Go on! I know for a fact you can’t stop this spell! You’ll be easily a seventh level mage with my help!”

Thyme early raised her finger as a small piece of the floor, no larger than a tiny pebble that had been knocked off the walls and, somehow, managed to avoid the broom, floated up towards her hand. It hovered in the air just above her palms before Thyme gently put her other hand atop it, her lips seeming to move ever so slightly with hushed tones.

“Hey! I thought you said you didn’t need words!” shouted out the mage.

“I’m not casting a spell!” she said. Her hands suddenly clasped tightly as she quickly spun around. As she came about the pebble shot forth from her hands, zipping through the air at high speeds as it struck the mage full-on in the hand. The loud crack of stone striking gem filled the hallway before, overhead, the fireball gave a sudden shimmer before dispersing away in a shower of light. A shower followed up a split second later by Thyme launching herself through the air to slam her fist hard into the annoying mage’s gut, causing him to collapse to the floor.

“I’m telling the stone how frustrated I am that such a dumb mage thinks he can cheat his way up a circle by using a damned ILLUSION in the middle of a MAGE academy! I worked hard to make it to sixth circle. So, what was your game plan? Give me an illusion ring and pray to the goddess I didn’t use it before you moved up a level? Hope I didn’t notice that, should I refuse, you would be charged with attempted murder and kicked out?” she said as she shook her head. “If you really had the kind of power I need to progress you’d be better off with a wedding ring than some cheap bauble.”

With that she turned to start walking away a bit down the hall as the students around her slowly started to come to their wits. No one above the third circle had been terrified in the slightest as being able to keep control of themselves when someone was attempting a powerful spell was VERY useful, but the lower students, those just learning the basics of the craft, had been terrified and Thyme was going to reassure them just a bit.

“A wedding ring? Why… Why would I want to marry such a foul-tempered woman like you? I mean, you’re not even pretty! You look like a fourteen year old!”

Thyme’s eye gave a sudden twitch before she turned around. Her foot stomped the ground and she accelerated forwards super-fast, a literal trail of flames in her wake as she stopped right in front of the student.

“You know, I WOULD be irritated, furious, and outraged if someone else had said those comments. But I know you’re kind well enough. You’re nothing but flash and show and are shouting out in rage. Trying to provoke me into saying something to get under my skin so I either rush off in a huff or blast you away in a show of arcane power. But let me tell you something. I just kicked your third-circle ass with a PEBBLE! All because you got so damned arrogant and confident any spell I fired off would be directed at your fireball instead of your basic illusion ring. But you know what? You just scared at least fifteen students to the point where they’re rushing for the teachers and security now and about half the teachers are seventh circle and FEMALE. So, in the minute you’ve been standing there trying to convince me to help you, they’ve been rushing to get here as fast as possible. You want to say something like that? Say it to the people whom you need to convince to not kick your ass out onto the street where you’ll spend the rest of your days dodging arrows in some rowdy bandit group.”

She gave him a small pat on the shoulder as a smile, happy yet somehow also cruel, crossed her face. “Also, it’s been a minute and a half now.” she said as the student suddenly turned pale as a sheet and turned to rush off as one of the teachers, a tall woman with windswept hair and a fan, turned the corner. Thyme merely pointed her towards the right student and continued to walk away down the hall.

“If your power can be stopped by a pebble you never had it in the first place.” she whistled to herself as she walked down the hallway.

—

“What? Detention?” cried out Thyme as, around her, three teachers stood about in a rough circle. Her ‘incident’ from earlier hadn’t played out quite as she had imagined it. Sure, the teachers had arrived only a moment or two later and the reckless student had been bound in golden chains before being lead off for a proper scolding, but she had been summoned to the eighth circle rooms where the teachers resided and the school was managed.

“What the heck for? I didn’t break any laws! No spell capable of inflicting harm or panic upon a student may be cast outside of the classroom or training room without the oversight of a teacher. A spell to lift small objects like that isn’t considered to be one of those spells!” she cried out, clearly outraged.

“True. True.” said one of the teachers, an older woman wearing light clothes that had been cut largely away leaving little to the imagination. A sad choice of attire for the majority of other students whom were NOT interested in seeing the rear of anyone in their late sixties dressed in a thong and garter stockings. “However, if you forgot, you cast TWO spells. The pebble and the fire step spell. The latter is not considered to be safe for use in crowded hallways on account of there being fire in cramped hallways full of books and cloth.”

“Besides.” said the second one, a young man whom seemed to be even younger than Thyme, as if he was only eight. Thyme knew the man well enough to know he was actually in his late forties and relied heavily on curative magic to keep himself ‘as young and spry as a child’. “You have a history of this Thyme. Even if we were to accept that both your spells were acceptable you have a tendency to be rash and quick to action. You may not break the rules but you put yourself in positions where we have to constantly consider if you are breaking them or not.”

“Thyme.” said the last person. She was a woman in her early twenties with soft brown hair, a gentle smile, and a staff at her side. She reached down to touch Thyme’s chin, gently lifting it up. “You are a bright student. As the headmaster I have all your records at my disposal and you always score well on your tests. You should be seventh, even eighth, circle by now.”

“Then why the hell aren’t I?” shot back Thyme, reaching up to grab the headmasters hand. She wasn’t dumb enough to try and hurt it though, but she didn’t want to be touched by the same person who was punishing her! Or touched at all really.

“Your lack of experience aside you only follow the letter of the law.” replied the headmaster before her eyes narrowed down as she glared at Thyme full-on with a terrifying gaze. “We all know the truth about why you follow the law and we are NOT going to turn such a mage out upon the world.” she said before her gaze relaxed.

“Besides, there is another reason why this is being applied. We did not desire to punish you with detention; even though that is the befitting punishment. There is something… else.” she said before Thyme rolled her eyes in response.

“What? Let me guess. Some magical artifact needs confinement and you don’t want to draw attention or something?”

“No. It’s your sister.”

Thyme’s eyes went wide in shock as she rushed forwards, almost knocking the headmaster down as she tried to grab her. “My sister? What about her? Is she alright? Did something happen?”

“She’s vanished.” replied the headmaster as she pried Thyme’s hands off her shoulders. “Completely. Or, rather, she was in the temple when some vagabond assaulted her, kidnapped her, and forced her into slavery coming from the few reports we’ve gathered.”

“WHAT?!” screamed Thyme, practically shaking the headmaster around in her fury. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before? My sister is in danger and you only tell me now, days later, and after chewing me out over some dumb spell usage?”

“We wanted to be certain.” said the older teacher as she calmly grabbed Thyme and lifted the grip up before tossing her aside; part of her choice of magical body enhancements. “She’s been taken by a crazed prophet claiming to be of divine blood. He’s gone on a wild rampage of destruction slaughtering innocent animals and, recently, even stooped to wholesale slaughter of an innocent family that had been staying in the room next door to his in a local inn. We wanted to try and resolve this without getting you wrapped up in this but, when we imprisoned him, the man attempted to convince the guard that he was mentally deranged by attempted seduction and trying to convince rats to chew through his bonds. When the guard tried to transfer him to a mental ward Rosemary assaulted him as well. We’re now convinced she’s suffering stockholm syndrome as well.”

“So you let my sister get captured, become a murdering psycho, and become seduced by the man who did this all to her? Without telling me? Why? What is wrong with you?”

“I will firmly admit it was not my brightest of decisions and I stand by the fact that it was idiotic in hindsight. We can discuss if what I did was better or worse later, but for now we simply have no idea where the heck they actually are. She may try to contact you. Be aware that she’s not of sane mind and has multiple accounts of murder, theft, hearsay, assault with a deadly chicken, poultry destruction, one account of regicide of a douche noble that some are convinced will not be held against her, and failure to properly report income on her taxes due to the sudden acquisition of massive amounts of wealth.”

“Assault with a deadly chicken?”

“Just be careful if she comes for you.”

—

Two days later

“You know what the funny thing is?” said Thyme with a wicked grin on her face. Around her three mages stood with their faces grinning, seven more in the background with cruel, curved, knives in their hands as a dark alter, illuminated only by torches, with demonic runes carved into its side awaited her.

“People always assume that I’m some sort of pansy who can easily be fooled or tricked.” she wiped away a small bit of blood. “Someone who wouldn’t break the rules as she basically has a clean record.”

“Shut up girl.” said one of the mages, drawing his own knife as he started to approach her. He had bested her in magic only a few seconds before and sent a magical blast right into her belly, causing her to cough up blood.

“Yet when I found out my sister had gone psycho I looked into whatever I could and one name kept coming up. Malcolm. Little bit of cross checking and I find out he has a fan club conveniently located in the sewers.”

“Like I said, girl, shut up!” said the lead mage as he quickly kicked Thyme in the belly causing her to cough up some more blood again as she flopped backwards. She stood up a moment later, seemingly struggling to do so.

“So then I go down to the sewers all alone. Me. The weak, law-abiding, mage girl. To confront multiple mages.”

Thyme’s eyes suddenly glowed with a bright and furious light as it seemed as if fire bellowed forth. The closest mage, armed with his dagger, quickly dropped back onto the defensive as a magical barrier formed around him. They had gotten the drop on her, coming up from behind.

“Did you think I came unprepared?” she screamed out as she stomped her foot hard on the ground as a wave of fire rippled outwards, washing up against the walls of the sewers with a glowing fury. Not a second was wasted as she quickly rushed forwards towards the first mage who quickly raised up his arms to reinforce the barrier. Thyme didn’t bother trying to break the magical wall for even a second as she dropped down to one knee and slid forth, the fire upon her body being extinguished as it came in contact with his barrier. The exact second she reached his knee, though, her leg shot out with a mighty kick towards the joint, hitting it full on and shattering the kneecap. The mage dropped to the floor with a scream as Thyme quickly grabbed his dagger as it fell and shoved it hard into his neck.

Instantly the remaining nine went on guard as a flurry of spells prepped and readied within their hands. Fire, ice, thunder, poison, and every other element that they could think of. Thyme grabbed the body of the magus, still gurgling as blood flowed down his chest, before kicking him hard in the back to send him stumbling forwards towards his fellow companions before, as fast as she could, she muttered the pebble spell. A huge chunk of rock ripped itself out of the sewer flooring as it rose up at her command to come between herself and the plethora of spells. Spells which had just been unleashed at the former leader of the group. There was no scream as metal blocked his voice and the remaining spells impacted against the hunk of rock, protecting Thyme.

With a flick of her wrist Thyme sent the boulder hurtling towards the others, not bothering to guide or empower it in any way. It was large enough as-is. Two of the remaining nine broke off to try and surround her, but the narrow confines of the sewer wall kept them from getting too far from her. She didn’t care as she focused her next spell on one, simple, thing. Light. Drawing in as much light from the surrounding area as she possibly could manage, dimming the world about her as a sphere, seemingly invisible as the light warped around the magical focus, unable to escape. As the lights dimmed three of the mages realized what she was about to do and quickly raised their arms up to cover their eyes, but for the other six there was no chance to resist. Darkness filled the room and their eyes tried to adjust as quickly as possible before a brilliant light, as bright as the midday sun, flooded the entire room. No spell ward could protect against such a thing as there was no magic directed at them; only pure radiance. Six of them fell down, clutching their eyes and screaming in pain and agony before Thyme brought her arms down at her side, each one glowing with a different color. Fire, and thunder.

The three remaining mages quickly cast their own spells to rip up chunks of earth from the walls and floors as, a second later, a bout of flame and head smashed up against the hunks of stone and earth which fell to the side. The mages grinned as they had successfully blocked the spell using her own trick and flung the boulder at her with the same apathy that she had, not caring as Thyme easily darted around it. Around it with her second, thunder, spell ready and primed. She quickly shouted out as loud as she could manage and seemingly channeled as much power as she could muster into it. In a panic as the massive ripples of sound and only a split second to decide the mages reverted to their prior spell, ripping out more of the wall and ceiling to bring up barricades that gave off a mighty plume of light and sound as the lightning struck. Yet it dissipated fast and without even charring the boulder as if it had only been a first-circle spark spell. As the chunks were tossed aside the remaining three looked at her, confused, only to see a smirking Thyme standing before them.

“I wasn’t.”

A faint trickle of dirt was their only warning as the ceiling above, weakened by the sound, fire, and having hunks of its support ripped out from it, gave way as a torrent of earth and stone buried them alive. Calmly Thyme went over to one of the dazed mages, still clutching their eyes, before taking one of their daggers. Once the threats were gone she sighed.

“You relied only on magical power and numbers. Pathetic. Not even worthy of being a first circle student. No wonder your kind couldn’t even fend off the beasts to live in a secluded forest vale. The only things you could best were the rats.”

With that, wiping away her own blood onto her gloves, she approached the alter. Calmly she bent over it, doing her best to make out what runes she could.

“When… Blood… Dark… Hag…” she said as she squinted and leaned closer. “Why does it have to be demonic? No one READS demonic! Even the demons rely on English or at least a proper language!” she said with a groan.

“When… Time… Dinner… Blood… Sausage? Based in… Dark red… Wine? With… Fish. Hagfish?” she groaned before thumping her head on the alter hard.

“It’s a dining table. A demonic dining table that they wanted to kill me on. Guess I can’t blame the demons for wanting their meals on a clean table. But this looks like a bust. Rosemary won’t be here to sacrifice some innocent animal on a demonic dining table in the sewers. Why? Why did you have to go bonkers and follow some crazy prophet sis? Sure, I got the magic, but you had the looks, the smile… the… bust… Just…”

Thyme tossed the knife coated with the cultist blood on the alter as she turned around.

“WHY!” she cried out as she slammed her hand down hard on the table. Sharp pain lanced through her hand and arm as she screamed out. Her blood mixed with that of the other mages flowed down onto the alter as a massive bought of shadow and darkness issued forth. It clawed up her arm like a hideous monster, each claw ripping hard into her flesh and seeming to flay skin from bone apart as her insides felt like hot lead had been poured inside her, boiling her from the inside until it churned out her mouth and poured down her body as shadow took her.

—

“Thyme.”

“W-wha?” Thyme’s voice was weak, barely audible, as she tried to remember the word. The world around her was dark, impossible to see, and… horrifying. She could feel her body falling apart, being twisted and mutated, boiling out of her skin.

“Thyme.”

“Am I… Alive.”

“No. Thyme. You are dead.”

“I… messed up big time. Didn’t I?”

“Yes.” came the voice again. “You were always so arrogant. Willing to flaunt your power at the slightest whim. Using unconventional methods to win fights to demonstrate your superiority.”

“I don’t see why it matters now. I’m dead. How am I even talking to you if I am dead? Who are you anyways?”

“A second chance.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Okay. How about I’m your soul that’s been disconnected from your body and trying desperately to not get siphoned away or corrupted while the practically vestigial remains of your mind try to comprehend your body that’s been horribly twisted and mangled into the shape of a demon that, even now, is currently destroying a waffle stand as it fights a crazy lunatic and your sister after disposing of what appeared to be the local mercenary group. Except for one cry-baby holding the hand of his former lover tightly in a corner.”

“I think I preferred the other answer.”

“So did I.”

“What difference does it make though?”

“Your sister can save you still. Even now she’s trying to rip your body free from this monstrosity.”

“Heh… If she wasn’t crazy before, she sure is now.”

“Maybe. Please… Keep talking. Don’t fade away.”

“It’s so hard.”

“Maybe, but you’re THYME! You’re strong. Sure, you flaunt your power, but you had that power in the first place!”

“Unlike… some… dumb schmuk who had to rely on rings.”

“Or demonic alters.”

“Yea. I was strong.”

“You are strong. You know better too.”

“Know better?”

“Reign in your temper a bit and focus on getting friends. Having even one might have saved you back there.”

“But I don’t… have any.”

“If you act like a stuck-up jackass who uses the rules as her shield of course you won’t. Oh. By the way… In three seconds you shouldn’t freak out.”

“Three seconds? Why… Three? OH NO!”

—

The world suddenly came into existence around Thyme as her mind, body, and soul snapped back into reality. Standing above her, embracing her fully… and… with her lips… locked… tightly… on hers… was… Rosemary. Thyme tried to scream out and push her sister away in a pure panic. Was her body okay? Was she alive? WHY WAS HER SISTER KISSING HER? Why did it feel like she was covered in slime? Was that a third arm or some demonic vestige? WHY WAS HER SISTER KISSING HER?!

