Axolu's Monthly Symphogear Prompt Collection

by Axolu

Summary:

This is a series of Symphogear works of all sorts for the r/Symphogear Discord Server monthly Writing Prompts.

However, this collection also includes a number of prompts that were not submitted, for various reasons, as well as my thoughts on each prompt one way or the other (In the ending Authors Notes)

I intend to update this every so often with more prompts, at most once a month.

Chapter 1: The Singing Sword of Kazanari

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server July 2021 Writing Prompts, later edited.

I chose the prompt 'isekai', although it was about as loose an isekai as I could probably get away with.

This work was posted on the server anonymously on July 25th, 2021 with the caption:

"Tsubasa is a sword."

“I am a sword.”

Tsubasa was a sword.

She was a sword who stood sentinel over a great room, filled with weapons and armor and all sorts of trinkets made of white silver and blue steel. Stands swathed in decayed blue ribbons surrounded her, alabaster candles shaped like left wings burning atop each. Somewhere, water dripped from the ceiling, although not on her. Tsubasa thought that was fortunate. It wouldn’t do to become rusty, after all.

Yes, Tsubasa was a sword.

Her hilt was black and blue, engraved with odd patterns, less like a grip and more like an art piece. On the very end, at the pommel, a tuft of blue ribbons jutted out to the side, falling like a waterfall across her hilt and reaching her cross-guard. Her cross-guard, that is, her tsuba, held a vent, and surrounding that were two wings--of a sort--angled yet elegant that were lined with thrusters from the tips inwards, yet were spaced so as not to burn the hand that may wield her.

And of course, her blade itself shone. It shone like a brand new mirror, which wouldn’t distort or corrupt whatever was reflected, which would show back the face of whoever looked into it unmarred and imperfect. There was not a stain of blood on her. Her blade was curved, because she was tempered in such a way. Her fuller glowed with soft blue light from cross-guard to tip, clashing gently with the yellow-orange flames of the candles.

But her spine was not so clean. She was disfigured there, marred with countless nicks and incisions, cracks and divots. And yet, Tsubasa was not the kind of sword who would simply break.

A season passed, perhaps, or maybe a couple. Time mattered little while she stood sentinel, impaled through her stone pedestal upright as she was. Her great room became cooler, then became a little warmer. Somehow her candles had stayed lit all this time. But even if a draft came in, she knew she could light them all again herself.

Tsubasa was content. Her cross-guard titled. To her, that contentment was the most disconcerting thing of all.

So the sword named Tsubasa tried to remember.

An alchemist . Just who was she? Her fuller glowed brighter as she thought back. Hibiki was there, so was Shirabe, we were fighting… She flashed, flames briefly spurting into being around her. The memory was at the tip of her blade, the very edge.

There.

‘You are a sword? Then become one! ’ The alchemist had shouted, bringing up flurries of bright yellow symbols right beneath her prone and struggling form. Hibiki was collapsed against the wall, tugging against her own hand that squeezed her tight around the neck. Shirabe wasn’t to be seen, although Tsubasa had heard her panicked shouts from somewhere below.

And then she was here.

I… failed to protect them. And herself. 

Her tuft drooped. But it straightened right up. She would just have to go back. I have a duty to protect my comrades, my friends , and the world besides.

But a nagging feeling kept at the back of her hilt. ‘You are the sentinel of the armory. None shall pass without reason.’ It said.

But I-

‘You are the sentinel of the armory.’

I am a sentinel of the Kazan-

‘You are the sentinel of the armory.’ It said, again and again.

More little flames of frustration burst out from her blade and burned her pedestal. She was held back, refused to move.

Just then, as if by fate, the door to her armory opened.

“Ah Ha! There we go... and what do we have here? ” Came a voice, deep and gravelly, aged but not elderly. It reminded her of Genjuro, if he were more sleazy.

The man took his very first step into the room.

Tsubasa shot up on her cross-guard thrusters with a sharp ting , ringing with the sound of ethereal music as she thrust through the air in an instant. Like that the very tip of her blade was at his eye.

“Woah! Watch the eye, I’ve only got the one.” He winked it and chuckled, stepping back.

“I am Tsubasa, sentinel of the armory!” she sang to her music. It felt wrong to say it, but the feeling forced her to feel content. “For what reason do you enter?”

“It talks?” She could see his eyes widen, as well as a sword could.

“I talk, of course.” Her fins dipped dangerously.

He took another step back, closing the door only enough to still let him peek his face through the crack. “Well I don’t suppose you’d be a spear, now would you, Tsubasa the sentinel?”

“I am a sword,” she said indignantly. “For what reason are you here?” she asked against her will.

“I assure you I’m not here to take so much as a single ring or gauntlet’s finger from this fine armory of yours.” He raised his finger and pointed twice. “If you would have me, I’d just like to visit. To talk.” He shrugged--both his shoulders and his bearded lips. “Maybe we can help each other.”

Tsubasa paused, waiting for the feeling to return and deny him. But no such feeling came. Her tuft rose and lowered in relief, like a sigh. “Very well,” she sang calmly, tilting her blade down to the ground, but not quite perpendicular.

“Ah!” He swung the door open with a crash, stomping right in with all the swagger of an arrogant prince. Tsubasa flicked right out of the way. “Very good! Very good-very good.”

She raised her blade a hint higher, hovering and tracking his every step with herself.