“Thyme! You’re alive!” cried out Rosemary, hugging her even tighter causing the mage to cough up some fluid that no textbook she knew of described.

“Rosemary! Gah! What… Wha?”

“DUCK!” screamed out Rosemary as she practically yanked Thyme down as a table flew by overhead, almost removing Thyme’s own head in the process. A short distance away a monstrosity of a thousand clawed hands, seven shrieking maws, and glaring red eyes shredded through a wall as a young man armed with a sword quickly ran out of the way of a blast of foul, putrid, black fluid that ate through solid stone.

“You’re alive! I knew you weren’t dead in there! I had to claw through that monstrosity but I knew my sister was alive.”

“I… I wasn’t. It got me sis.” replied Thyme weakly. “I could hear it, my own soul trying… to… get back into my body.”

“I don’t care.” said Rosemary, hugging Thyme harder. “You’re alive!”

“Didn’t you just hear me?” she said as she tried to pull away, only to feel pain in her weak, exhausted, body.

“Hey you two!” called out Alexander. “If you don’t mind, as much as I like the hottie and the lovely, I don’t want to get melted into slag!” A massive bellow of sound came forwards that ripped through the wall and the cobblestone, sending it flying down the street as a torrent before seven hands shot out only to be sliced off by Alexander a second later.

“You said this thing would die once we got the core out!” he cried out as he ran behind a corner as the beast followed. Suddenly the glaring red eyes in front of it were covered by hands before several hands on the front flipped open with a terrifying screech. Shadowy hands rippled along the walls before bursting forth from above, dangling down to try and grab Alexander as he scampered away.

“I said it COULD die!” replied Rosemary as she grabbed her staff which had been tossed aside when Rosemary had revived Thyme. Rosemary took a deep breath as she raised it up high, a faint light glowing atop it, before slamming it hard to the ground as a faint ripple of light came forth. The demonic beast stopped in its pursuit of Alexander as its eyes vanished and reappeared looking at Rosemary.

“I am Rosemary. Sister of the church.” she said simply and firmly as she took a step forwards. The beast screamed in fury as it snarled at her.

“I am Sister to Thyme, whose body you pillaged, whose soul you sought to destroy.” she said as she took another step forwards. The beast howled out at her as it sent a torrent of hands flowing forth to rip her to shreds. Rosemary raised up her staff and slammed it down again causing another wave of light to issue forth causing the hands to rip apart and burst into flame like a river breaking upon a rock.

“You have committed unholy and foul acts against the goddess.” she said as she continued to slowly walk forwards, her face set and unfazed in the slightest by the demon. A blast of fluid shot forth to try and dissolve Rosemary. Wards of light started to glow around the holy woman only for a sudden flurry of debris to intercept it as, behind her, Thyme dropped to one knee; her body exhausted from the spell.

“Most of all, you have harmed my sister.” she said as she came up close to the demonic beast. “By my hand you shall be judged for your sins in the name of the Goddess.” She raised her staff up high before thrusting it forwards into one of the many maws of the beast. Brilliant, pure, holy light flowed forth from within. The beast screamed and shrieked, writhing in pain. It thrashed about hard, slamming into a wall before sending a chunk of street high into the air in a wild toss before, at last, collapsing and bursting into fire. As the flames started to subside the form of the beast came into view. The form of… Thyme.

Alexander quietly walked up to Rosemary, sheathing his blade as he did so. “That was some quick thinking Rose. Snatching your sisters soul away in your own, breathing life into a store dummy to store it, than besting the husk.”

“W-what?” said Thyme, weakly coming up behind the pair, confused as to why there were two Thymes.

“A demon possesses a body to make its way into the world, flaying and splitting the soul separate and using it as a magical anchor. With the body as the form and the soul as the anchor it is near unstoppable except by divine magic.” said Rosemary. “Your soul was the anchor so… I absorbed your soul into my own, then let it flow out via kiss into a shop dummy. Dummy took your form for the soul. You were probably close enough in the first place.” said Rosemary with a smile.

“Your body… should be… safe now.” she said as she took a knee, clearly exhausted. “Go on sis! Kiss the dummy, dummy.”

—

Thyme coughed as a wooden store dummy that looked identical to her collapsed to the street side beside her. She was… alive. She could feel bits of her body weren’t 100%, but she was… alive. Looking over to her sister, clearly exhausted, along with the warrior at her side, she could do little more than smile. She was safe. They all were safe. Slowly moving upright she came over to Rosemary and hugged her tightly.

“Sis. I heard so many bad things. I’m so glad to see you safe.” she said happily as a tear came down her cheek.

“I’m glad to see you’re safe as well. I knew better though. No demon could stop the mighty Thyme. Not like that.” replied Rosemary with a smile before, a second later, Alexander hugged them both at once.

“And I’m glad both of you are safe as well. I know better than to doubt Rose.”

“Rose.” said Thyme as she quickly pulled away. “When… So much has happened. I’ll need time to explain. But when I was trying to find you a certain name kept turning up in relation to demons and the dark god.”

“Was the name Malcolm by any chance?” asked Alexander.

“Yes. How did you know.”

“Him and I have a score to settle. He is going to pay for killing my family.”

“And for his many acts of evil.” added in Rosemary.

“And someone is going to pay for turning my body into a demon, so may as well be the guy trying to bring back their leader!” said Thyme with a smile.

“After… a nice hot bath and good nights rest.” said Rosemary with a smile.

Edit: Not my best work as it's a bit... jerky... among other things. Still, I had fun writing it. I couldn't really work in too much comedy, sadly, but not everything needs to be comedic.

I read both pieces of the work but I don't think one necessarily needs to read the first. The main characters don't actually appear or get explore in it all that much and they are better established here. Also chronologically it happens earlier. Also Thyme has no idea who Alexander is yet his name appears in the narrative and the two aren't even introduced. Since it's from her perspective he should really be the young man or the warrior (like how he's referenced the first time) until he (or someone else) actually says his name.

[eclipse]

Writing about stuff in the same universe is okay. Just don't repost the stories themselves!

[Jotari]

Alright, here's my grand debut for this competition. It's something I was planning on writing anyway taking place in an established universe I have but that shouldn't be a problem. The only thing you need to know is that in this world fairies and human fairy hybrids can naturally speak all languages, and that human fairy hybrids are naturallly sterile like mules. It's a little less conclusive than a short story would tend to be but that's more because its a chapter in the life of a character rather than a stand alone work, though it is self contained. I hope. It also skirts the PG13 rating but I reckon it gets away with it because nothing is described in explicit detail. Hope you enjoy it and if you don't be sure to tell me. I'm always looking for valid criticism.

Title: The Wedding of Victor Cross

Universe: Original

Characters: Harrow, Glaice

Word count: 7067

[spoiler=The Wedding of Victor Cross]

"I'm warm" Glaice complained. "Can't you cool me down?" She was sitting with the reins held loosely in her hand but the horses needed no prompting to follow the straight road. This was leaving her blatantly bored.

"I can" Harrow said. "But I've already told you I'm not going to. Learn to do it yourself."

"You know I can't" she growled.

Harrow turned the page of the book he was reading. He didn't look up as he spoke to her. "My mother said everyone can use magic. Some just have more talent than others. Hard work and effort can overcome natural ability."

"Maybe you're mother was wrong. Neither of you have had much experience being ordinary."

"Be careful what you say Glaice. My mother's memory is very dear to me. I won't have you insulting it."

"I just said the woman could be wrong. Don't get so defensive on me. I've honestly tried to get the hang of magic but it just won't work for me." She sighed and leaned back so half her head was behind the carriage's veil. "Maybe we should head north" she suggested, her voice just slightly muffled through the cloth. "At least it would be colder up there."

Harrow turned another page of his book. "Are you suggesting we abandon my father's wedding or head that way afterwards?"

"Oh no. Not at all. I want to meet your family. This wedding will be a lot of fun."

Harrow smiled. "For us at least."

She sat up again and stretched. "What will your father think of me?" she asked.

He looked up from his book. Glaice was a tall girl. Long blond hair but with a plain, unassuming face that hid the depths of her dark personality. She was by far one of the most fascinating people he had ever met. "I have no idea. I haven't seen my father in three years. I can barely remember what he looks like."

Glaice smiled. "You were a mummy's boy back then weren't you. Does it upset you that he's remarrying so soon?"

Harrow turned back to his book. "You'd imagine it would upset me but I don't care in the slightest really."

Harrow didn't need to look at her to know she was smiling. "You really are heartless aren't you? Harrow the Heartless. That should be one of your titles."

"I have enough titles as it is. Please don't come up with any more."

"Oh but I come up with all the best ones." She looked back at the road in front of them and shaded her eyes from the sun. "I think we're catching up on someone" she said.

Harrow looked up from his book. His eyes were keener than Galice's. He could clearly see a lone man with a rucksack walking on the road in front of them. "So we are. Just one person."

Glaice smile widened. "I know these are your father's lands, but would you object to having a little fun?"

Harrow looked down at his book again. "Go ahead. Have your fun. If you don't then I will."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you honey" she said sweetly.

The horses were not travelling particularly fast but it was a constant pace that managed to easily catch up on the man in little time. Glaice slowed the horses down to a stop beside him. He wasn't dressed overly impressively and supported a short, rough, beard. "Hail traveller. Where are you heading?" Glaice asked.

He looked at both Harrow and Glaice in the carriage and saw nothing more than a young man and woman travelling alone. Harrow had a sword behind him but otherwise there was nothing suspicious about them in the slightest. "I'm going to the capital. Are you heading the same way?"

Harrow, interested in how these events would turn out, looked at Glaice while pretending to read his book. She smiled deceptively at the traveller. "We're heading that direction" she told him. "We hear Lord Cross is getting married and wish to attend. Would you like to accompany us?"

"Are you looking for something in return?" the man asked. Harrow and Glaice didn't look dangerous but this man still had a healthy suspicion in the kindness of strangers.

"If you have a story to tell than that is all the payment we need" Glaice told him. "Hop on."

"Much obliged" the man said. "Much obliged."

He climbed onto the carriage and sat behind Harrow and Glaice. It was not a particularly big carriage. As a result the man was mostly sitting inside, the veil running down his back. "The royal wedding" the man said once he had settled down and they were off again. "Do you have an invitation?"

Glaice glanced at Harrow. He tried to keep his face straight. He had no idea what game Glaice was playing. "Do we have an invitation?" she asked him.

"Not really" Harrow muttered.

The man nodded behind Harrow. "You'll have an exciting time trying to get in then."

"Oh we're all about excitement" Glaice said. "What about you. What awaits you at the capital?"

"A wife and child. I was fighting in the war up until now to support them."

"Oh a soldier" Glaice said. She sounded like she was genuinely impressed. "I thought the war in the west was over for some time."

"They kept a lot of troops on hand in case conflict broke out again" he told them.

"But the fighting has died down there now" Glaice confirmed.

"For the time being at least" he muttered grimly.

"Still though, that was good for you. Staying on so long without any real proper battles. Did you get a chance to do any real fighting?"

"Yes. I fought in a few battles before the treaty was signed."

"Did you kill anyone?" Glaice asked. She was leaning closer to the man now. He seemed uncomfortable but there was really nowhere for him to go.

"I don't know" he admitted. "I didn't tend to stick around to find out."

"How brave" Glaice said. Her tone held so much admiration that even the traveller was beginning to realise it wasn't real. "Off ready to fight the next man. Tell me, did you stay faithful to your wife while you were away?"

"I hardly think this is appropriate subject matter" the man said.

Glaice shrugged and brought the horses to a slow stop. "A story was the price of your ride. If you don't like it then get off."

The man frowned. He was clearly not enjoying Glaice's manner but a carriage ride was much better than walking. "It's okay" he said after a brief moment of silence. "If you're really that interested in my life then I will answer any question you want to ask. Yes. I did remain faithful to my wife."

Glaice started the horses up again. "Isn't that lovely. Do you believe your wife remained faithful to you while you we're away?"

"I can't know for sure but I certainly hope so."

"Do you think she would be upset if you were unfaithful to her?"

Harrow suddenly realised where Glaice was going with this conversation. He gave her the slightest look. She returned a smile to him. The man was too flustered to notice the exchange.

"I wasn't unfaithful to her so I hardly think it matters" he said in response to Glaice's question.

"Oh but if you were how do you think she would act?"

"There's no point in talking about it" he said. He was clearly beginning to get angry. He was probably rethinking the option of walking.

"Well what if you had no choice?" Glaice asked. "What if someone forced themselves on you. Would she be angry or upset?"

"I've changed my mind" he said. "I'll walk. A carriage ride isn't worth this."

"You'll have a hard time walking if you're injured" Glaice said.

"I'm not injured" he grunted angrily.

Glaice grabbed Harrow's sword and stabbed the man in the leg without taking her eyes off the road. "You are now" she said as he started to roar.

Harrow found his screams quite annoying. "You couldn't deal with him silently?" Harrow asked her.

Glaice got to her feet and turned around to face the man. "Oh no. This one is going to squeal for us. Try not to get jealous."

The man looked at Glaice in horror as she forced him inside the carriage. Harrow took the reins as the man's screams turned into something quite different. Something beyond mere physical pain. The whole ordeal lasted about five minutes. Harrow heard a slight thump as Glaice dumped the man's remains onto the road behind them. Harrow glanced back after they gained some distance. The man had only scraps of clothes on but the amount of blood on him seemed to hide his near nakedness.

Glaice returned to the front of the carriage. She looked very pleased with herself. "Did you have fun?" Harrow asked as he put the reins down and shifted over to his side of the cart.

"Oh yes" she said. She sounded quite breathless. "It was most enjoyable." She had just been complaining about the heat, now she was literally radiating with it yet she didn't seem to mind.

"His poor wife and kid" Harrow muttered. "You didn't happen to get his name did you. Maybe we should pay his family a visit and share our condolences."

"What a novel idea. Unfortunately no, I didn't think to ask his name. Next time perhaps." She took her seat and held the reins lightly in one hand. She put the other hand around Harrow and leaned against him. His heightened sense of smell couldn't help but detect the stench of the other man on her. "He could get me pregnant you know" she said quietly. "How would that make you feel? If a nameless dead man could give me a child and you couldn't."

Harrow spoke slowly with no hesitation. "If he gave you a child I would cut it from your womb the first chance I got. I was put on this planet to destroy life. I will not have my accomplice assist in creating more wretched humans."

Glaice laughed lightly. "Wretched humans. I've never heard you use that phrase before. Let's go to the wedding of your wretched human of a father and see what happens there. Maybe we can find some more wretched humans to have fun with."

"Take the left here" Harrow muttered without looking up from his book.

"Why? The capital is just ahead. I can literally see it."

"The ceremony isn't taking place in the capital. It's in a manse just outside of town."

"I don't remember anyone telling us that."

"That's because my father's not telling the public where he's getting married. Trust me, I'm certain that's where he'll be."

"We're late already. If you're wrong we'll probably miss it."

"If we miss the ceremony itself I wouldn't be all too concerned. So long as I meet my new step mother before her wedding night."

"Oh. I see. So we're not here just to have me meet your family."

"Let's just see how the weekend plays out."

The manse soon came into view. Just two guards were stationed at the outer wall. "How will we make our entrance?" Glaice's voice was steeped with anticipation as she reached for Harrow's sword.

"No" Harrow said. "Let me speak to my father first."

"Who are you?" one of the guards asked when they approached. They didn't look like nobles and though they rode in a supply guard, it was completely empty.

"I am Harrow Cross, heir to the Lordship of Volerk. I am here to attend my father's wedding. This is my plus one."

The two guards looked at each other. They moved away and started whispering amongst themselves. Harrow could hear them but he didn't really care what they were saying.

Glaice raised an eyebrow at him. "Heir to Volerk?"

"I am my father's eldest son after all."

"True but I've never heard you talking about ruling a country."

"Well I don't have much interest in doing so and the nobles would never allow it so it's unlikely I'll ever be lord. It still packs a bit more punch to say it though."

One of the guards left to find a superior while the other waited with Harrow and Glaice by the gate. He paced back in forth, his face showed that he considered talking to them several times but never actually tried it. Harrow and Glaice enjoyed the silence as they waited. Eventually the other guard returned but instead of bringing back an officer like Harrow assumed, he brought back the groom himself.

Victor Cross was dressed in a black suit which surprised Harrow. He had always remembered his father dressed in fine garments but a suit seemed out of place. Cloaks and togas were more his style. His red hair which had always been long was now cut short and even.

"What happened to your face" Harrow asked before his father had a chance to say anything. He referred to an eye patch covering his left eye.

"What are you doing here, Harrow?" Victor asked angrily.

"You're getting married. I'm sure you would have invited me if I'd left you an address."

"Are you here to cause trouble?"

"Come father. It's been three years. This is not a very warm greeting."

"Can you blame me?" Victor was close to shouting but his temper was excellently contained. "Last time we met you killed over sixty of my men. The Lords knows how many you killed before I arrived."

"All in the past, father. I only kill now when people want me to. I asked you a question and you ignored me. What happened to your eye?"

Victor touched the eye patch. "I had this last time we met. In your anger you probably forgot. Her eye...stopped working when she died."

"You mean when I allowed her to die."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have too. But we talk too much. I am detaining you from your party. Let us return. Have we missed the ceremony?"

On Victor's command the guards opened the gate and they headed towards the manse. "No" Victor said. "We're just about to begin."

"I'm afraid this event might not be much fun for me" Glaice muttered during a lull in the conversation.

"And why is that?" Harrow asked.

"I don't speak the language. All I could hear was your side of the conversation."

"Oh. Well I'm sure you'll get the gist of things."

"You never mentioned me. Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Honestly I don't know what to tell him. You're not from anywhere of note and your talents won't be highly respected here."

"Are you ashamed of me?"

"No. If anyone asks I'll tell them straight up who we are and what we do. It just might be a little wiser not to announce it to everyone we meet."

Glaice pouted. "Yeah you'll tell them. Meanwhile I'm stuck sitting here with no idea what's going on."

"You should have seen this coming. We've been travelling through Volerk for days now."

"Well I wasn't going to learn the entire language in a week. That's just not possible for us ungifted ones. I already have three languages floating around in my head, I can't put more words in there."

"You know three languages? You must know Patronesse and Vestigial, what's the third?"

"Yarrish. I grew up on Peach Rock remember? Haven't had to speak it in years though."

"Which is actually kind of strange. They say it's the most widely spoken language in the world."

They reached the manse and went inside. Victor directed them to the ceremony hall before rushing off in the other direction.

"He seems eager to be out of your presence" Glaice commented.

"Hmm. You think? I guess I'm not just being paranoid then. Come on, let's go find a seat in the ceremony hall."

Being uninvited guests there were no seats available for them so they stood at the back of the room. Their appearance was noted by the guests but it didn't look like anyone recognised him, either that or Victor had warned them of his presences before leaving. Despite allegedly almost missing it, the ceremony didn't begin for another half hour.

Victor waited at the altar while everyone glanced at the entrance as Harrow's step mother entered. She wore a long flowing, white dress with brunette hair tied in a bun.

"She's young" Glaice whispered to Harrow. "She looks the same age as me. Maybe I should have married your father, how would you have liked that?"

"He never would have had you."

"What's her name" Glaice wondered.

"I actually don't know" Harrow admitted. "I know absolutely nothing about her."

"How did your father lose his eye? You asked him but I didn't understand his response."

"It's not his eye." Harrow's own eyes were focused on the bride as he spoke. "It's my mother's eye. Her wedding gift to him. She took his left eye and gave him her own. So that they might always see the world from each other's perspective."

"Wow" Glaice whispered. "That actually appeals to the romantic in me."

Harrow took his eyes away from the ceremony and gave her a disbelieving look. "You don't have a romantic bone in your body."

"How would you know? You've only ever seen me attached to a man like you."

"A man like me is the only person who will ever tolerate you."

The bride reached the altar and stared into Victor's eye. The hierophant began talking about the importance of marriage and other philosophical things Harrow didn't care about. He listened long enough to find out his step mother was called Miranda and only tuned in again when it came to the vows.

"Victor" she said. "I swear to honour and respect you. I will love you always as I do now. I will bear you many children and I will do everything in my ability to be a mother to your current children. I will bring you happiness and peace. I will stand by your side no matter what happens and I will never willingly betray you."

"Miranda. I cannot promise I will ever love you. But I can promise I will always stay faithful. I will always treat you right and provide for you. That I will never love another except, perhaps, our children. I will never raise my hand against you nor will I allow anyone else to hurt you. And I will do everything that I can to make you happy."

Glaice noticed an odd look on Harrow's face. "What's wrong?"

"He doesn't love her at all" Harrow said, almost distantly. "He just admitted it in front of everyone."

"But you knew what already. You told me this was just a marriage of convenience because you can't have heirs."

"I knew he was pressured into it, but I didn't expect him to publicly say he doesn't love his wife. He still hasn't come to terms with my mother's death."

"I guess the father and son share some common traits then" Glaice said slyly.

Harrow glared at her before turning and leaving the room.

"You can't leave me in there" she said as she followed him. "I can't talk to anyone."

"Fine. You can wait with me. Just don't say anything. I've grown weary of your comments."

They waited in silence, as Harrow wanted, until eventually the ceremony was over. The people exiting the hall mostly took no notice of them which suited Harrow fine. He had little interest in the minor lords and distant cousins who flocked to his father's side to try and gain favour. Victor had never much liked the politics of their country either. He grew up as the youngest son, never wanting to rule. The fact that he bowed to the pressures of the noblemen and remarried probably indicated a change in his character but Harrow wasn't sure what that change might be.

"Harrow!" Something blindsided him and grabbed him by the waist. His natural instincts were suppressed by the creature. He slowly reclaimed himself and looked down. A blond head of hair with crimson tips was buried in his stomach. He pushed the young girl away which surprised him more than anyone since every fibre of his being was telling him to kill her for invading his personal space.

"Celest." He muttered the name of his sister. He was certain she had just used some form of magic on him, which was a bold move considering what had happened last time they'd met. But what upset him more than the magic was the fact that this tiny girl standing before him resembled his mother.

"It's been so long. How are you?" she asked. Her voice was sweet and innocent.

"You're here for the wedding then" Harrow said, ignoring her question.

"Is this your sister?" Glaice asked, clearly happy to encounter someone else she could understand.

"Who are you?" Celest asked, noticing Glaice for the first time. At the same time Harrow noticed an older girl with blond hair observing them from not too far away. She had white skin similar to Glaice but overall her form was quite different. More delicate.

"Hello Celest" Glaice said to Harrow's sister. " My name is Glaice. I'm a very special friend of your brother's."

"Really? What has he told you about me?"

"He says you're the Fairy of Fate. You've taken up the role after your mother." Glaice kneeled down beside Harrow's sister. Her demeanour was different than anything Harrow had seem from her before. "Tell me Celest, what age are you now?"

"I'm eleven."

"You must have a lot of responsibility for an eleven year old."

"Yes. I'm really busy. But I have a lot of people to help me."

"Celest, what do you think of this women, Miranda?" Harrow asked. He did not look at his sister, instead he stared at the crowd where his new step mother was talking to guests.

" I've only known her for a few days but she seems nice. She's trying to be very friendly. But she's not mother."

"Yes. I agree. She's not. Glaice, I'm leaving you in Celest's hands. I'm going to talk to my new mother."

A familiar smile passed over Glaice's face. "Of course." She turned to Celest. "Why don't you show me Harrow's room from when he lived here?"

"Okay. You can see my room afterwards." The two of them walked away hand in hand. The older blond haired girl followed them without saying a word. Harrow wondered who she was. She didn't look strong enough to be a bodyguard yet she hung back and observed like one.

Harrow turned his attention from the blond stranger to the brunette one who thought she was now a member of his family. He pushed passed the guests she was talking to and addressed her directly. "I want to speak with you" he said.

Miranda was a tall woman. Taller than Harrow and much taller than Harrow’s mother had been. She nodded and turned to the guests she had just been talking to. "Meridith. Allisandra. This is my step son, Harrow." They both muttered greetings to Harrow and offered their hand though Harrow didn’t spare them a look. He could tell they knew who he was and weren’t genuinely interested in making his acquaintance. "We haven't actually spoken in years so if you’ll excuse us." The guests nodded and walked away.

"Haven't spoken in years" Harrow muttered as Miranda led him away from the crowd. "I don’t recall ever meeting you before now."

"It was right her. Around the time your sister was born."

"What age are you Miranda?"

"I’m twenty three. Six years older than you if I’m right." Glaice guessed right in thinking they were the same age Harrow mused.

"So when my sister was born you would have been twelve. How cosmic. Victors wife and children were all born six years apart from each other."

Miranda didn't reply so they walked in silence until they reached their destination, Victor’s own bedroom. Harrow wondered why Miranda was leading him away from the party. Was it her misguided way of saying she trusted him?

"I want to be a good mother to you Harrow. I’m glad you came to talk to me." She began pouring herself a glass of wine which suggested she wasn’t pregnant yet. Not that it made any difference to Harrow.

"You might not be so glad when we’re done talking."

"Does it bother you, that I’ve married your father?" she asked.

"My father stopped being relevant to my life when my mother died. I don’t care that you’ve married him. However I do care that you might make him happy. That you might make some fertile heirs."

Miranda offered Harrow a wine glass which he took. "I heard you announced yourself as the heir of Volerk at the gate. Do you really want to be Lord, Harrow? Are you worried about your inheritance?"

Harrow laughed. "I couldn’t care less about my inheritance." Harrow downed the glass and shattered it against the ground. "But I won’t see anyone else have it either. I won’t let you bring any more humans into this world."

He took a step towards her which made her take a step back. She stared at him calmly but defiantly which surprised him. Perhaps she still didn’t understand exactly what was about to happen.

"I guess what they say about you is true" she said sadly. Her words irritated him so much he lunged at her neck and pinned her to the bed. He squeezed her throat, cutting off the air reaching her brain. Her face did not contort into an expression of fear or despair as he had hoped. Instead a single tear ran down the side of her face which surprised him so much he let go.

"What wrong with you?" he muttered.

She gasped, clutching her neck for a few seconds before she spoke. "I pity you Harrow. Clearly you're in pain but I don't think hurting me will help you." She reached out towards his cheek. "I know I can't replace your mother but-" he knocked her hand away with enough force to break it.

"Don't you dare try to analyze me. You think you know me. You think you can understand me. You don't understand anything, woman." She lay beneath him, calm and still. She irritated him more than anyone else he had ever known yet for some reason his hand wasn't moving. "Why are you so calm?!" he shouted.

"I'm afraid" she admitted, her voice still horse from the strangling. "You're really scaring me right now Harrow but I was taught never to lose my cool." Harrow noticed that her breathing was very precise. She was breathing like a warrior trying to deliver as much power as possible into every blow.

"Taught, taught by who?"

"My grandfather, Orous, the same man who trained you."

Harrow sat up and looked down at her from a slightly higher position. "You are Orous's granddaughter" he muttered. "Yes. I think I remember you now. All those years ago. Orous mentioned his family from time to time but I never considered them as real people." He got up off her and started pacing the room. "I haven't seen the old geezer in years. Is he still alive? Is he here today?" Harrow's manner had changed entirely. He had gone from feral and deranged to a state of alacrity and nostalgia.

"Yes, he's here. But I don't think he'll like to see you. He feels responsible for the atrocities you've performed."

"I don't think I'll give him much choice." He headed towards the door.

"What about me?" Miranda called to him as he left. "What are you going to do to me?"

Harrow turned and looked back at her. Bruises were starting to show on her neck. Her dress offered no means of covering them up. She was going to have a hard time explaining that to her guests. "Most people would stay silent and be thankful I'm leaving."

"I don't want to live in fear of you" she said.

"Then live a little easier knowing I'm not going to kill you Miranda. You are the descendant of one of the few people in this world that I respect. That makes you one of two people in this world I won't kill. The other being my sister."

"And what about my grandfather?"

"I respect him enough to make sure I'm the one who kills him."

"That makes no sense to me."

"I said it before, you can't understand me."

"Are you going to kill him now?"

"Would you try to stop me if I am?"

"Yes."

"I don't intend to but I might. It all depends on how my mood will be."

He turned to leave but she called out to him again. "And what about my children. What about the people I will make with your father? Will they have the same protection from you as me?"

"No." He did not turn around. "I won't kill you, but if you're brave enough to have a child, then I am willing to tear your womb apart." With that he left.

"Who is this?" Glaice asked when she noticed to girl following them.

"Oh that's Alice" Celest said cheerfully. "She's my friend. She's come to make sure I don't get into any trouble."

"Is that so? It's nice to meet you Alice." I'll probably have to kill them both Glaice thought to herself. I'll start with the bodyguard to really frighten the girl.

Celest opened the door into Harrow room. It was bigger than she expected. Overall it struck her as surprisingly normal. Bookshelves, wardrobes a dresser. The standard things you'd find in the room of a noble only with a bit more space than normal. A few swords and other weapons hung on the wall which she supposed could be considered somewhat odd.

"He hasn't been here since he was fourteen" Celest said. "The maids keep the dust out but otherwise it's been completely untouched."

Glaice examined his bookshelf. She couldn't read the writing but it looked like it was filled almost entirely with weapons and combat related guides. A few were spell books but a lot less than she expected. "He was really into his sword fighting" Glaice observed.

"Oh yes he really loved it. I was always better at magic and he was always better at fighting."

"He's never displayed this sort of passion in the years I've known him. He doesn't need to really. He can kill anything without needing skill or technique."

"They say he's become very mean in the last few years. I've heard stories about you too but I don't know much."

Glaice started examining the swords on the wall. They were very good swords, much better than the plain old one Harrow was using at the moment. "Really, would you like to know more about me?" Glaice spoke almost absent minded. They were sharp but they looked more ornamental than practical. Like they're too good to use.

"Yes. If you're Harrow's friend then I want to be your friend too."

Glaice took the sword off the wall and began examining it in her hands as she paced around the room. "Well I was born on Peach Rock, an island far to the south, right in the middle of the ocean. When I was twelve I was kidnapped by slavers and brought to the continent. I managed to escape with the help of an anti slaver but I never went home. I fought in the war until I eventually met your brother. That's the long and the short of it."

"Harrow fought for Myvesta. Did you fight for slavery after being a slave yourself?" Celest was somewhat surprised the young girl knew the details of the war.

"Not initially, no. But when I heard about your brother I decided I wanted to meet him and swapped sides."

"That's not very nice. If you start on one side you should stick with it."

"Yeah well I'm not a very nice person." She stabbed the bodyguard who let out a slight grunt and fell to the ground.

"Alice" Celest called to her friend in surprise.

Glaice stepped over the body and approached the tiny little girl. For the first time she wondered how Harrow would feel about her killing his sister. Glaice smiled at her. "If you have any last words you should say them now" she said with as much false kindness as she could muster.

"You shouldn't have hurt Alice" Celest said. "She's very dear to me. I don't want you to break her."

"Forget about friends. You need to watch out for yourself." Glaice swung the blade in a large arc intending to cut her enemy right open but to her surprise the young girl caught the blade in her hand and stopped it immediately.

"What an idiot" the child muttered. Her tone and stance were completely different now. "You should know how strong Harrow is better than anyone. Did you really think me, his full blooded sister would be a normal person?" Glaice tried to rip the sword free of the girls hands but she held it firm. "And even if I wasn't Harrow's sister, I'm Fairy of Fate. I wouldn't let some lowly slave tart like you get the better of me." The girl raised her hand and suddenly pain ripped through Glaice's body. "I told you I'm better at magic than he is. Did he not tell you he tried to kill me for that?" Glaice tried to drop the sword and run but something held her in place. She couldn't even fall to her knees. "If he did tell you that then he probably didn't tell you he failed. He wasn't able to kill me." It felt like every cell in Glaice's body was about to burst. Her stomach churned. Celest was doing something to the water inside her. "I should kill you right now. The world would probably improve without you." Celest waved a hand and Glaice was able to fall to her knees, though the pain did not stop. "But if I kill you then I'll have to kill Harrow and I don't want to do that. Despite what a complete monster he is, he's still my only brother I've ever known." The pain subsidized and Glaice fell to the ground. She held her arms close to her body and lay on the ground quivering. "But I will interfere if his rampage grows any worse. Either you put a leash on him or our next meeting won't be so pleasant."