“Oh… Oh my, what a mess. What an awful mess.” The man frowned and lowered in a squat, his hand at his brow as he gazed this way and that. “For a sentinel you are quite messy. Quite messy indeed. Have you cleaned this place up once in the past century?”

“I-” Her fuller turned red and her flames sputtered. “S-someone else… Cleans for me.” It was certainly true of herself before here. I need to leave.

‘You are the sen’- She cut off her own thoughts, and with it the feeling. She’d be indignant by her own hilt thank you.

“Ah, well.” He sighed out through his nose, beard hiding his smirk, but not the one in his eye. “I’ve been kicked out of my home, you know. Bunch of stuck-ups.” He waved his hand dismissively. “None of them can take a joke! Ha!”

Then, his eye narrowed. The atmosphere stilled. Tsubasa backed up. “So I thought I’d come back with a spear and show them right,” he said, calm as a grave.

Tsubasa’s wariness grew as the man went still among the arms and armor, not so much as blinking as he stared beyond the walls.

But then he perked right up again, fluffing out his coat. “But those bastards that call themselves family aside, well...” The Sword couldn’t help but feel something in kind. “Ah, enough about me. How about you? A beautiful sword must have a beautiful story.” Another wink.

Her fuller glowed briefly red again. The sword shook herself back and forth and centered. “I am… the sword Tsubasa, sentinel of the armory.” But there was more. Tsubasa hesitated, her cross-guard swaying.  “I was forged by Yatsuhiro Kazanari.” Wrong. ”And I was tempered by Genjuro Kazanari.” Wrong!

“Hmph,” he said, crossing his arms.

“A-and,” she hesitated, tilting down further. “I am the friend... and protector, of many kinder... weapons.”

“I see, I see. But that’s not who you are, is it? I want to know. ” He leaned in towards Tsubasa, his one eye greedy, but not towards her, herself. “What do you want ? ”

Of course, I want to leave and return ho-’You are the sentinel of the armory.’ Tsubasa froze. Her fuller brightened and flickered. I want to return to protec-’You are the sentinel of the armory.’

Tsubasa’s blade flashed with sparks of fire. I will not ben- ’ You are the sentinel of the armory. ’

Her fuller brightened, then flicked off, dull grey and faded.

“I want...” she sang softly.

I will bend-’You are the senti’-but I will not bend for you!

Her blade extended in a snap of light and metal, shattering the armory’s stone floor. She was as tall as the man, maybe taller, more like a great cleaver than just a blade--it was a familiar form.

He stumbled back a step, then another, looking up at her hilt.

“I am Tsubasa Kazanari!” She shouted as only a sword as herself could. “I am a sword and a sentinel.” But not for this room. Flames burst from her spine like wings, drowning out the nagging demands of her supposed duty. “I want to return to my home, to protect my friends, and sing for the world!”

Her flames spurted higher, her tuft flying high in the air.

But it died down, and she shrank back, clattering to the broken floor with with little but a dim blue light. “But I cannot.” She knew, there, that her duty bound her. It was part of her, just like her silvery blade and her hilt.

The man’s eye was wide, his brows both raised. “You sure are a sword. A good sword. A great sword.” He laughed again, and his lips’ smile turned kind. “A sword that doesn’t want to kill--you don’t come by one of those very often.”

He sighed, stepping closer, offering his hand. “You must’ve been built by mortals, though. Humans, pah.” He scuffed a foot. “Narrow-sighted, don’t have one lick of perspective. Wisdom.”

Her cross-guard flicked up in something akin to insult, but she didn’t speak. Who…  

“I won’t let a great sword like you go to waste. Bear with me. Just bear with me for a moment of your not insubstantial time.” He squatted down further and pointed a finger out the still-open door. “How do you know there aren’t more of the weapons out there? Surely there are more of those ‘Kazanari’ folk out there, wearing your armory’s armor, right?”

If she had eyes, they would squint. Her fuller’s light narrowed, though. A trick?

He licked his lips, as if in thought. “If the armory holds all the arms and armor of your, eh… people, then you’ve got arms and armor out there, of course. And I’m sure some of yours died out there fighting, which means their armor is out there in all sorts of tribes, as war trophies.”

Tsubasa rose again on her cross-guard’s engines. It sounded quite a bit like-

“Which means, of course, that your armory is surely outside too, just as it’s in here.” He leaned his head towards the door and smiled knowingly, as if he’d just solved the world’s greatest riddle.

Tsubasa paused, and slowly started to speak again. This is the same kind of roundabout thing that Hibiki or Kirika might think. She glowed fondly. “And so if I were to leave through the door-” ‘You are a se’ “-and into the rest of the armory...”

The feeling remained silent.

Tsubasa laughed, aloud, musically and warmly. “I can. I can leave.” But still...

Her blade turned towards the smiling man, slow at first, then fast, snapping towards him like one would point an accusing finger. It wasn’t the feeling that asked this time. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Hah. Of course. Now that’s the question, isn’t it? That’s the right question there. No mere sword, are you.” He stood up, tugging both sides of his coat. 

He breathed in. 

The temperature dropped. Tsubasa could feel the intangible chill of snow in the air as the pressure rose.

“I am the Custodian Odin. And I seek the singing spear, Kanade Amou.”

 

 

 

Notes:

This was my very first Symphogear fanfic work posted publicly. I'd actually been thinking about written works for a while, especially in MLP, and although I've posted a few on FimFiction years and years ago, there was a long stretch of time where I really didn't write much at all.