Celest walked over to her friend and asked if she as okay in the sweet voice she used before. The body guard said something Glaice recognised as Yarrish but she was beyond caring. The pain had been too great and the fact that it was now over was too relieving to think about anything else. Celest left and she laid there crying, certain she would never move again.

Finding Orous wasn't hard for Harrow. There manse was big but there were few guests overall and nearly all of them where in the garden just outside the ceremony hall. Orous was also sitting by himself, away from the crowd, looking out onto the lush grassland that lay beyond the property.

"Hello old friend" Harrow said to reveal his presence.

Orous turned his head slightly to look at Harrow before turning back to stare at the grass. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Harrow stepped over the short wall that separated them and stood beside his old teacher. "Seems you're not happy to see me."

"Have you made anyone in this world happy since the last time we saw each other?" The old man had visibly changed little in the past three years but Harrow got the sense that his character had changed much in the time they had been apart.

"I make the only woman I can claim to love very happy" Harrow said with a smug smile.

"You've changed" Orous muttered. "But it's hardly surprising. You might have seemed gentle once but there was always an evil lurking inside you."

"It makes thinks simpler to believe that, doesn't it." Harrow sat down so the two of them were side by side. "That I'm just rotten to the core and always have been."

"You don't take anything seriously anymore do you."

Harrow shrugged. "Life's short. No point in wasting your time acting wound up."

"Did you ever have respect for life?"

"Maybe I did once. But then my mother died and my perception of the world changed. Do you know what her last words to me were? No, of course you wouldn't. I've never told anyone but Glaice. She said I shouldn't blame myself for her demise. That I was born to inflict death, not to stop it. She told me to kill. Kill every last thing on this planet."

"That doesn't sound like Solis to me."

"Yes. It does seem out of character for her. But then I don't think any of us truly knew her. She was thousands of year old. Her marriage to my father, our family, it was just a brief pastime for her. Or at least it would have been had she lived."

"She did love you though. You might have been two children in over a dozen but she truly cared for you."

"I know." The mirth had steadily left Harrow's voice, replaced with a melancholic sombreness.

"Harrow, I think you should ignore her final words. You should live honouring the person she was when you knew her. Not the last things she said as her mind faded."

"Your just as clueless as your granddaughter. I tried to kill her just now...But I stopped when I found out she was related to you. I told her she was one of only two people I wouldn't kill, but I suppose I should extend the number to include your child that created her."

"I had only one child and he is dead now. Your number remains at two. Am I lucky enough to be the other?"

"No. That would be Celest."

Orous nodded. "Yes it's better that way. It's not like my life is worth much anymore."

"No one's life is worth anything." Harrow got to his feet again. "What have you been doing these past few years anyway?"

"I've been living in the Nation of the Fairies with your sister. But I've decided to stay here to help Victor and Miranda."

"Always helping people. Orous, the charitable soul. You should stop that. Focus on yourself for a change. I wager you don't have much time left."

"Neither do you if you stay on this path you've taken."

"We'll see about that."

Harrow left the old man sitting there and returned to the party. He couldn't spot anyone he knew. Victor, Miranda, Celest and Glaice were all missing. None of the strangers were lining up to talk to him either. He suddenly felt like coming here was a huge waste of time so he went to find Glaice. She was where she said she would be, in his old room. However he wasn't expecting to see her hunched over on the ground clutching her shoulders. "What happened to you?" he asked.

"Your...Your sister" she said slowly. She sounded as if she was freezing to death.

Harrow picked her up and examined her. "You'll be fine" he told her. "If Celest wanted to kill you then you'd be dead already."

"I..I'll be fine" Glaice reassured herself. "It's...It's only pain. But that bitch of a sister of yours...I'm going to get her back for this."

Seeing she wasn't going to be walking anytime soon, Harrow lifted Glaice into his arms and carried her out of the room. "You could dedicate your life to it, but you'll never be strong enough to hurt her. I'm not sure if she's entirely to blame here either. She's not like me, she wouldn't have hurt you without provocation."

"Will you kill her for me?"

"I could, but I won't. I told you before, you have to do these things yourself. I'm not your servant."

Glaice turned and placed her hand on his chest. "But you are my man. You'll...pick me up if I'm...in trouble."

Harrow smiled. A genuine smile. "I will. But try not to get into so much trouble without me. If your having fun then I want to have some too."

Victor watched his son leave from his room on the second floor. Beside him sat his new wife, the black marks on her neck now unmistakably visible. Harrow was carrying his girlfriend like a groom carrying a bride. Victor wondered if it was an intentional mockery of the whole affair or just him reading too much into the situation.

"Are you glad he's leaving?" Miranda asked.

"I'm glad he didn't kill anyone." Victor tore his eyes away from the window and gazed at his new wife. He moved a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm most of all glad he didn't kill you." He moved his hand to her neck. "I'm sorry he did this to you. I should have expected it. I should have had guards ready."

Miranda placed her hands on Victor's. "Relax. It was a wedding, not a war. We had less than a dozen guards. And I wouldn't want a platoon of men following me around at my party."

"Hmm. But now you can't enjoy your party at all."

She leaned in closer to him and looked out the window. Not at the retreating Harrow in the distance but at the guests in the garden below. "This is fine too. As long as I can be with you."

Victor stroked her hair. "Do you really mean that Miranda?"

"Yes. I do. I've told you before Victor. I love you and by the end of this marriage, I'm going to make you love me."

Victor looked back at the two adolescents outside. "Love" he muttered. "I hope you can."

Edited September 25, 2015 by Jotari

[Snowy_One]

Jotari...

I normally would wait for all submissions but I need something to do as I'm having trouble sleeping. So, hey, up to bat.

Firstly, formatting. I get the whole tabbing thing but it's inconsistent throughout as the lines suddenly jump all the way back to the left. Not really a point for or against but something that should be minded in future entries.

Secondly this felt very... talkative. Don't get me wrong, conversation is key in building character, but some of this felt like it was just going nowhere and was just padding or pointless. Especially since, for all that was written, it felt like far too little actually happened. An action speaks more than a word. Not to toot my own horn but in my story when I wanted to show Thyme's hot-headedness I had her literally rush over to someone who gave her lip leaving a trail of fire in her wake. It's short, quick, but it shows a big part of her personality. With this... Not so much. A quick glance seems to have the majority of lines starting with a ". This is further accented by the formatting as there is a wall of text which can become both daunting and cause things to run together. Which is easier to read?

"I like cheddar cheese" said Alice as she quickly rubbed her tummy and licked her lips.

"Why do you like cheddar and not munster?" asked Beth, clearly a bit confused as she picked up a packet of munster cheese.
"Because it tastes funny and I don't like the color." replied Alice as she stuck her tongue out in disgust before picking the packet and putting it back on the shelf. "Plus daddy always puts it in his salads and they taste terrible. Mom makes hers with cheddar and they taste great!"

Or...

"I like cheddar cheese" said Alice as she quickly rubbed her tummy and licked her lips.

"Why do you like cheddar and not munster?" asked Beth, clearly a bit confused as she picked up a packet of munster cheese.

"Because it tastes funny and I don't like the color." replied Alice as she stuck her tongue out in disgust before picking the packet and putting it back on the shelf. "Plus daddy always puts it in his salads and they taste terrible. Mom makes hers with cheddar and they taste great!"

The latter is easier to read and process. Once again, I'm not going to count this against you when it comes time to vote; but it is something to keep in mind.

However I will hold the general talkative nature of this story against you. When things get too wordy and not enough is happening it becomes boring and it becomes desirable to just get to the point. Especially since things could have been summarized much quicker. For example, when talking about the war... "I was up there during the war. Served as a soldier to support my wife and kid. Fought a few battles but I don't know if I ever killed anyone. It doesn't matter though. Was up there for a bit in case fighting ever broke out again. I am looking forwards to seeing my wife again."

See? Same info, only two lines, and a bit more insight as to what he hopes to do.

Now...

Glaice. Is. A. Monster. Seriously. The guy said he didn't cheat on his wife and... I'm really hoping that the bit was implying she merely killed him instead of raped him THEN killed him. Why? That's basically not only kicking the puppy but smashing it against a wall. Just because. Why? What reasoning? Likewise, why didn't Victor outright kick Harrow out when the last time they met Harrow killed sixty of his guards? A villain like this isn't interesting because they hold no depth or even anything at all. They're just psychos living in a world where they aren't arrested on the spot. This brings me to the biggest issue here.

None of these people make sense. Okay, Harrow is rotten to the core and believes he's supposed to keep killing. So why the heck did no one die? I mean that seriously. He probably could have found a way to kill Miranda if he had wanted to but stopped. Okay... But why didn't she kill the man who had just tried to kill her? Was he actually stronger than her? Why didn't Orous try to kill him right when he admitted he tried to kill his grand daughter AT HER OWN WEDDING no less! Why didn't Celest take out Glaice? Sure, her brother would have been mad and might have tried to kill her; but ignoring that he might not have (being his sister) this is a brother who constantly kills and left her for a sizable amount of time after killing over sixty people! To top it off, this is noble politics where assassinations and backstabbing happen all the time. Poisoning his wine or something shouldn't have been that hard to do when the man is a murder-crazed monster whose mere existence would jeopardize the family; never mind the lives he constantly takes as a living. This is a world made to allow them to be monsters.

To top it off... nothing seems to have been accomplished. The main characters are psychos who didn't even get confronted for a second about their horrific actions (Glaice was willing to kill Harrow's sister and he didn't even tell her 'bad Glaice'? If he was really that apathetic why did Celest care?), the wedding basically goes off without a hitch besides the two psycho's presence, and life, and their killing spree, goes on.

This feels like little more than a vapid piece of violence with no real sustenance to it. Maybe I'm missing something key but I don't see it and, if I am, I apologize to the extent it alters my criticism. Too much filler/padding, world seems warped to suit their needs, main characters are disgusting monsters, and the most interesting thing was the eye-swap that never got delved into.

[Jotari]

Jotari...

I normally would wait for all submissions but I need something to do as I'm having trouble sleeping. So, hey, up to bat.

Firstly, formatting. I get the whole tabbing thing but it's inconsistent throughout as the lines suddenly jump all the way back to the left. Not really a point for or against but something that should be minded in future entries.

Secondly this felt very... talkative. Don't get me wrong, conversation is key in building character, but some of this felt like it was just going nowhere and was just padding or pointless. Especially since, for all that was written, it felt like far too little actually happened. An action speaks more than a word. Not to toot my own horn but in my story when I wanted to show Thyme's hot-headedness I had her literally rush over to someone who gave her lip leaving a trail of fire in her wake. It's short, quick, but it shows a big part of her personality. With this... Not so much. A quick glance seems to have the majority of lines starting with a ". This is further accented by the formatting as there is a wall of text which can become both daunting and cause things to run together. Which is easier to read?

"I like cheddar cheese" said Alice as she quickly rubbed her tummy and licked her lips.

"Why do you like cheddar and not munster?" asked Beth, clearly a bit confused as she picked up a packet of munster cheese.

"Because it tastes funny and I don't like the color." replied Alice as she stuck her tongue out in disgust before picking the packet and putting it back on the shelf. "Plus daddy always puts it in his salads and they taste terrible. Mom makes hers with cheddar and they taste great!"

Or...

"I like cheddar cheese" said Alice as she quickly rubbed her tummy and licked her lips.

"Why do you like cheddar and not munster?" asked Beth, clearly a bit confused as she picked up a packet of munster cheese.

"Because it tastes funny and I don't like the color." replied Alice as she stuck her tongue out in disgust before picking the packet and putting it back on the shelf. "Plus daddy always puts it in his salads and they taste terrible. Mom makes hers with cheddar and they taste great!"

The latter is easier to read and process. Once again, I'm not going to count this against you when it comes time to vote; but it is something to keep in mind.

However I will hold the general talkative nature of this story against you. When things get too wordy and not enough is happening it becomes boring and it becomes desirable to just get to the point. Especially since things could have been summarized much quicker. For example, when talking about the war... "I was up there during the war. Served as a soldier to support my wife and kid. Fought a few battles but I don't know if I ever killed anyone. It doesn't matter though. Was up there for a bit in case fighting ever broke out again. I am looking forwards to seeing my wife again."

See? Same info, only two lines, and a bit more insight as to what he hopes to do.

Now...

Glaice. Is. A. Monster. Seriously. The guy said he didn't cheat on his wife and... I'm really hoping that the bit was implying she merely killed him instead of raped him THEN killed him. Why? That's basically not only kicking the puppy but smashing it against a wall. Just because. Why? What reasoning? Likewise, why didn't Victor outright kick Harrow out when the last time they met Harrow killed sixty of his guards? A villain like this isn't interesting because they hold no depth or even anything at all. They're just psychos living in a world where they aren't arrested on the spot. This brings me to the biggest issue here.

None of these people make sense. Okay, Harrow is rotten to the core and believes he's supposed to keep killing. So why the heck did no one die? I mean that seriously. He probably could have found a way to kill Miranda if he had wanted to but stopped. Okay... But why didn't she kill the man who had just tried to kill her? Was he actually stronger than her? Why didn't Orous try to kill him right when he admitted he tried to kill his grand daughter AT HER OWN WEDDING no less! Why didn't Celest take out Glaice? Sure, her brother would have been mad and might have tried to kill her; but ignoring that he might not have (being his sister) this is a brother who constantly kills and left her for a sizable amount of time after killing over sixty people! To top it off, this is noble politics where assassinations and backstabbing happen all the time. Poisoning his wine or something shouldn't have been that hard to do when the man is a murder-crazed monster whose mere existence would jeopardize the family; never mind the lives he constantly takes as a living. This is a world made to allow them to be monsters.

To top it off... nothing seems to have been accomplished. The main characters are psychos who didn't even get confronted for a second about their horrific actions (Glaice was willing to kill Harrow's sister and he didn't even tell her 'bad Glaice'? If he was really that apathetic why did Celest care?), the wedding basically goes off without a hitch besides the two psycho's presence, and life, and their killing spree, goes on.

This feels like little more than a vapid piece of violence with no real sustenance to it. Maybe I'm missing something key but I don't see it and, if I am, I apologize to the extent it alters my criticism. Too much filler/padding, world seems warped to suit their needs, main characters are disgusting monsters, and the most interesting thing was the eye-swap that never got delved into.

Hey Snowy, thanks for the criticism. Always welcome.

Formatting is a result of me writing it in word and pasting it up here. I'll probably go back and edit it now that you've pointed it out.

Dialogue heavy is kind of my style. If it's not appealing then that's cool but I like to make my conversations feel natural with a bit of flow and when I write it's naturally how things tend to go whether I plan it or not. I get that if things are too dialogue heavy then they can get boring so in my large works I do have other things happening but in this, the story simply had it so that nothing happens. It was the plan from the outset and it might not make a compelling piece as a stand alone, Which is fine, I just put it out there to have a sample of my work and officially attached myself to the competition. It's a companion piece to a world I've already created (a novel of 166 thousand words and a novella of 30 thousand). It was a particular event that I had planned to write before the competition so my next entry might be tailored more towards a competition. Certain references and plot points that might seem random or like a waste of space are actually important, particularly Celest's bodyguard Alice who is a major character in the novel that I would have liked to give more screen time here but never felt appropriate. Still though this is a first draft so I probably will rewrite it at some point. I realise that these are exactly the sort of things that would hamper me from winning here, so to speak, but I'm fine with that. My main aim is to write something and get some body of work out there in some form. That's the first step.