I made some dumb mistakes in this one, like giving Odin lightning-y stuff at the end (even though he does have a connection to storms, too, like Thor), and originally spelling Amou as 'Amoe'

Looking back from a while later, having written Tsubasa for the first time... I'm pretty happy with how I did. I had the idea to write more for this one at one point, but ultimately I didn't really have a clear direction I wanted to take it in terms of character conflict or worldbuilding, so it's just this.

Chapter 2: An Etude for Coal

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server August 2021 Writing Prompts, later edited.

I chose the prompts 'Black,' 'Heat,' and 'Power', loosely combined.

This work was posted on the server anonymously (Although I claimed responsibility an hour after posting) on August 31st, 2021 with the caption:

"A new age is upon the world. An age of steam and coal. An age of industry. And perhaps it may also be the next age of song?"

“What wonders you’ve created! You’re a sculptor, a collector, and an inventor on top of all?” 

The young lady gushed as she twirled about the gears and brass stands beneath the shop. “Oh Miss Victoria, what inspired you to make such things?”

Steam hissed rhythmically through a series of tubes that stretched up into the ceiling and down in circles across the floor. A small coal engine hummed near the back, both lighting up part of the room and sputtering with flame as more fuel was fed into it, automatically.

“It was my lover, to be honest, dear Emma.” The older woman mused, tapping her finger against her cheek. She held herself across a worktable, bent at the waist, her golden eyes flitting between the fingers of the artifact before her. “He was capable of great things, you know. Greater than me. Greater than all of this. But he left for a foreign land, never to return. I worshipped him. Like God.”

Emma paused, a worried frown crossing her face, though not without a touch of excitement in her eyes. 

“Why...” She cleared her throat. “Miss Victoria, that’s dreadfully… Improper.”

The older lady chuckled. “Improper? Oh, I’m capable of many improper things.” 

She didn’t step so much as glide on her heels to Emma, capturing her chin and cheek in her hand. 

“And please, call me Finé.”

Her fingers drew away, tracing lines across Emma’s cheek as her nails left her. “But I haven’t brought you down for that. No, I have a task for you, a great task...”

Finé twirled around, spinning her dress, a wicked smile lighting up her face as her arms shot out towards the ceiling, and the many inventions held up there by softly clinking chain.

“A divine task!”

Emma coughed and shifted on her feet while the echo of Finé’s words faded. “Wh-what is it, Miss Victo-”  She flinched. “M-miss Finé?”

The older lady’s arms slowly lowered, her expression becoming coy once again. “Have you ever heard stories of Wikaros, and his wings?”

“Wikaros? Wikaros...” Emma clasped her legs tightly together, her shoes clacking gently. She squinted. Miss Victoria had made herself a patient woman, eccentric as she was.

Emma’s finger raised, her eyes lighting up. “Icarus! The Wings of Icarus? Yes, I remember his story.”

Finé’s smile widened, almost like a smirk. “What if I told you that one could bring such a thing, a Relic, to life?” She turned towards her worktable, taking Emma’s hand and pulling her over, against her side. “Look. The wings of his ambition.”

There on her table, surrounded by tools, metals, lumps of coal, and parchment, was a pair of perfectly crafted, rusted little wings. They were perfect, except for the feathers themselves, which were melted like resin left in hot water for far too long.

The older lady stroked Emma’s cheek with the back of two fingers. “And you will be the one.”

She leaned back again, hiding a blush behind her hair, pretending to look intently down at the relic. “M-me? Me? You must be making a mistake. You’re the inventor here, the artist.”

“Yes, you.” Finé spoke seductively, guiding Emma towards another bench, on which a slew of tubes and syringes filled with tar-like liquid lay vaguely around the centerpiece. It was a small blue crystal, within which a small gold sliver was embedded. Around that, tubes connected it up to a small coal furnace, about the size of Emma’s torso.

“Unlike the rest of the… fools that call themselves nobility—as if they are true lords—you,” She looked into Emma’s eyes, which had gotten decidedly uncomfortable. “—can sing.”

“But I also chose you because you understand. You truly understand what it means to have love and have lost, don’t you. That pain connects us.”

Emma pulled her arm from Finé’s grip, then stepped away. 

“I-I think you’re wrong, Miss Victoria. I should go. You’ve stepped beyond improper, I think. Into madness, and I...” 

She turned her head away in uncertainty, then turned back. “I should leave. It’s only because you’ve taught me so much that I’ll return. I’ll be back when you’ve returned to your senses.”

Finé’s lips didn’t turn into a sneer, nor did her brow furrow, nor did her eyes narrow, her pose tighten. She simply stared after her as she stepped towards the door.

Then she tapped her heel. Emma flinched, just as her hand touched the door’s handle.

“I suppose I’ll just have to contact your father about your proclivities.”

Emma froze.

Finé tapped her heel and took a single step. Her hair flowed behind her like an angel’s as she strode up behind her, front against back, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. Putting her smirking, confident lips just barely against Emma’s ear, she sighed a little disappointed sigh. 

“Now...” 

Finé purred. Emma was hers.

She took Emma’s hand, opened it up, and put a key in her palm. “We wouldn’t want anyone to come and disturb our art. I fear my inventions will make an indelible racket.”

And then Finé stepped back. If Emma left, maybe Finé would cause problems, find a way to draw her back. Or perhaps she’d just let her go. She had all the time in the world to restore the relic. A silent laugh slipped past her parted lips.