As for Harrow and Glaice, yes, they are monsters. Their overall story is about suffering. Primarily about how acting like a monster will never bring happiness despite how things might seem in the short term. Their relationship grows very abusive and Glaice, who initially corrupted Harrow to some degree, becomes a prisoner of him. He lives up to the vow of carving out her womb and by the time she dies she is left broken and very unhappy as a person. Her own companion being someone who tells her she deserves everything she gets due to her own misdeeds. Harrow after loses Glaice becomes bitter, empty and depressed even after he stops killing and attempts to take his life more than once. He also starts blaming his life and his actions on the very real god of his universe (who happens to be his grandmother). A lot more things happen to him that would be too much to summarize here and you probably aren't interested so I'll just fill up some of those plot holes you mentioned. Primarily no one tries to kill him because he is just physically that strong that no one could, except (maybe) Celest. He also gate crashed the wedding and doesn't live the life of the nobility so no none of the nobles had opportunity to poison his wine her attempt to take care of him in any other way. And Celest spared Glaice not because she feared Harrow might kill her, but that he might go on a rampage and kill everyone at the wedding but her. Anyway I hope that clears things up and thanks for reading.

[eclipse]

Due to some RL stuff, I'm going to have to push the deadline back by an hour and a half or so. Competition ends on September 27 at 10:30 PM HST, or when I get home.

[blah the Prussian]

Title: A corruption of Karma

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: Manfred and Franziska von Karma and Shelly de Killer are the only canon ones

Words:4414

[spoiler=Story]

Ever since I was young, I was taught to be perfect. Never look back. Have supreme confidence in one’s own perfection. Never doubt oneself. And yet, I am a Prosecutor. I work for justice. But justice is imperfect. I have seen with my own eyes some of the most depraved murderers in history escape guilt for their crimes. I am perfect. Justice is not. We are above justice.

My name is Manfred von Karma and this is how I learned that.

I was born in the small town of Karma in 1933. Karma was a town in Germany. It had been in my family since before the rise of Charlemagne. And yet, or so my father told me, this was not what made a von Karma a von Karma.

The law. This was the most important part of our identity as a family. Von Karmas had reformed the law all across Europe. We always found the truth, no matter what. Or so I was led to believe. After my experiences, I have deducted that the truth does not exist. There is only what you make out to be the truth. I suppose I should stop rambling and get to the point, hmmm? Very well, Franziska.

As I am sure you know, my life was tied, much like the entirety of Europe, to the life of one man: Adolf Hitler. Hitler, you see, was adept at lying. He lied to the people of Germany. He told them he could fix their problems. What? You already know this? Yes, Franziska, I suppose you do already know this, don’t you? I did, after all, send you to a school worth a damn. Your tutor – what was his name, Noah Wiener? – was particularly fixated on history. But I digress.

Well, this was where my father’s problems began. You see, he believed that everyone should be treated equally under the law – justice, as it were. The trouble was, the new leaders of our country – yes Franziska, they were fools, weren’t they? – disagreed. They believed that – yes, Franziska, you already know that they hated Jews too. Forgive me. Allow me to continue.

My father, you see, was a prosecutor. He was expected to prosecute criminals. Unfortunately for him, he disagreed with Hitler’s definition of “criminal”. And so, when he was ordered by the Gestapo to prosecute a man for the “crime” of being Jewish, he refused. The Gestapo did not take kindly to this.

I remember that day more perhaps than any other. It was a bright morning in 1938. My siblings and I were going over geometric figures with our governess. Suddenly, there was an absolutely infernal pounding on the front door of our mansion. With a terrible crash, it gave way.

The Gestapo poured into the house. They tackled my father and mother, putting handcuffs around their wrists. Then the came for myself and my siblings. Our governess tried to defend us. One of the men whipped out a gun and shot her through the stomach. The Gestapo, you see, didn’t care about how many innocents they hurt. Only the guilty mattered.

I suppose I am getting ahead of myself. We were all marched outside the mansion to the Gestapo’s waiting trucks. I was shoved into one. My elder sister was shoved on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. We were then transported to the place where, essentially, I would grow up: Dachau concentration camp.

Dachau was not a pleasant place, needless to say. You see, Franziska, it was quite frankly tailor made to break the spirits of the opponents of the regime. From day one, I was separated from my family. It was, I gather, just another way of breaking everyone’s spirits. But I am a von Karma. I am perfect. And it would take more than Dachau to break me.

Now, Dachau was run by an utterly despicable organization called the Wa – Alright, fine, I suppose you know what the Waffen SS was as well, Franziska, but please, indulge me. The Waffen SS was Hitler’s personal death squad. And you see, there was one particular commander – an Obergruppenfuhrer – who was the most sadistic of the bunch. His name was Hans Buenthall, and, though I would only meet him three times in my life, he would have a profound affect on it, possibly more than anyone.

I remember the first time we met. It was in 1941, I recall, though I could be wrong. Time had lost all meaning to me by then. In any case, I was walking along to get my food for the day when I felt a vicious hit to the back of my head. As I collapsed to the ground a jackboot slammed in to me and sent me flying. I flew through the air and hit the hard ground with a thud. Looking up, I saw at last my tormenter.

He was tall, with a cruel face. Not too muscular though; must have been one of those SS men selected for sadism rather than competence. He rose his whip for another blow. Suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Get away from my son, you son of a bitch!”

It was my father. He hurled himself towards the SS man, intent on ending his life. The next moments remain etched in my memory to this day. The bastard motioned for his henchmen to stay back, and reached into his pocket. He produced a Luger, and raised it. A shot rang out, then another. My father sunk to the ground, blood seeping from the holes in his body. The SS man stared impassively.

“Interesting,” he noted dispassionately. “He doesn’t have blue blood after all.” This remark amused his goons greatly. Buenthall gestured to the crematorium. “Burn this shit. Get it out of my sight.” His men rushed over to my father’s body, picked it up, and dragged it away. It was the last time I saw my father.

He left soon after that. The SS man, I mean. He left presumably to the Eastern Front. Was he at Stalingrad? No, I don’t think so, Franziska. There is a contradiction there. Can you find it? Yes, very good. If he was at Stalingrad I would not meet him again, because all the German forces at Stalingrad were wiped out. Now, lets move on.

Dachau continued to be miserable for a long time. It was, however, a consistent kind of miserable, so I will not bore you with the details. Surely, Franziska, I don’t need to explain to you what happened in 1945, do I? Good girl. 1945 was the year Dachau was liberated.

The Germans, however, had other plans. They didn’t want any witnesses to their many crimes against humanity, so they resolved to execute us all before the US army arrived. I was roused from my bed (if you could call it that) by loud shouts one morning in spring. We had all known that the war was nearing its end, of course, but it still caught us by surprise when SS men stormed into the barracks, and pulled us to our feet. We were herded out of the camp. I desperately tried to keep afloat, so to speak, in the crowd. Looking around frantically, I caught sight of my brother, Friedrich. I latched on to him and never let go. This would save my life.

We were herded towards a ditch, and made to stand against it. A truck of SS men drove in, and the soldiers inside stormed out. The soldiers formed up in a line facing us. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was about to happen. I was ten years old. It didn’t fully occur to me what death was, or that it could happen to me, even after seeing it all around me for so long.

My brother, though, had no such illusions. As the Commandant marched to the head of the line of men, Friedrich leaned down. “Manfred…”

“Ready!”

“I want you to always remember something…”

“Aim!”

“Never forget…”

“Fire!”

Abruptly, my brother shoved me into the ditch behind us. An instant later, bullet after bullet tore through his body. He collapsed onto me. I was buried in bodies. The stench was horrendous. With what strength I had left, I cleared a space out amongst the bodies for me to breath.

Just then, shots rang out. I could hear muffled cries coming from above. “Hiel Hitler” was quite frequent. However, there was another battle cry ringing out: “God Bless America!” I had never been happier to hear any set of words in my life.

Eventually, the SS retreated. I could make out sentences clearly now. They were from the Americans. Ah, Franziska. You spot a contradiction? Yes, I suppose ten is a bit young to be fluent in English. However, my father and later my brothers insisted that I receive at least some education despite our circumstances. So yes, I was able to understand the Americans. Moving on.

The first voice I could make said “Sergeant Wright? There’s something you need to see.”

“Wha- holy shit.”

“What the fuck is this? Who the fuck did this?”

“Control yourself, Private!”

“Where the fuck is the nearest Kraut? I’m going to fucking kill every single fucking Kraut I fucking find!”

It was at this point that I decided on my best hope for survival. I screamed. I screamed as loud as I possibly could, and ceaselessly. Above ground, the voices intensified.

Finally, I could see light. I could just make out the face of the man who would save my life. To this day, I don’t know his name. I suppose I would like to meet him, or someone close to him. The last words I heard before blacking out were “Pull him out, Sergeant Wright!”

I woke up groggily, without being aware of it in some ways. Looking around, I found that I was lying on something I had not been on in quite a while: a proper bed. I felt numb at the time, I recall. Then it hit me.

My entire family was dead.

I am a von Karma. I am perfect. You do not need to ask me if I cried, Franziska. You know the answer.

A hospital in Nuremburg, 1945

Manfred von Karma cried. He cried like no one had ever cried before.

Present day

In any case, I heard a knocking at my door. In came a tall, slightly elderly man in a formal suit. He was surrounded by military police. The man cleared his throat.

“Mr. von Karma, my name is Ignatius Matthew Nolan Payne, or I. M. N. Payne. I have been assigned to prosecute the case of this man-“

It was Buenthall. I let out a gasp.

Payne smiled. “So you do know him. Tell me, what did he do?”

I let out a so-sigh. I let out a sigh, and replied “He murdered my father in cold blood.”

“Tell me,” Payne replied, “would you like to be responsible for his death?” Seeing my eyes light up, he continued. “He will be one of the defendants at the Nuremburg Trials, the trials of all those who committed crimes under the Nazis. You are one of the only witnesses we have left. He seems to have murdered all the rest.”

Without hesitation, I responded. “Of course I’ll help you. I would do anything to see him killed.”

Payne smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

The courtroom at Nuremburg was packed; fitting for a trial of this importance. I was sitting in the audience, on the Prosecution’s side. My attention, however, was focused firmly on the side of the Defense. Having read up on the two attorneys, Atticus Edgeworth worried me. From what I had read, if anyone could save the life of the man who had killed my father, it would be him.

The bang of a gavel caught my attention. “This court is called to order for the trial of Hans Buenthall.”

“The Prosecution is ready, your honor.” Payne looked confidant, stroking his hair.

“The defense is ready, your honor.” Edgeworth, on the other hand, was determined. The man had never lost a case, and it seemed as if he did not intend to make today unique.

The Judge continued on. “Would the Prosecution please proceed with the opening statement?”

“Gladly, your honor,” Payne smirked, stroking his hair. “The accused is Hans Buenthall, SS obergruppenfuhrer. He committed many misdeeds, but the crime he is on trial for today is the murder of Wilhelm von Karma, who he shot in one of the Nazi’s infamous concentration camps. To prove this, the Prosecution is prepared to call to the stand the person most affected by the defendant’s misdeeds- the son of the victim, Manfred. The Prosecution formally summons Manfred von Karma to the stand!”

As I rose from my seat and walked towards the stand, my heart raced. This was arguably the most important moment of my life so far. The man who had killed my father was on trial, and I was the one who was going to bring him to justice. I reached the stand. The eyes of the entire courtroom were on me. I delivered my testimony.

“My entire family were interred in Dachau Concentration Camp as political prisoners,” I began. “One morning in 1941, the defendant- he is, in fact, the one I saw, by the way- knocked me down and began beating me. He did so with gusto and enjoyment. My father, seeing what was going on, attempted to intervene, but the defendant… he… shot him then and there.”

“HOLD IT!”

I looked up with a start. It was Edgeworth. Of course it was Edgeworth. He had his finger pointed at me accusingly.

“Witness, did you just say that your father started the struggle?”

My face darkened. As I opened my mouth to answer, I was interrupted again.

“OBJECTION!”

Payne smirked confidently. Did you not hear the witnesses testimony, Mr. Edgeworth? He clearly stated that his father acted to protect him from the defendant! Now, tell me, Mr. Edgeworth, what possible reason could the defendant have to attack an unarmed man?”

Atticus Edgeworth smiled in triumph. “What reason, Mr. Payne? May I present to the court Hildegarde Buenthall? Hildegarde here is the sister of Hans Buenthall! And it just so happens that she was taken into custody by the Gestapo in 1941!”

The Judge looked confused. Suddenly, his face lit up. “AAHHH!”

“Exactly, Your Honor!” Edgeworth continued to put pressure on this one weak spot in the Prosecution’s case. “The defendant was coerced to attack Manfred von Karma! It just so happens that one of his fellow officers told him to attack the first child he saw or his sister would get the axe!”

The court exploded with noise. The defendant was no longer a murderer in their eyes. He was a tragic victim of blackmail.

“OBJECTION!”

Payne hadn’t given up yet. “Did you forget the defendant’s testimony, Mr. Edgeworth? He clearly stated that the defendant beat him sadistically! Does that sound like a victim of coercion to you?”

“OBJECTION!”

Edgeworth was ready with a counterargument. “Mr. Payne, the witness was not yet ten at the time! He could easily have invented the whole testimony from a shady memory of that day, let alone the fact that the defendant beat him sadistically!”

“A solid argument from the defence!” The Judge was impressed. This was bad. “The witness may step down.”

“OBJECTION!”

“Your honor, I am not yet done with the witness!” Payne protested.

“The witness has already proven himself to be unreliable.” the Judge shot back. “The defense may present their case!”

The rest of a trial was a blur. Atticus Edgeworth expertly focused in on the chink in Payne’s armor he had found. He called the defendant, to testify how he was “coerced”, and his sister, to testify how she was arrested. He even called the Gestapo officer who supposedly arrested the sister. In the end, the outcome of the trial was never in doubt. Edgeworth was too good of a Defense Attorney.

“NOT GUILTY.”

I exited the courtroom, crestfallen. As if the heavens decided to play a cruel joke on me, it was sunny as could be. Looking around, I saw him. Buenthall. He was surrounded by reporters, but he saw me, too. Our eyes met for a few seconds. And in that time… the bastard smirked. God, that made me so angry. It makes me angry still just thinking about it. It is a moment of weakness, I know, Franziska. A von Karma is perfect. A von Karma should never show emotion. I hope that nothing in your life ever gives you cause to be as angry as I was then.

I returned to the von Karma manor later that year. A family friend, Hienrich von Stauffenburg[1] took care of me. I learned all about German law, and how to become a Prosecutor. It was my destiny to fulfill the von Karma legacy and be the best Prosecutor in all of West Germany. That, I decided, was why God spared me and not the rest of my family. I was the one who would be the best prosecutor the von Karma family had ever seen.

And so I was. I graduated law school at the age of twenty, and took the world of prosecution by storm. I won every case I was ever given. My proudest moment came when I worked with the Stasi[2] to catch a Neo Nazi serial killer in East Germany. I was even the only German on the Prosecution team for Adolf Eichmann, the man who orchestrated the Holocaust. Me and my team were met by cheering crowds in Tel Aviv when the verdict was announced. I had moved on from my tragic childhood. And yet, I still was missing something.

It was obvious, wasn’t it? I was missing revenge. The man who had taken my father away from me still lived. I could never be at peace until he was dead. And yet, there was no discernable way to reach him. That is, until one case I was working on in the United Kingdom in 1979…

The case was rather open and shut on the serface. A member of the Irish Republican Army was accused of the murder of Lord Louis Mountbatten[3] and all the evidence seemed to point to him. He had planted a bomb on Mountbatten’s yacht. However, I found something very interesting at the crime scene, on the dock.

It was a card with a shell on it.

I quickly pocketed the card, fearing that it might damage our case. I was probably right. In the end, the defendant was convicted, of course, but that card still bothered me. Little did I know that it was what allowed me vengeance.

“Hello.”

Those words cut through my consciousness like a knife one night in 1980. I awoke with a start to see, much to my surprise and dismay, a man standing in front of me. He was a young man, in his early twenties, and wearing a suit and tie. Needless to say, it was quite the shock.

“Just who are you and what on earth are you doing at my bedside at 1:00 AM?” I demanded angrily.

“There’s no need to be so direct. I am Shelly de Killer. I am an assassin. One year ago, the Irish Republican Army hired me to kill Lord Louis Mountbatten. I left my calling card at the scene of the crime to deflect blame from them. However, much to my dismay, you, Herr von Karma, removed the card from the scene of the crime.”