But this was simply too enjoyable.

She stared at the fidgeting, head-turning, shaking young lady, watching her eyes flit left and right and back to her, watching her put her hand on the handle, then retreat. But Finé did no more than she’d already done.

Emma slid the key in, and locked the door shut.

“Good girl.” Finé pointed at the spot in front of her, arm outstretched, finger straight down.

Cowed, Emma returned, her head bowed, and her eyes refusing to look at her elder. Finé turned and took the crystal wrapped in tubes, and held it out for her younger protege.

As Finé went to work; adjusting rings, squeezing syringes, pumping valves and bellows, her content smile slowly dropped more the longer the silence stretched on.

“Well go on, you have something to say, don’t you? I didn’t teach you to remain silent.” The silence stretched on further, and she stood straighter.

“Why do you want me to… fix the wings of Icarus?” Emma’s hands were at her chest, clasped tight.

Finé paused her work. “I said my lover left. With these, I will go back to him.” An arm motioned towards the wings again.

Some of Emma’s confidence, or rather, her nerve returned. “All of this, and me, just to go see your lover?” She spread her arms, but only to her sides, squinting. “You could hire a boat with all the things you’ve made, with your collections. Why, you… why don’t you just send him a message first?”

“As if a boat could possibly reach Him.” She dismissed her, pushing the crystal against Emma’s chest. Emma quickly gripped it and held it there, gulping.  “Is that all? No questions about my designs? My materials? Not even the name?” Silence and hesitation was all she received. “None of this would be possible if it wasn’t for this time’s inventions.”

“Clockwork, steam engines, industry, and coal.” Finé smiled broadly, taking one such black rock from a pile and holding it aloft. With the utmost unneeded care, she placed the Coal in the little compact furnace on the table. “It has been ages since humanity has had this kind of organization, the ability to produce power. I know you don’t believe me, but you will.”

She turned one wheel, then another. A loud thumping echoed through the room, a squeal and grinding as things past the walls ground and turned for the first time. The tubes connected to the crystal filled with steam, no, gas, no, aether, setting the gem held in Emma’s hands aglow.

“I-I-” Emma stuttered, her fingers starting to slip.

“And what you need to do...” Finé gripped Emma’s arm like a vice, tugging her closer. She brought up one of the thick, tar-like-fluid filled syringes, and, sticking its point in her arm, squeezed the plunger.

“Is sing .”

Emma’s veins rose, turning black as the tar, her arm shaking, then clenching up tight. “M-Miss Vic- Miss Finé, it hurts.”

“Just sing for me, dear Emma.” Finé leered.

“Aa-aah!” The blackness spread up her shoulder, into her chest, up her neck. “How can I sing?” she said in a panic. “It hurts! I can’t sing like this.”

“You know the words. Just Sing! ” Finé ordered through clenched teeth, tugging Emma’s arm again.

Emma screwed her eyes shut as her blood carried the black up her face, to her other arm, down further. She gasped for air, woozy on her feet. “I don’t! I don’t know any words! I-I just-”

But then, Emma knew. She knew just what to sing, just what words to say. She took one more deep, shaking breath.

“ Verlimud Kheir Midou Claen ”

Emma’s clothes burst. Violins played, matched with drums and horns and trumpets, echoing throughout Finé’s work and home. 

Leather gloves and stockings and a corset fit themselves tightly onto Emma’s body, before long brass rods shot forth and out, spreading into gears, cogs, wheels connected by strings and crankshafts. A boiler erupted out of nothing onto her back, sprouting a pipe which belched hot steam into the air behind her. Many-lensed goggles grew from behind her ears and onto her face while iron plating connected by other gears and wires clamped down around her forearms and legs and ankles.

Emma opened her eyes, and began to sing her song.

Finé chuckled, then laughed. “You are the first one, dear Emma! You are my first Clockwork Etude.”

She strode to the degraded Wings while Emma sang in amazement, looking herself over, taking one solid step then another behind her. Emma’s hands clasped, then separated. The young lady stepped over to a crate, surely over a hundred pounds, and just tried lifting it. For a moment her gears squealed, but she raised it up to her chest, then above her head.

“I’m sorry for everything I said before,” Emma cried between verses. “This is incredible! Why, imagine someone stronger than I with this.” With more care than she had raised the crate, she set it down, flexing her arms in awe.

Pride slipped onto Finé’s expression.“This is what a mere fragment of a relic can do. You have brought this fragment to life.” She turned, holding the Wings in her arms, outstretched. “Just imagine the power of a completed relic.”

Emma took the wings in her gloved hands with the kind of reverence even a clergyman wouldn’t show. Her arms shook, not from the weight, but from the sudden meaning and importance she’d imparted onto the pair. It was her. She did this. Emma had made this miracle possible.

She sang louder, more full and more pure, and Finé watched her with baited breath. Just how many millennia had it been?

The wings’ arms glowed, the rust washing away into something like silver, but so much greater. The feathers wavered, then shone, slowly bending back into place. The chips and degradation all resolved into pure sacred metals.

Finé’s smile grew wider and wider. She leaned in further and further too. She could even feel tears threatening to leak from her eyes. If she had breath to spare, she would cackle like mad. Finally, finally she would go to her love. Finally she would find him, and they’d both return, and they would together remake the world in their image.

Snap.

The wing broke.

At the elbow of the wing, it snapped in half, bright blue ooze leaking out and evaporating into the air. The feathers grew red, then yellow, then blue, then white before melting into slag, just like all of Finé’s ambition.