“So you’ve come to kill me?” I demanded. “Fine then, do it. I died on a spring day in 1945, as the last of my family was cut down before my eyes.”

“No!” de Killer stated, quite forcefully. “While doing research into you, I noticed that there was one person who you might like to see dead. One who got away, so to speak?”

I sat bolt upright in bed. “Obergruppenfuhrer Hans Buenthall of the Waffen SS?”

De Killer nodded. “The very same. I know where he lives. I know where a great deal of people live. I can eliminate him for you at the drop of a bucket.”

“On one condition,” I replied. “I want to be there when you kill him.

De Killer shrugged. “It is an odd request, to be sure, but by no means an impossible one. If the price is right, of course.”

I didn’t consider for even an instant. “Name it.”

De Killer smiled. “How soon can you charter a plane to Argentina?[4]

My private jet touched down in the Buenos Aires International Airport, about 18 hours after De Killer had first appeared at my bedside. Since then, I had paid De Killer an exorbitant but entirely affordable price, gotten dressed, eaten a quick breakfast (my butler was quite bewildered, as you can imagine) and met De Killer at the door to my mansion. He was dressed as a butler himself, and was dragging a solitary suitcase. “Your bags, sir,” he said dispassionately. I got the hint.

He was still carrying my bags as we walked across the airport. As we reached a Cadillac on the edge of the airport, he opened the door to the trunk and threw my bags inside. He then opened the passenger door and gesrured for me to enter. Once settled in, I looked over to him. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. de Killer, why is this car here?”

De Killer allowed himself a brief, but quite smug, smile. “Well, sir,” he began, “I happen to have a car parked at every airport in the world. I find it maximizes efficiency.”

We drove on in silence.

Eventually, I broke it. “So, how exactly did you know where this man would be?”

“Anticipating your positive reception to my business proposal, I elected to research into the target’s location beforehand. It was a trifle, really.”

The de Killers, it seemed, also prided themselves on perfection. I do hope you might meet one of them one day, Franziska.

We had been driving for some hours now. Finally, the car pulled up next to a medium sized house overlooking the sea. So this was where the man who had killed my father had spent the next 25 years. Interesting.

I turned to de Killer. “Just so you know, I want you to make him feel fear before he dies. And I want to see him at my mercy.”

De Killer merely nodded. “I thought you might say that. Very well, here is what we shall do:”

As you can imagine, Franziska, it came as quite the shock to Hans Buenthall when he entered his bedroom to find me sitting there. So much of a shock, in fact, that he dropped the wine bottle he was carrying. He would never get to enjoy it, I realized. For whatever reason, this filled me with an irrational sense of satisfaction.

He was old, I noted. Old and shabby. He was an alchoholic, I deduced. His hair was falling out, and he looked tired. This also brought me satisfaction. Maybe there was a god after all.

“Mr. Buenthall,” I announced cordially. “My name is Manfred von Karma. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” I had just read “The Princess Bride”, you see, and I had taken a liking to it. Franziska, one of these days you should really read that book.

In any case, before Buenthall had a chance to react properly, I motioned with my right hand. Shelly de Killer burst out from behind the door into the bedroom, slamming Buenthall to the ground. Buenthall was an old man, but adrenaline is a powerful thing. He also was an SS veteran, who did serve on the Eastern Front. He would not go easily. He grabbed a shard of glass from the bottle and raked it down de Killer’s face. De Killer responded by calmly grabbing Buenthall’s hand.

He looked at me. “Say the word and I will end it, sir.”

“Thank you.” I turned to Buenthall. Hans Buenthall, you had my life in your hands 29 years ago. It was very, very foolish of you not to capitalize on this opportunity. Now, is there anything you would like to say to me?”

Buenthall really did not waste any time. “Please!” he begged. “Please, spare me! Have forgiveness! I did it because they took my sister, remember?”

“Yes, that may have been enough to appease a spineless court who doesn’t care about justice,” I sneered. “But frankly, I don’t give a shit why you killed my father, just that you did so. I’ve heard enough. End it.”

Buenthall began blubbering like a baby. De Killer merely nodded, and, with a simple “Yes, sir” jammed the shard of glass down Buenthall’s skull. Without emotion, he produced one of his cards and put it onto the body. De Killer looked up at me. “So, sir, shall we go?”

I considered for only a moment. “Yes. Lets go.”

Thus ended the most satisfying day of my life.

Always remember this, Franziska. The law lets people get away. The law is unreliable, but more than anything it is imperfect. It is perfectly justifiable to work outside of the law to bring criminals to justice, as I did. What am I doing tomorrow? Well, it’s funny you should mention that, Franziska. I am prosecuting… against the grandson of Atticus Edgeworth. Good night, Franziska. I hope you make the von Karma family name proud.

[1]: Someone who doesn’t exist IRL. However, in the world of Ace Attorney, he is the brother of Klaus von Stauffenburg, the man who came closest to assassinating Hitler (apart from Hitler himself, of course). Since they are both nobles and they both hate the Nazis, it makes sense for the von Karmas and the von Stauffenburgs to be friends.
[2]: The Stasi were the notoriously brutal secret police of East Germany. That von Karma is working with them is a good indication of what he is becoming.

[3]: A real event, sans von Karma obviously.

[4]: Argentina was a huge destination for Nazis escaping prosecution. Adolf Eichmann lived there until the Israelis kidnapped him, as did the infamous Joseph Mengele, who you should Google if you ever need to stay awake for an extended period of time.

Well, there you have it. My first fanfic entry. As an FYI, I won't be able to do reviews or two days, as I will be in Dresden. However, I will try to review the others later.

[Jotari]

Title: A corruption of Karma

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: Manfred and Franziska von Karma and Shelly de Killer are the only canon ones

Words:4414

[spoiler=Story]

Ever since I was young, I was taught to be perfect. Never look back. Have supreme confidence in one’s own perfection. Never doubt oneself. And yet, I am a Prosecutor. I work for justice. But justice is imperfect. I have seen with my own eyes some of the most depraved murderers in history escape guilt for their crimes. I am perfect. Justice is not. We are above justice.

My name is Manfred von Karma and this is how I learned that.

I was born in the small town of Karma in 1933. Karma was a town in Germany. It had been in my family since before the rise of Charlemagne. And yet, or so my father told me, this was not what made a von Karma a von Karma.

The law. This was the most important part of our identity as a family. Von Karmas had reformed the law all across Europe. We always found the truth, no matter what. Or so I was led to believe. After my experiences, I have deducted that the truth does not exist. There is only what you make out to be the truth. I suppose I should stop rambling and get to the point, hmmm? Very well, Franziska.

As I am sure you know, my life was tied, much like the entirety of Europe, to the life of one man: Adolf Hitler. Hitler, you see, was adept at lying. He lied to the people of Germany. He told them he could fix their problems. What? You already know this? Yes, Franziska, I suppose you do already know this, don’t you? I did, after all, send you to a school worth a damn. Your tutor – what was his name, Noah Wiener? – was particularly fixated on history. But I digress.

Well, this was where my father’s problems began. You see, he believed that everyone should be treated equally under the law – justice, as it were. The trouble was, the new leaders of our country – yes Franziska, they were fools, weren’t they? – disagreed. They believed that – yes, Franziska, you already know that they hated Jews too. Forgive me. Allow me to continue.

My father, you see, was a prosecutor. He was expected to prosecute criminals. Unfortunately for him, he disagreed with Hitler’s definition of “criminal”. And so, when he was ordered by the Gestapo to prosecute a man for the “crime” of being Jewish, he refused. The Gestapo did not take kindly to this.

I remember that day more perhaps than any other. It was a bright morning in 1938. My siblings and I were going over geometric figures with our governess. Suddenly, there was an absolutely infernal pounding on the front door of our mansion. With a terrible crash, it gave way.

The Gestapo poured into the house. They tackled my father and mother, putting handcuffs around their wrists. Then the came for myself and my siblings. Our governess tried to defend us. One of the men whipped out a gun and shot her through the stomach. The Gestapo, you see, didn’t care about how many innocents they hurt. Only the guilty mattered.

I suppose I am getting ahead of myself. We were all marched outside the mansion to the Gestapo’s waiting trucks. I was shoved into one. My elder sister was shoved on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. We were then transported to the place where, essentially, I would grow up: Dachau concentration camp.

Dachau was not a pleasant place, needless to say. You see, Franziska, it was quite frankly tailor made to break the spirits of the opponents of the regime. From day one, I was separated from my family. It was, I gather, just another way of breaking everyone’s spirits. But I am a von Karma. I am perfect. And it would take more than Dachau to break me.

Now, Dachau was run by an utterly despicable organization called the Wa – Alright, fine, I suppose you know what the Waffen SS was as well, Franziska, but please, indulge me. The Waffen SS was Hitler’s personal death squad. And you see, there was one particular commander – an Obergruppenfuhrer – who was the most sadistic of the bunch. His name was Hans Buenthall, and, though I would only meet him three times in my life, he would have a profound affect on it, possibly more than anyone.

I remember the first time we met. It was in 1941, I recall, though I could be wrong. Time had lost all meaning to me by then. In any case, I was walking along to get my food for the day when I felt a vicious hit to the back of my head. As I collapsed to the ground a jackboot slammed in to me and sent me flying. I flew through the air and hit the hard ground with a thud. Looking up, I saw at last my tormenter.

He was tall, with a cruel face. Not too muscular though; must have been one of those SS men selected for sadism rather than competence. He rose his whip for another blow. Suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Get away from my son, you son of a bitch!”

It was my father. He hurled himself towards the SS man, intent on ending his life. The next moments remain etched in my memory to this day. The bastard motioned for his henchmen to stay back, and reached into his pocket. He produced a Luger, and raised it. A shot rang out, then another. My father sunk to the ground, blood seeping from the holes in his body. The SS man stared impassively.

“Interesting,” he noted dispassionately. “He doesn’t have blue blood after all.” This remark amused his goons greatly. Buenthall gestured to the crematorium. “Burn this shit. Get it out of my sight.” His men rushed over to my father’s body, picked it up, and dragged it away. It was the last time I saw my father.

He left soon after that. The SS man, I mean. He left presumably to the Eastern Front. Was he at Stalingrad? No, I don’t think so, Franziska. There is a contradiction there. Can you find it? Yes, very good. If he was at Stalingrad I would not meet him again, because all the German forces at Stalingrad were wiped out. Now, lets move on.

Dachau continued to be miserable for a long time. It was, however, a consistent kind of miserable, so I will not bore you with the details. Surely, Franziska, I don’t need to explain to you what happened in 1945, do I? Good girl. 1945 was the year Dachau was liberated.

The Germans, however, had other plans. They didn’t want any witnesses to their many crimes against humanity, so they resolved to execute us all before the US army arrived. I was roused from my bed (if you could call it that) by loud shouts one morning in spring. We had all known that the war was nearing its end, of course, but it still caught us by surprise when SS men stormed into the barracks, and pulled us to our feet. We were herded out of the camp. I desperately tried to keep afloat, so to speak, in the crowd. Looking around frantically, I caught sight of my brother, Friedrich. I latched on to him and never let go. This would save my life.

We were herded towards a ditch, and made to stand against it. A truck of SS men drove in, and the soldiers inside stormed out. The soldiers formed up in a line facing us. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was about to happen. I was ten years old. It didn’t fully occur to me what death was, or that it could happen to me, even after seeing it all around me for so long.

My brother, though, had no such illusions. As the Commandant marched to the head of the line of men, Friedrich leaned down. “Manfred…”

“Ready!”

“I want you to always remember something…”

“Aim!”

“Never forget…”

“Fire!”

Abruptly, my brother shoved me into the ditch behind us. An instant later, bullet after bullet tore through his body. He collapsed onto me. I was buried in bodies. The stench was horrendous. With what strength I had left, I cleared a space out amongst the bodies for me to breath.

Just then, shots rang out. I could hear muffled cries coming from above. “Hiel Hitler” was quite frequent. However, there was another battle cry ringing out: “God Bless America!” I had never been happier to hear any set of words in my life.

Eventually, the SS retreated. I could make out sentences clearly now. They were from the Americans. Ah, Franziska. You spot a contradiction? Yes, I suppose ten is a bit young to be fluent in English. However, my father and later my brothers insisted that I receive at least some education despite our circumstances. So yes, I was able to understand the Americans. Moving on.

The first voice I could make said “Sergeant Wright? There’s something you need to see.”

“Wha- holy shit.”

“What the fuck is this? Who the fuck did this?”

“Control yourself, Private!”

“Where the fuck is the nearest Kraut? I’m going to fucking kill every single fucking Kraut I fucking find!”

It was at this point that I decided on my best hope for survival. I screamed. I screamed as loud as I possibly could, and ceaselessly. Above ground, the voices intensified.

Finally, I could see light. I could just make out the face of the man who would save my life. To this day, I don’t know his name. I suppose I would like to meet him, or someone close to him. The last words I heard before blacking out were “Pull him out, Sergeant Wright!”

I woke up groggily, without being aware of it in some ways. Looking around, I found that I was lying on something I had not been on in quite a while: a proper bed. I felt numb at the time, I recall. Then it hit me.

My entire family was dead.

I am a von Karma. I am perfect. You do not need to ask me if I cried, Franziska. You know the answer.

A hospital in Nuremburg, 1945

Manfred von Karma cried. He cried like no one had ever cried before.

Present day

In any case, I heard a knocking at my door. In came a tall, slightly elderly man in a formal suit. He was surrounded by military police. The man cleared his throat.

“Mr. von Karma, my name is Ignatius Matthew Nolan Payne, or I. M. N. Payne. I have been assigned to prosecute the case of this man-“

It was Buenthall. I let out a gasp.

Payne smiled. “So you do know him. Tell me, what did he do?”

I let out a so-sigh. I let out a sigh, and replied “He murdered my father in cold blood.”

“Tell me,” Payne replied, “would you like to be responsible for his death?” Seeing my eyes light up, he continued. “He will be one of the defendants at the Nuremburg Trials, the trials of all those who committed crimes under the Nazis. You are one of the only witnesses we have left. He seems to have murdered all the rest.”

Without hesitation, I responded. “Of course I’ll help you. I would do anything to see him killed.”

Payne smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

The courtroom at Nuremburg was packed; fitting for a trial of this importance. I was sitting in the audience, on the Prosecution’s side. My attention, however, was focused firmly on the side of the Defense. Having read up on the two attorneys, Atticus Edgeworth worried me. From what I had read, if anyone could save the life of the man who had killed my father, it would be him.

The bang of a gavel caught my attention. “This court is called to order for the trial of Hans Buenthall.”

“The Prosecution is ready, your honor.” Payne looked confidant, stroking his hair.

“The defense is ready, your honor.” Edgeworth, on the other hand, was determined. The man had never lost a case, and it seemed as if he did not intend to make today unique.

The Judge continued on. “Would the Prosecution please proceed with the opening statement?”

“Gladly, your honor,” Payne smirked, stroking his hair. “The accused is Hans Buenthall, SS obergruppenfuhrer. He committed many misdeeds, but the crime he is on trial for today is the murder of Wilhelm von Karma, who he shot in one of the Nazi’s infamous concentration camps. To prove this, the Prosecution is prepared to call to the stand the person most affected by the defendant’s misdeeds- the son of the victim, Manfred. The Prosecution formally summons Manfred von Karma to the stand!”

As I rose from my seat and walked towards the stand, my heart raced. This was arguably the most important moment of my life so far. The man who had killed my father was on trial, and I was the one who was going to bring him to justice. I reached the stand. The eyes of the entire courtroom were on me. I delivered my testimony.

“My entire family were interred in Dachau Concentration Camp as political prisoners,” I began. “One morning in 1941, the defendant- he is, in fact, the one I saw, by the way- knocked me down and began beating me. He did so with gusto and enjoyment. My father, seeing what was going on, attempted to intervene, but the defendant… he… shot him then and there.”

“HOLD IT!”

I looked up with a start. It was Edgeworth. Of course it was Edgeworth. He had his finger pointed at me accusingly.

“Witness, did you just say that your father started the struggle?”

My face darkened. As I opened my mouth to answer, I was interrupted again.

“OBJECTION!”