Despite the clanking of gears and the thrumming of furnaces and the hissing of steam; despite music loud enough to fill an orchestra hall and singing as great and powerful as the most arrogant soprano; the room was filled with silence.

Fine’s face didn’t move, her words caught in her throat. No, there were no words.

Emma stumbled back, her eyes wide with worry and fear and all sorts of emotions. “I’m so-”

Her armor and all the gears shattered off of her, dropping her to the floor in a mess, her dress having returned to her. The blue crystal and its tubes fell just the same, and it clinked on the floor.

Finé stood at the coal furnace, having smothered it, and with it, all the power.

She stomped forwards silently as the room’s sounds slowed to match her, and gripped Emma by the hair, dragging her yelping and crying up to the door. She wrenched it open, tearing the lock apart in her swiftness, and pulled her up the stairs, each step a harsh thump. She walked past her art, past her collections, and past the five golden statues of her failures. This wasn't a failure. Failure didn’t even grasp at the word. Tragedy? Travesty? Cataclysm ? Curse the moon.

She shoved her front door open, and threw Emma out of her home, out of her world, abandoned. It closed, then locked shut.

“Be grateful I let you live,” Finé spat into the empty room. 

Whatever the connective tar in her blood did to her, she’d be alive, but that wasn’t Finé’s concern anymore. Because although her ambitions were ruined, Emma gave her a gift.

“A message.” She stared up through a window in her ceiling, up towards the bright, oppressive white orb that sat there in the middle of twilight. Mankind’s powers were still too small, too feeble. That black coal wouldn’t be enough. Even the equally black oils she knew were just waiting for them weren’t enough. She would have to wait many more turns of the world, just to send Him a message.

“I’ll send a message.” Finé growled, her lips strained with her clenched-jaw smile. She looked out towards the horizon, off towards a great island she couldn’t see, towards a tower that would reach His ears. Once again, Finé would bide her time.

 

 

 

Notes:

I was really happy to write Fine. I did have a friend who was familiar with season 1 look over this before I submitted it, admittedly... but the advice really stuck with me.

"I always feel like writers best communicate breaks in dialogue THROUGH text, rather than with words.
If it is a long pause, that is a place for a long portion of text to represent that pause in the action."

In other words, there are no real pauses in a story, because there's always something happening during that pause, whether it's breathing, ambient noises, far off sounds, smells, thoughts, anything like that.

 

But even so, this story wound up being a bit confusing for a couple of folks, so I'll clarify that particular confusion here. The 'Xheir Midou' is the 'Hand of Midas', which relates to the turn-it-to-gold myth. Fine is attempting to use this relic fragment in a kind of proto-symphogear in order to activate the 'Wings of Wikaros' (An archaic name for Icarus) in a similar way to how Chris activated the Staff of Solomon via Ichaival. This time, in the past, however, she'd use the Wings to travel to her God, to visit him personally.

Chapter 3: Gear is the New Black

Notes:

A second prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server August 2021 Writing Prompts, later edited.

I chose the prompt 'Black.'

This work was posted on the server anonymously on September 1st, 2021 with the caption:

"There's nothing quite like being fashionable. So, someone decided to try it out.
Turns out, the results were a great success.
If a little bit of an overkill."

Maria Cadenzavna Eve liked to think she was a composed woman. She had weathered the storm of four different disasters, one of her own making, in part, and had the experience of years under the scrutiny of celebrity media, the UN, and all her adoring fans and detractors.

She had trained and fought against monsters in the shape of buff men, ninjas, her own friends, the horrors of humanity’s cruel past, alchemy, and beyond-physics. She had watched her friends suffer time and time again against struggles that she alone couldn’t handle, faced her own deepest fears and traumas, and was still standing, perhaps taller than ever. Indeed, composure was simply part of her now.

Maria closed the blinds.

“Tsubasa, let’s not go outside again.”

“Agreed, Maria.”

_-_-_

Chris woke up singing.

“‘Bout to sneeze from all this gunpowder and smoke...” she mumbled in tune and in tempo.

She slid out from her tangled covers as she wiped the drool from her face with her sleeve, then blew her nose with a tissue. Groaning, she stretched out side to side, scratching her hip.

“Litterin’ everywhere with empty gun cartri-dges~” Chris smiled tiredly. Today felt like it was going to be a good day.

She tugged up her blinds and opened her window, leaning out with her elbows on the sill, stopping her singing to hum to the beat in her heart.

Then she squinted. “What the hell?” Chris murmured.

She could still hear singing, heck, it was her own lyrics. And her own music!

But Chris wasn’t the singer.

“Huh?”

She looked down, and stared, at the people.

Chris slammed the window shut, not even bothering with the drapes. She snagged her clothing from her dresser and tugged it on while she scrambled for the front door, throwing it open and charging through her dorm until she was outside.

“Oh, Chris-san! Look at these sweet new duds I got, you should totally try them on!” One of her friends said to a way too familiar beat. In way too familiar clothes.

Chris thrust her arms out to the side.

“What the Hell!? ”

_-_-_

Miku had seen them, alright. She had seen them everywhere, even the teachers, but she’d done her best to ignore them, and glide through her homeroom class with all the ease she usually did. Hibiki wasn’t here, so it was all too easy to let her focus slip to-

“Hey, Miku-chan, look at this!” Yumi waved a plastic button in the shape of a red crystal in the air. “It’s just like in my magical girl anime. Watch!”