Payne smirked confidently. Did you not hear the witnesses testimony, Mr. Edgeworth? He clearly stated that his father acted to protect him from the defendant! Now, tell me, Mr. Edgeworth, what possible reason could the defendant have to attack an unarmed man?”

Atticus Edgeworth smiled in triumph. “What reason, Mr. Payne? May I present to the court Hildegarde Buenthall? Hildegarde here is the sister of Hans Buenthall! And it just so happens that she was taken into custody by the Gestapo in 1941!”

The Judge looked confused. Suddenly, his face lit up. “AAHHH!”

“Exactly, Your Honor!” Edgeworth continued to put pressure on this one weak spot in the Prosecution’s case. “The defendant was coerced to attack Manfred von Karma! It just so happens that one of his fellow officers told him to attack the first child he saw or his sister would get the axe!”

The court exploded with noise. The defendant was no longer a murderer in their eyes. He was a tragic victim of blackmail.

“OBJECTION!”

Payne hadn’t given up yet. “Did you forget the defendant’s testimony, Mr. Edgeworth? He clearly stated that the defendant beat him sadistically! Does that sound like a victim of coercion to you?”

“OBJECTION!”

Edgeworth was ready with a counterargument. “Mr. Payne, the witness was not yet ten at the time! He could easily have invented the whole testimony from a shady memory of that day, let alone the fact that the defendant beat him sadistically!”

“A solid argument from the defence!” The Judge was impressed. This was bad. “The witness may step down.”

“OBJECTION!”

“Your honor, I am not yet done with the witness!” Payne protested.

“The witness has already proven himself to be unreliable.” the Judge shot back. “The defense may present their case!”

The rest of a trial was a blur. Atticus Edgeworth expertly focused in on the chink in Payne’s armor he had found. He called the defendant, to testify how he was “coerced”, and his sister, to testify how she was arrested. He even called the Gestapo officer who supposedly arrested the sister. In the end, the outcome of the trial was never in doubt. Edgeworth was too good of a Defense Attorney.

“NOT GUILTY.”

I exited the courtroom, crestfallen. As if the heavens decided to play a cruel joke on me, it was sunny as could be. Looking around, I saw him. Buenthall. He was surrounded by reporters, but he saw me, too. Our eyes met for a few seconds. And in that time… the bastard smirked. God, that made me so angry. It makes me angry still just thinking about it. It is a moment of weakness, I know, Franziska. A von Karma is perfect. A von Karma should never show emotion. I hope that nothing in your life ever gives you cause to be as angry as I was then.

I returned to the von Karma manor later that year. A family friend, Hienrich von Stauffenburg[1] took care of me. I learned all about German law, and how to become a Prosecutor. It was my destiny to fulfill the von Karma legacy and be the best Prosecutor in all of West Germany. That, I decided, was why God spared me and not the rest of my family. I was the one who would be the best prosecutor the von Karma family had ever seen.

And so I was. I graduated law school at the age of twenty, and took the world of prosecution by storm. I won every case I was ever given. My proudest moment came when I worked with the Stasi[2] to catch a Neo Nazi serial killer in East Germany. I was even the only German on the Prosecution team for Adolf Eichmann, the man who orchestrated the Holocaust. Me and my team were met by cheering crowds in Tel Aviv when the verdict was announced. I had moved on from my tragic childhood. And yet, I still was missing something.

It was obvious, wasn’t it? I was missing revenge. The man who had taken my father away from me still lived. I could never be at peace until he was dead. And yet, there was no discernable way to reach him. That is, until one case I was working on in the United Kingdom in 1979…

The case was rather open and shut on the serface. A member of the Irish Republican Army was accused of the murder of Lord Louis Mountbatten[3] and all the evidence seemed to point to him. He had planted a bomb on Mountbatten’s yacht. However, I found something very interesting at the crime scene, on the dock.

It was a card with a shell on it.

I quickly pocketed the card, fearing that it might damage our case. I was probably right. In the end, the defendant was convicted, of course, but that card still bothered me. Little did I know that it was what allowed me vengeance.

“Hello.”

Those words cut through my consciousness like a knife one night in 1980. I awoke with a start to see, much to my surprise and dismay, a man standing in front of me. He was a young man, in his early twenties, and wearing a suit and tie. Needless to say, it was quite the shock.

“Just who are you and what on earth are you doing at my bedside at 1:00 AM?” I demanded angrily.

“There’s no need to be so direct. I am Shelly de Killer. I am an assassin. One year ago, the Irish Republican Army hired me to kill Lord Louis Mountbatten. I left my calling card at the scene of the crime to deflect blame from them. However, much to my dismay, you, Herr von Karma, removed the card from the scene of the crime.”

“So you’ve come to kill me?” I demanded. “Fine then, do it. I died on a spring day in 1945, as the last of my family was cut down before my eyes.”

“No!” de Killer stated, quite forcefully. “While doing research into you, I noticed that there was one person who you might like to see dead. One who got away, so to speak?”

I sat bolt upright in bed. “Obergruppenfuhrer Hans Buenthall of the Waffen SS?”

De Killer nodded. “The very same. I know where he lives. I know where a great deal of people live. I can eliminate him for you at the drop of a bucket.”

“On one condition,” I replied. “I want to be there when you kill him.

De Killer shrugged. “It is an odd request, to be sure, but by no means an impossible one. If the price is right, of course.”

I didn’t consider for even an instant. “Name it.”

De Killer smiled. “How soon can you charter a plane to Argentina?[4]

My private jet touched down in the Buenos Aires International Airport, about 18 hours after De Killer had first appeared at my bedside. Since then, I had paid De Killer an exorbitant but entirely affordable price, gotten dressed, eaten a quick breakfast (my butler was quite bewildered, as you can imagine) and met De Killer at the door to my mansion. He was dressed as a butler himself, and was dragging a solitary suitcase. “Your bags, sir,” he said dispassionately. I got the hint.

He was still carrying my bags as we walked across the airport. As we reached a Cadillac on the edge of the airport, he opened the door to the trunk and threw my bags inside. He then opened the passenger door and gesrured for me to enter. Once settled in, I looked over to him. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. de Killer, why is this car here?”

De Killer allowed himself a brief, but quite smug, smile. “Well, sir,” he began, “I happen to have a car parked at every airport in the world. I find it maximizes efficiency.”

We drove on in silence.

Eventually, I broke it. “So, how exactly did you know where this man would be?”

“Anticipating your positive reception to my business proposal, I elected to research into the target’s location beforehand. It was a trifle, really.”

The de Killers, it seemed, also prided themselves on perfection. I do hope you might meet one of them one day, Franziska.

We had been driving for some hours now. Finally, the car pulled up next to a medium sized house overlooking the sea. So this was where the man who had killed my father had spent the next 25 years. Interesting.

I turned to de Killer. “Just so you know, I want you to make him feel fear before he dies. And I want to see him at my mercy.”

De Killer merely nodded. “I thought you might say that. Very well, here is what we shall do:”

As you can imagine, Franziska, it came as quite the shock to Hans Buenthall when he entered his bedroom to find me sitting there. So much of a shock, in fact, that he dropped the wine bottle he was carrying. He would never get to enjoy it, I realized. For whatever reason, this filled me with an irrational sense of satisfaction.

He was old, I noted. Old and shabby. He was an alchoholic, I deduced. His hair was falling out, and he looked tired. This also brought me satisfaction. Maybe there was a god after all.

“Mr. Buenthall,” I announced cordially. “My name is Manfred von Karma. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” I had just read “The Princess Bride”, you see, and I had taken a liking to it. Franziska, one of these days you should really read that book.

In any case, before Buenthall had a chance to react properly, I motioned with my right hand. Shelly de Killer burst out from behind the door into the bedroom, slamming Buenthall to the ground. Buenthall was an old man, but adrenaline is a powerful thing. He also was an SS veteran, who did serve on the Eastern Front. He would not go easily. He grabbed a shard of glass from the bottle and raked it down de Killer’s face. De Killer responded by calmly grabbing Buenthall’s hand.

He looked at me. “Say the word and I will end it, sir.”

“Thank you.” I turned to Buenthall. Hans Buenthall, you had my life in your hands 29 years ago. It was very, very foolish of you not to capitalize on this opportunity. Now, is there anything you would like to say to me?”

Buenthall really did not waste any time. “Please!” he begged. “Please, spare me! Have forgiveness! I did it because they took my sister, remember?”

“Yes, that may have been enough to appease a spineless court who doesn’t care about justice,” I sneered. “But frankly, I don’t give a shit why you killed my father, just that you did so. I’ve heard enough. End it.”

Buenthall began blubbering like a baby. De Killer merely nodded, and, with a simple “Yes, sir” jammed the shard of glass down Buenthall’s skull. Without emotion, he produced one of his cards and put it onto the body. De Killer looked up at me. “So, sir, shall we go?”

I considered for only a moment. “Yes. Lets go.”

Thus ended the most satisfying day of my life.

Always remember this, Franziska. The law lets people get away. The law is unreliable, but more than anything it is imperfect. It is perfectly justifiable to work outside of the law to bring criminals to justice, as I did. What am I doing tomorrow? Well, it’s funny you should mention that, Franziska. I am prosecuting… against the grandson of Atticus Edgeworth. Good night, Franziska. I hope you make the von Karma family name proud.

[1]: Someone who doesn’t exist IRL. However, in the world of Ace Attorney, he is the brother of Klaus von Stauffenburg, the man who came closest to assassinating Hitler (apart from Hitler himself, of course). Since they are both nobles and they both hate the Nazis, it makes sense for the von Karmas and the von Stauffenburgs to be friends.

[2]: The Stasi were the notoriously brutal secret police of East Germany. That von Karma is working with them is a good indication of what he is becoming.

[3]: A real event, sans von Karma obviously.

[4]: Argentina was a huge destination for Nazis escaping prosecution. Adolf Eichmann lived there until the Israelis kidnapped him, as did the infamous Joseph Mengele, who you should Google if you ever need to stay awake for an extended period of time.

Well, there you have it. My first fanfic entry. As an FYI, I won't be able to do reviews or two days, as I will be in Dresden. However, I will try to review the others later.

Minor nitpick, easily ignored, but Manfred Von Karma was born in the fifties. A birth year of 1935 would put him in his eighties during the first game which is actually set in the future. At least in the localisation, in the original Japanese text it's left ambiguous though originally Karma is also American.

[Rapier]

So, my opinions on blah's prompt:

It was a nice read. You write well and the story managed to keep interesting until the end, though I admit I'm not a fan of lots of "telling" and few "showing" in a narrative. Most of my review is subjective, I admit, but some parts are objective and I hope I am able to provide at least some constructive criticism.

Some parts were far too edgy (which can't be avoided with Nazis as the topic, I guess) or, worse, parts that were intended to be gritty but were actually funny, like von Karma saying "a Von Karma never cries" followed by "von Karma cried a lot" (about this part, I am not sure if that's just me and my sick Joker humor) and the Princess' Bride citation on the part where Manfred gets revenge on the [first] man who ruined his life made it less serious than it should've been. Those did not help in keeping the continuity of the darker mood intended for the story.

I also think the whole trial part could've been better, too, since it is a very important part of the story that also happens to be very short and concise. The lack of back-and-forths during the session and the quick Not Guilty sentence were downers, even on Payne standards. From a juridic pov, I also don't think being ordered to spank child!von Karma under coercion by blackmail is legally seen as a pass to kill his father, who was an unarmed third-party trying to protect their child. I hoped this argument would've been explored, but it wasn't.

de Killer acting off-character by seeking von Karma, when he is known for absolute discretion (and showing up to people who didn't even ask for him is a way to ruin discretion), pinged me off. So did knowing that he has cars in every airport, like Batman. I guess these aren't so troublesome, but they are mistakes regardless.

I didn't forget about this, it's just that my head is in a blank. I guess I'll try writing whatever comes in my head like it was NaNoWriMo.

Edited September 26, 2015 by Rapier

[blah the Prussian]

Minor nitpick, easily ignored, but Manfred Von Karma was born in the fifties. A birth year of 1935 would put him in his eighties during the first game which is actually set in the future. At least in the localisation, in the original Japanese text it's left ambiguous though originally Karma is also American.

Ah, forgot about that. Still, the Nazi related backstory was just too good to be ignored.

So, my opinions on blah's prompt:

It was a nice read. You write well and the story managed to keep interesting until the end, though I admit I'm not a fan of lots of "telling" and few "showing" in a narrative. Most of my review is subjective, I admit, but some parts are objective and I hope I am able to provide at least some constructive criticism.

Some parts were far too edgy (which can't be avoided with Nazis as the topic, I guess) or, worse, parts that were intended to be gritty but were actually funny, like von Karma saying "a Von Karma never cries" followed by "von Karma cried a lot" (about this part, I am not sure if that's just me and my sick Joker humor) and the Princess' Bride citation on the part where Manfred gets revenge on the [first] man who ruined his life made it less serious than it should've been. Those did not help in keeping the continuity of the darker mood intended for the story.

I also think the whole trial part could've been better, too, since it is a very important part of the story that also happens to be very short and concise. The lack of back-and-forths during the session and the quick Not Guilty sentence were downers, even on Payne standards. From a juridic pov, I also don't think being ordered to spank child!von Karma under coercion by blackmail is legally seen as a pass to kill his father, who was an unarmed third-party trying to protect their child. I hoped this argument would've been explored, but it wasn't.

de Killer acting off-character by seeking von Karma, when he is known for absolute discretion (and showing up to people who didn't even ask for him is a way to ruin discretion), pinged me off. So did knowing that he has cars in every airport, like Batman. I guess these aren't so troublesome, but they are mistakes regardless.

I didn't forget about this, it's just that my head is in a blank. I guess I'll try writing whatever comes in my head like it was NaNoWriMo.

It was intended to be darkly funny at times, like with von Karma citing Princess Bride. To some extent it illustrates how in control of the situation he is at the time, but whatever. The trial was short because I was strapped for time TBH. I can't write tomorrow because I will be in Dresden. De Killers slightly different characterization is as a result of him being young and inexperienced at the time. He isn't yet the highly professional killer we see in 2-4. Thanks for the feedback!

Edit: A lot more would be shown and not told if this was a multi chapter piece. However, I had to only show the important parts because it is a one shot.

Edited September 26, 2015 by blah2127

[AnonymousSpeed]

Nazis

Dresden

Is it terrible that I'm thinking about firebombing right now?

[blah the Prussian]

Is it terrible that I'm thinking about firebombing right now?

Not really. I noticed the irony, myself. Certainly not the proudest moment of the arsenal of democracy.

[AnonymousSpeed]

I dare say it was not. I did a project on Dresden, you know, it really was incomprehensibly nasty stuff.

On a lighter, less Nazi Germany related note, how about a story?

Title: The Art of Duction: Introduction Part 1

Setting: London, an original fictionalization.

Characters: Since I have this weird writing quirk where I don't often use a characters name until they give it in story, I'll just let you all find out by reading. I notice that I might have taken far too long to actually give the names.

Rating: PG-13? I guess? Some adult subject matters, but I wouldn't really call it explicit.

Word Count: 3171

Description: London, a city rife with detectives and their stories, a city of intrigue and shadows. In this city, two private investigators are about to have a life changing meeting, though they don't know it yet...

Four thousand dollars for less than two hour’s worth of work...life is good.

Smirking to himself, a scrawny man made his way down the streets of London, sauntering along the sidewalk. Private investigator wasn’t always the most consistent line of work, but sometimes, someone with far too much worry in their head and money in their hands would offer an exuberant amount of money over some petty matter. Such was the case with Mr. Crane, a bank manager who’d been afraid of his wife cheating on him, serially. Certainly not good form, less of a bother to him than it might be to other people, but a case well beneath his ability to solve. Oh well, who was he to object to easy money? If the fool wanted to give him the moon for the job he’d accept it.

It had been a simply matter, really, and anything beyond the first what...four, five minutes? Whatever, it didn’t matter, the point was after that it only took that long to confirm it to himself, and everything after had been to make it absolute to his client. The first matter of business was to check the Crane’s living space. Searching through their drawers, he found Mrs. Crane’s undergarments neatly folded while everything else of hers in drawers was a cobbled mess, and under a stack of panties, her wedding ring, placed where her husband wouldn’t likely look for it, given it was both personal and organized so no one would attempt to clean it.