Miku sighed. Fine. For her friend, she’d look, just this once. “I’m watching.” She smiled serenely.

Yumi posed and jumped, her arms thrusting this way and that in a manner that resembled flailing. “Transformation! Super Mecha Magical Girl Tron!”

Those weren’t the words at all.

Suddenly, Yumi’s school clothes burst off of her in a flash of light, her body surrounded by ethereal bands. Her skin glowed. An orange, black, and white bodysuit rose up her chest, down her arms and legs, and up to her neck. Gauntlets clanked forwards, greaves and boots clamped into place, headphones screwed onto her ears, and an all too familiar bejeweled scarf popped out behind her.

Miku held back her groan and smiled instead. Meanwhile, Yumi’s new clothes played its song.

“Isn’t it so cool ?” Yumi pulled at her bodysuit, then snapped it back. “Sure it’s all just plastic and rubber but it even has combat action! And best of all, it’s only like 5,000 yen!” She pulled back one of her gauntlets, making whooshing and ‘kachunk’ noises with her mouth. Then she punched the air, and with a harsh crack, the back rammed forwards.

“Hee-hee!” Yumi squealed. “Best fashion ever! ”

Miku dropped her head. Today was going to be a long day.

But then again, her Hibiki had never geared up in their room before…

Miku licked her lips.

_-_-_

Hibiki rushed down the hallways of the S.O.N.G. HQ submarine. An emergency, Ogawa had said. Tsubasa and Maria weren’t responding, Chris was in mad hysterics, and they’d decided to call her before Kirika and Shirabe.

It had to be this new fashion, Hibiki thought. Some new alchemical organization, or a brainwashing group, or maybe something only the custodians could have dreamed of!

She leaped through the door and snapped into a salute as soon as she landed on the floor of the bridge.

“Master!”

“Good, you’ve arrived, Hibiki-Kun.” Genjuro turned around.

Hibiki went rigid, shocked.

“Not you tooooo!” She wailed.

There Genjuro was, in all his manly glory. His powerful crushing thighs were surrounded by deep grey rubber and high plastic poleyns in white and blue. His rippling chest and arm muscles bulged hotly against the rest of the blue and black bodysuit constraining them, his forearms wreathed in their own armor, while his ears were enclosed by oval headphones, a faux blue side ponytail draping off his broad left shoulder. Hidden behind curved plates lay his face-sittingly toned glutes. And his absurdly heeled feet, of course, held plastic wings that had once been called swords. And Genjuro wasn’t the only one.

“Ya-haiya-haiya-ie Yaiye-haiye Heavens give me Cour-age,”

“What’s wrong, Hibiki-kun?” He stepped forwards, his tone one of fatherly concern. Idly his hand played with one of the suit’s extendable/retractable swords.

“This-I-I, But-! Why?!” She cried.

“Ya-haiya-haiya-ie Yaiye-haiye Ame no Habakiri,”

“Listen, Hibiki-kun.” Genjuro kneeled down. “Eating. Sleeping. Tight clothing. A good Movie. That’s all a man needs to train!” He stood and thrust his sword arm into the air triumphantly. “Ha’uh!”

“One of those things wasn’t there before!” Hibiki whined.

“Now, we have more important matters to discuss! Today at Three O’Clock AM...” Genjuro started his briefing.

But Hibiki’s distracted eyes wandered the rest of the room. Master, Ogawa-san, Tomosato-san, Fujitaka-san. Had they all been brainwashed? Compromised? Would it happen to her next? Hibiki felt a sudden pang of betrayal.

Why were they all wearing Tsubasa’s?

“Ya~ i~ ye~ Hear my sword, and its song!”

Hibiki screamed.

_-_-_

Jiiiii

“Dessss.”

Another fashion-gear walked by, this time in razzmatazz.

“In everything we do, we will be together,”

Jiiiii

“Dessss,” 

Kirika intoned towards every fake gear that passed her by, like a cat hissing at a criminal. It wasn’t enough that they were all wearing their gears like thieves. No, no no no. They had to be singing too! And what was worst of all was, Kirika felt like singing along!

Jiiii

“Won’t embarrass me to-”

“Dessss.”

Indeed, she was as red flushed as Chris-senpai’s armor. Or Chris herself when she got mad, really. Chris sure got mad a lot, or flustered, or both at the same time!

Jiiiii

Shirabe wasn’t staring at the crowd. No, she had been staring with her intense magenta eyes at Kirika herself. She pinched Kirika’s upper arm and leaned in to speak in her soft, pure, almost whisper-like voice.

“Kiri-chan.” She gently tugged.

Yet another fashion-gear passed, in Maria’s.

“DE-Huh? Shirabe, what is it?”

Shirabe leaned in. “Kiri-chan, have you ever wanted to see what it’s like to-” She whispered. “And then-” More whispering. “What do you think?”

Kirika’s eyes widened and her growling lips flipped right up into the brightest of smiles. For her moon, a sun. “Shirabe, you’re a genius!”

_-_

Shirabe and Kirika stepped out from the shop, each carrying a red gem-shaped button of their own.

“Hey, Shirabe, didn’t the shopkeeper look really familiar?” She nudged her moon.

Jiiii.

“Hehe. You’re right, you’re right. Let’s do it!” Kirika clicked her button, and Shirabe followed right behind.

~Zeios~ Shul-Shag’na Raizen Tron~                    ~Various~ Igali-ma Tron~

They sang as they joined their hands and hearts in the joy of miraculously cheap fashion.

_-_-_

Elfnein pulled off her faux mustache and twenty gallon hat as she entered the back room. So far her Gear line had been a blinding success. Hibiki-san, Maria-san, Tomosato-san, all of them were right. Taking a break from S.O.N.G work really did wonders for her mental health.

She chuckled darkly. In just a matter of days, she had used her alchemical prowess and knowledge to deliver an unfathomable amount of her special brand to all of Japan. She was even getting requests to sell outside of the country! Kirika-san and Shirabe-san were right too—she had heard what they said. Copy-Paste was indeed the highest form of Alchemy.

Her chuckling became high pitched cackling. Soon the entire market would be cornered like she herself once was, by her creator’s dolls. 

But not yet. No, not yet. There was much to do. There was so much more to do. “Let’s see how they like the Dur Da Bla line...”

 

 

 

Notes:

This one was so out of character, but sooo much fun to write.

Expect it to become its own story soon, with a new chapter:

The Dur Da Bla Line.

Chapter 4: Maybe a Janitor (Incomplete)

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server September 2021 Writing Prompts, incomplete.

I chose the prompt 'Power', from the August prompts, since September was an extension on August.

This work was not posted, nor submitted.

“Yep, I’ll be training with Master and Maria-san today!” Hibiki tugged on her S.O.N.G. jacket over her shoulders. 

Miku smiled and stepped up to her sun, adjusting her messy oranged-striped tie with a few quick pulls. “There you go. Now don’t train too hard. We’re going out tonight, remember?” She waved a finger.

“Gck! Mikuuu…” Hibiki grasped at her shirt’s collar, undoing Miku’s practiced work.

“Oh Hibiki, it’s not that tight. Don’t you want to look good for your friends and coworkers?” Miku went and fixed the tie right up again.

“But they’re my friends! They won’t mind.” Hibiki pouted. “And I’m taking it off after I get there anyway...”

“That’s right, they’re you’re friends.” She patted Hibiki’s chest and smoothed out her jacket’s arms. “Which is exactly why you should look your best for them. To show you care.”

“You’re right.” Hibiki sighed. Her hands went back to her uncomfortable tie, then quickly dropped at the look Miku gave her. “Hehe. You’re always here for me, Miku.” She smiled brightly.

Miku held her look for a moment more, but had to relent. How could she be disappointed when her sun smiled so radiantly. “Oh Hibiki.” She shook her head and pulled her sun into her arms, squeezing her tight.

She squeezed and squeezed, because this girl, this hero who didn’t want to be called one, this hard worker right here who never gave up, even when God was her foe, meant the world to her. “Hibiki,” she said, because it was the most meaningful word on earth.

“H-hey, Miku, that’s a little tight.”

And maybe this time would be the time she didn’t let go, and could hold her forever. She could hold the girl that made the Miku that did everything to make home feel like home worth it. The meals, the help with homework, the listening, the warm bed at night--it was all for that connection between them. That little beautiful selfish thing. And then, everything could be like normal.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, Miku, hey, ow!” She heard a pop.

Miku jumped back, eyes wide. “H-hibiki?”

Hibiki hunched over, holding herself against the wall. “Phew! Hah, you’re so strong now.” She groaned and rolled her shoulders, shakily standing. “You’re gonna’ make me an old lady before I’m twenty!”

“Hibiki? Are you alright? I’m so sorry!” She hurt her Hibiki again. “I’ll get an ice pack, o-or some-”

“Miku.” Hibiki’s warm hands were at her cheeks, and her face was close to Miku’s. “I’m alright. Everything’s alright. I’m okay. I promise.”

Hibiki touched foreheads with her. SONG would take care of it, she knew. Miku breathed out. “Alright, only if you promise. But I’m still giving you an ice pack, just in case, alright?”

“Alright. I promise.” Hibiki raised a finger of her own, motioning towards the SONG communicator sitting on the table. “And you call Elfnein right away if you need help, too. Promise?”

“I promise.” Miku smiled back and nodded once.

Miku stepped away, got her the ice pack, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and opened the door for her.

Hibiki waved her goodbye with her ever-shining smile with only the barest hint of her lingering pain. Always the trooper. Nothing ever brought her down.

And that’s why Miku had to make her home feel like home.

_-_

One fourth cup granulated sugar. One fourth pure vanilla extract… and… Done!

Hot cocoa. Just like Aoi Tomosato told her. It was new, sure, but it was something she knew her Hibiki would appreciate. That and, of course, she wanted to get it right for herself. Miku had to take pride in these things.

And making it perfect meant practice. Perfect practice, even.

Miku raised the glass and took a sip. She frowned. Too cool. And she couldn’t just reheat it in the microwave, could she? That might change the flavor. No, she’d have to try again, wouldn’t she? Just adding hotter water would affect the balance of it all and then it’d all be up to chance whether she measured the rest of the ingredients, right? Miku’s fingers played across the glass. Maybe if there was a way to magically just hea-

The sound of something sizzling snapped her out of her thoughts. She squinted. What could possibly-

“I-I… Huh?”

The glass had melted off the still-cup-shaped hot chocolate and flowed down the counter onto the floor, setting it alight.

“Wait, no, I-” Miku raised her arms in a panic, her head jolting left and right. Water! Fire Extinguisher! She needed to deal with this right now!