At that he’d excused himself, snooped around the house a bit and found numerous other little bits of evidence, directing him to this bar or another, showing a picture of her and having it confirmed to him her activities there, with little variation for the four times he’d done it. He’d helped himself to lunch in between some of these appointments, and now, at almost two O’clock, he was heading to collect his check. In his pocket was voice recorded, containing the damning testimonies of a few barkeeps. With an oozing smugness, the small little man walked into the bank and to up the front desk. Signing in with a minimum of fuss, he took the elevator to the fourth floor of the building, turned left, passed by four doors to his right before arriving at the fifth, the location of Mr. Crane’s office. All the while he glanced about into every visible corner around him, rarely resting his eyes on anything.

Cracking his knuckles and taking a deep breath, the man straightened his normal, slightly hunched posture, and stepped into the office. Mr. Crane was sitting at his desk, working at a computer, looking much the same as yesterday. Not exactly an old man, somewhere in his early forties, though his greying hair made him look a bit older. He was sweaty, unfocused, desk a mess...obviously not a very organized person anyway, the added stress of the whole affair not helping. Of course, the investigator was not one to talk when it came to organization, whatever place he was living in at any given time was normally reduced to a landfill after a few weeks, but whether or not he could judge for it, he certainly noticed.

“Ah, Mr. Labelle!” Crane exclaimed, quickly breaking from his work at the entrance of his employee. “S-so, what have you found?”

Pulling the recorded from his pocket, this man named Labelle stepped forward, letting the door close behind. Leaning over his employer’s desk, he laid the device down, then the signed papers, before replying in an almost wholly unemotional tone. “Conclusive evidence your wife is cheating on you.” His accent was mostly French, though it was heavily diluted, a large but single component in what sounded like an amalgamation of accents found across the whole of Europe, with a bit of American thrown in for good measure. Having said all he saw the need to, he straightened out, leaving Mr. Crane to stare at his evidence for a bit.

“...surely, you’re joking, right?” A nervous chuckle escaped the older man as he looked up at the Frenchman.

“No sir. Contained on that device is multiple accounts which will confirm my hypothesis.” In truth, his ‘hypothesis’ was really his conclusion, but as usual, even what seemed like a premature conclusion tended to be right when coming from Labelle.

“I-I’ll have to listen to it myself...” Mr. Crane began, dragging the recorder over his desk towards him, glancing between Labelle and it.

The former nodded slightly and shrugged heavily, waiting for his employer to read over the documents and listen through the few minutes of testimonies. Over the course of said minutes, his expression grew from a faint and nervous smile, clinging to hope, to a simple dull frown, regretfully accepting the obvious truth. Labelle got the feeling he hadn’t expected it himself though, he didn’t seem like a very observant or deductive man, and until his discovery of the ring, he’d seemed much more confident about it. Most likely someone either suggested the possibility, or he was merely following a trend. Poor man, but what was there to do about it?

“So, when might I expect payment?”

The older man blinked a few times. He proceeded to slowly raise his eyes up to Labelle, scowling. At the very least, the revelation hadn’t rendered him completely nonfunctional. “Get out.”

“Hm, no. I can’t do that without the voice recorder, or a check.” Mr. Crane’s tone really didn’t bother Labelle, at all, and his omni-European deadpan certainly showed it. “I believe we settled on a total of two and a half thousand, if it only took me a day, which it did.”

“But-! It only took you five hours!”

“Yes, however, individual hours are not relevant to the terms of the contract, which I have on hand if you’d like me to confirm it.”

A growl escaped Crane as he pulled out a drawer and fished through it, pulling out a half used checkbook and throwing it onto his desk, scouring for a pen before finding one, and signing a check for a grant total of two and a half thousand pounds in an agitated manner. Ripping it from the book and snatching up the recorded, the bank man thrust both at the detective, who calmly took them and slid them into his pocket. “A pleasure doing business with you,” Labelle remarked, turning towards the door and stepping out into the hall. Immediately he returned to his slouching, more rat-like posture, glancing around the corridor.

His cursory search yielded nothing special, though, there was one man heading his way, almost opposite him in terms of appearance. Contrasting Labelle’s own lanky build and thin face, this man was quite sturdy in his build, with broad shoulders and a square chin. His posture was much straighter, making him look quite a bit taller. Even if Labelle did stand straight, he’d probably be a bit shorter anyway. The man’s hair short and light brown, well kept, while the Frenchman’s own was longer and tangled, like a mess of vines, only greasy black hair instead of flora. Well dressed, but on a budget, well pressed clothes but certainly not a designed suit. Labelle didn’t have time to recall the last time he’d ironed his clothes or did the laundry, but had he taken a second to do so, he’d remember the former was eight months ago, and the latter twenty six days.

The man’s eyes, however, the general expression of his face, his mannerisms, said the most. Outwardly confident, but the way he held his eyes showed something a bit...awkward, carrying some sort of doubt or secret. This was in sharp contrast to Labelle, who’d always heard, trusted and observed in photographs how his own eyes tended to have a clear, piercing steadiness to them, despite his hunch and darting gaze. It was clear he didn’t work there, his posture was stiff, his eyes locked ahead, it was apparently an unfamiliar environment to him. What made Labelle curious, however, was the manila envelope he held in front of his chest. For all his deductions, he could not see through a simple piece of paper.

So he waited, and the man continued to approach him. Very soon the man made note of the weird, messy haired guy standing in the hallway, looking at him, and visibly grew more uncomfortable as he continued to the door. A few steps away from Labelle, the man stopped, staring at him quizzically. The Frenchman acknowledged him with a nod.

“Uh...could you please step aside?” the square man slowly asked. His accent was primarily English. However, underneath that was an unmistakable German twang, the sort of voice which doesn’t at all fit with unsure behaviors.

“Possibly. What’s in the envelope?”

“This envelope?”

“I doubt you have another on you.”

“It’s a private matter…”

“Does it pertain to Mr. Crane?”

The German man blinked towards Labelle for a few moments before answering. “Yes, it does. He’s contracted me to handle-”

“A personal matter pertaining to his wife?” the Frenchman interrupted, smugly raising an eyebrow.

The taller of the two blinked twice more. “Yes...how did you know?”

“Oh, simple enough,” Labelle smirked. “You obviously aren’t accustomed to this place. You aren’t even wearing proper business wear. You didn’t start slowing down until you came quite close to the fourth door, but since you didn’t start walking around, you must have business in Mr. Crane’s office.” The man pointed behind him briefly, to the door of the aforementioned room. “Of course, he most likely has business which doesn’t pertain to his wife, but you saying it’s a personal matter, that certainly narrowed down the possibilities.”

A moment of reverent silence passed, as Labelle allowed this man to bask in his genius, maintaining his self assured expression. The German smiled ever so slightly, and let out a small chuckle. “That’s very impressive sir.” He extended a hand, and while his face loosened up a bit, his posture remained largely the same, if a bit less tense. “You are correct in all regards. Would you teach me how to do that?”

“Hm.” Labelle took an almost immeasurably small moment to think about that before answering. “No. I don’t like to create competition.”

“What do you mean by competition?”

“Heh.” The shorter man’s face lit up with it’s own breed of snake-like joy. “I’m a private investigator. That’s how I know about the matter of Mr. Crane’s wife.”

“I understand…”

“Despite all my perceptions, I wouldn’t have concerned myself with the man at all otherwise, let alone known of the matter of his wife’s disloyalty.” Labelle continued as if the man in front of him hadn’t spoken at all, and as if the matter of a banker’s marriage was a perfectly normal thing to casually discuss in his bank, as one would an off-season game between two sports teams, neither of which you had any sort of opinion about. “For merely five hours of work, it was quite the payment.”

“It only took you five hours?” the German inquired, without nearly the same confidence but with only a small shred of discomfort. Had the subject been something less unsavory, say, an off-season game between two sports teams, neither of which he had any sort of opinion about, he’d probably have spoken with that comfort.

“Which is counting my lunch. Really, all it takes is noticing a few dots and thinking to connect them, and these matters can be solved rather quickly. A placement of a ring, a few discarded receipts, the scent of a bar, truly nothing which a sharp mind can’t handle.” Labelle’s arms had grown crossed over the course of the conversation, as he oozed his characteristic complacency.

“I understand…” The German drew a sharp breath before attempting to sidle around Labelle and reach for the door. “That is not bad. Not quite an hour, but still impressive.”

Now was Labelle’s turn to blink, and immediately after, his hand shot out to halt this man. “Excuse me, why do you say one hour in particular?”

“Ah,” the man took a short step back and turned to the shorter man once more. “You understand, presuming we’ve both been hired for the same task, which is to investigate the doings of Mrs. Crane, I was able to complete the task last night-in one hour.”

Labelle’s mouth drifted open, his eyes widened in shock. He’d been outdone before, of course, but...it happened so rarely. “H-...how did you manage to do that in under an hour?”

“It was quite simple, really.” The man began to explain, losing a bit of familiarity and speaking fairly quietly. “I found her car parked outside a bar, I went in, then I asked her to my house, and she accepted.”

His mouth still hanging open, Labelle’s arm slumped down. He stared forward into space, unmoving. Glancing about, the German attempted to shuffle past the Frenchman, succeeding in doing so, and slipping into the door, contained in his folder a case no doubt as condemning at Labelle’s, obtained in a fraction of the time. The scrawny man slowly turned in the direction of the elevator and began pacing towards it, his face still awash with disbelief. Continuing through the corridor, he counted absently in his head; Three, two, one- Labelle glanced over his shoulder as some woman exited the elevator and he took her place inside.

“GET OUT!” A muffled scream sounded, shortly before the fifth door to the left swung open and the square-faced man darted out, issuing some sort of apology. Admittedly, Labelle didn’t catch what that was. He was too busy forming a smirk, and internally boasting to himself how he had nothing to feel upstaged about.

*****

Labelle leaned against a post on the footway, just outside the bank he’d just received payment in. He’d decided to stick around for a little bit, he was free anyway. And, a few minutes after the Frenchman had left the sight of the German, the latter walked out of the building, his clothing, posture, and whole countenance as straight as they were before. After he took a few steps, Labelle separated himself from his resting place and took a few steps of his own before calling out to the man he’d conversed with just a few minutes past. “Hé! You there!”

The taller man stopped, recognizing the voice, then looked over, recognizing the face. Just a moment of walking later, and the two found themselves addressing each other once again. “Yes, sir? The German asked, folding his hands before him.

“I neglected to ask something inside,” Labelle mumbled, loudly enough for the other man to hear him, but still fairly quietly. “You said that you confirmed Mrs. Crane’s actions in under an hour by asking her to your home?”

“...yes,” the taller man replied with a faint nod, his voice even lower and more mumbled.

“So, in attempting to find out if a man’s wife is cheating on him, you sleep with her?”
“No!” The man recoiled, blasting his answer with an indignant voice before shaking his head and returning himself to his previous, quieter tone. “Of course I did not!” Labelle opened his mouth to object, intending to question how exactly ‘not’ would be ‘of course’, but the other man cut him off with an elaboration. “I feigned stomach illness. I’d obtained more than enough evidence.”

“I see, interesting…” Labelle noted, raising his voice back to normal. “Not that I would have judged you had you gone through with it.”

“What do you mean you wouldn’t have?” Once again, the German seemed offended.

“I mean exactly what the statement says, I wouldn’t have judged you had you gone through with it.”

“But-”

“Friend,” the Frenchman raised a finger to cut the other man off, then laid his hand on his shoulder. “Listen. I don’t see why I should concern myself with the sex life of anyone but myself. Thus, whatever you and Mrs. Crane did last night isn’t important.” At least, when duration wasn’t involved.

“But you just gave an excellent reason why that would be a bad thing!”

“That’s subjective.”

“No it’s-!...alright, well, I suppose it is, but-”

“Now now, let’s not fuss over it.” Labelle interrupted in a clearly condescending tone, as if the man taller than he by at least half a foot was some sort of child. Removing his hand and chuckling to himself, the frenchman took a step back and looked up to the German with a smirk, having to brush a dirty strand of hair from his eye. “I don’t believe we’ve introduced ourselves. Florian Labelle. Here’s my card.”

Before the other man could make any sort of comeback, he found a small piece of parchment thrust upon which. Looking down at it, he carefully took it before glaring at the Frenchman and then back down at the card. In large letters was printed ‘Florian Labelle’, and taking up two lines below it was written ‘World Class Private Investigator’ in slightly smaller text. In the room left below that was basic contact information. “I...understand…” the German muttered, sliding it into his pocket. Following that, he pulled out and extended his hand. “My name is David Adler.”

Florian glanced at his hand for a moment, then up to Adler’s face. He reached out his hand again, accepting the gesture and just as quickly terminating it. “I presume you have a card?”

“I do actually,” David replied, a tad bothered by the response, as normally terse as it seemed. He retracted his hand into his pocket once more and pulled out a card of his own, handing it to Labelle, who promptly snatched and began to analyze it. Visually, he had to admit it was a nicer card, but the text was far less flattering, despite its affluent cursive design. Aside from the contact information, it simply read ‘David Adler’ and ‘Private Investigator’, though there was a bit more actually viable information, including additional contact methods, hours to get in touch, and a website. Labelle had never considered having a website, and he still wasn’t considering it. “Lovely, thank you,” the Frenchman said with a nod. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” With that, he turned around and began to pace away.

“...the pleasure is mine,” Adler called out.

“You don’t mean that,” Labelle called back, a smirk on his face.

David remained silent for a moment, watching as Florian strutted off. “I don’t,” he mumbled as the hunched man went out of earshot. This Florian Labelle showed himself very smart in a very short amount of time, but in that same amount of time also showed himself to be quite unpleasant. David thought that was the last he’d ever have to do with Florian Labelle. However, the Frenchman has a sneaking suspicion it would not be the last that he had to do with David Adler.

Yeah...I wasn't particularly happy with this until I added the 'Part 1' part. I think the set up is alright, but it ultimately doesn't amount to anything yet. It would have been nice, if I had more time and discipline, to actually include a real case in this story other than merely a meeting, but I really just don't have the time for that, so I just made a 'prologue' story. I guess I should be thankful this isn't for the original prompt, otherwise I'd probably be counted off for not having these two characters 'work together' by the end of the story. They honestly don't even dislike each other that much. However, these two are characters I've had in mind for two or three months, so it's nice that I at least got something about them down.

One thing that I worry about is that it's to...Holmesian, that Florian is too much like Sherlock. David is something different, I think, but most of the story is Florian-centric. I don't know, maybe that's not the case, I'll have to see what everyone has to say.

Oh, and in case it wasn't conveyed, since this is a pretty short entry really, the title 'The Art of Duction' is meant like both use a different type of -duction, the logically thinking Florian using deduction while the more charming, people-smart David is more adept as seduction, in sharp contrast to his actual opinions of such matters. I thought that was an interesting angle, part of where this duo comes from, a guy who uses charms simply because he happens to be very charming, while actually being fairly conservative and order obsessed. It makes a good contrast to an unkempt Frenchman, I think.

[jankmaster98]

Man I had ideas for this one but I have been too busy to write anything... I might post something small but it won't be any good I think...

[AnonymousSpeed]

Hey, I popped out stories for this in an hour or so, I mean, one time provided, but still. I don't know how much time you have specifically but I'm sure you can make something decent.

[Rapier]

Man I had ideas for this one but I have been too busy to write anything... I might post something small but it won't be any good I think...

In my case, I thought about something big (basically, an OC fic with Legacy Characters that are reincarnations of their past selves trying to solve problems they failed to before), but it is far too consuming and complex for me to plan and write. Probably going to skip this round again.

[AnonymousSpeed]

In my case, I thought about something big (basically, an OC fic with Legacy Characters that are reincarnations of their past selves trying to solve problems they failed to before), but it is far too consuming and complex for me to plan and write. Probably going to skip this round again.

...I'm going to steal that idea...probably never do anything with it, but I'm stealing it anyway.

[Rapier]

...I'm going to steal that idea...probably never do anything with it, but I'm stealing it anyway.

You know, I'd like to see someone try accomplishing that in a short-story.