And right now, it was dealt with.

The flames became delicate ice sculptures as a wave of gentle frost from circles in her hands assaulted the counter and floor.

And there stood the hot chocolate without a glass, swaying gently just a fraction of a centimeter above the counter.

Miku stood, frozen as the kitchen, for a few moments.

Slowly, gently, with the utmost curiosity and care, she leaned forwards and took a sip of the levitating drink.

“Perfect.” Miku frowned deeper.

The hot chocolate sputtered with green fire, then fell and splashed onto the floor.

Just… Perfect.

Miku picked up the SONG communicator.

_-_

Miku, like most people, had a bit of discomfort around needles.

But this was ridiculous.

Elfnein was simply trying to draw blood while Miku sat as still as she could, but the needle just warped around her arm as if it was made of floppy rubber sitting inside a wind tunnel.

“Ow.” Miku hissed and winced as the tip scraped against the the side of her arm instead of pricking anywhere near the blood vessel it was supposed to.

“I’m sorry! I’ll get it this time!” Elfnein waved her hand in nervous reassurance. Maybe it was more for herself than Miku.

Miku, for her part, just wanted to get this over with. It wasn’t any fun being poked and prodded for tests, even if it was important. It was necessary, and that’s why she sat still like she was.

“It’s alright, Elfnein-san. I know this is all so… strange.” Strange was meeting someone who looked just like someone you knew. Strange was making a bed and finding it unmade mere seconds later. This wasn’t just strange anymore. But what else was she going to call it?

“I just need to-I’ve got it!” Elfnein snapped around to her computer, click-clacking away at a model that Miku and her high schooler’s education couldn’t possibly comprehend.

“It’s an n-15 Calabi-Yau manifold! To think this is what Outer Physics is capable of. Even this universe doesn’t seem to have 15 dimensions.” And with that, Elfnein expertly slid the needle in and pricked just the right spot, before drawing blood. “I’m real sorry for poking you so many times.”

“It was only three.” Miku was a little too stunned to say anything but something comforting. “Even some nurses do that many.”

“Two too many.” Elfnein looked down. “If only I’d thought in the direction of-”

“It’s alright. You’re doing a great job. Really.” To comfort a genius. She reached her other hand forwards to pat her on the shoulder.

Elfnein smiled, taking a moment to nod to herself and work her confidence back in. She took in a breath, waited a few moments, then took out the impossibly-distorted needle quick and clean.

Miku stayed silent, her stomach filled with nervous butterflies. At least her blood looked red enough, and wasn’t flaming. She was in a world where she’d have even these kinds of thoughts. This wasn’t even the first time this week she’d been responsible for such strange things.

“Just a few moments, please,” Elfnein said politely, and typed away and scribbled on her clipboard.

Miku nodded. Just the other day, Miku had turned her toothpaste into mist. The day before, she’d blown bubbles with the dorm window. She thought that’d just been a hallucination. Two days before that the rice she made Hibiki became one solid block. She thought she’d just cooked it wrong, but with everything else…

Elfnein turned back. Miku raised her head. Was she really slumping like that?

“Your body is like an infant’s.” The little genius flipped through her clipboard.

“E-excuse me?” Miku’s eyes narrowed a little, more in confusion than any annoyance.

“Oh! I mean.” Elfnein waved her hand, embarrassment on her face. “I believe your body’s adjusting to its new capacity for outer physics.” She flipped a few more pages. “Like how an infant performs random muscle movement to get used to its motor functions. I’ll need to keep running more tests to confirm this, but you should expect to have more outer physics events until you can control them yourself.”

So, this is temporary. She’ll learn how it works, then life will go back to normal. Miku squinted. No, not normal. Control. She’d have control over herself back.

“Thank you for all your help, Elfnein,” she said sincerely. Leave it to her to give her a sense of certainty again.

“Of course! I’m happy to help a friend.”

_-_

“Yeah, I totally get it.” Chris took a bite of her lunch. “Sho, way back, after… she died. That firsht time.” She swallowed, waving her hand around her apartment. “I was a total mess. You think I could’ve done homework or clases or stuff right after all of that ?”

She spun her spoon in a circle. “I caught up, got into 2nd year, sure, but it took some real work.” Chris aimed the spoon at Miku. “No wonder your grades are slipping. Anyone’s grades would drop like a bomb after what you went through but here you are with what, just ten percent down? Five?”

Miku smiled softly, her heart lifting just a little. She glanced up at the sauce sticking to Chris’ cheek and giggled, pointing. Speaking of messes.

Chris wiped the back of her hand on her cheek, then flushed and looked away. “H-hey, this is about you, not me,” she mumbled.

She went and wiped it away properly this time. “You’re doing fine. Trust me.”

“Thank you, Chris. It really means a lot.” Miku’s gaze lowered to the table and she sighed out. “It’s not just that though. Hibiki still needs help with her homework, and she’s still so busy too.”

Chris made a little ‘O’, nodding and turning her head towards the window. Chris understood. She tapped her spoon on the table and looked back towards Miku. “Oh, and about that other stuff. If the dummy starts complaining about the weird stuff you can do, just whack her right up the head. Hell, call me and I’ll do it for you.” Chris smirked. Miku hid a giggle behind her sleeve.

“Alright, I’ll tutor you.” Chris dropped her spoon, picked up a pen, opened up her napkin, and started scribbling on it, before pushing it towards Miku.

Miku raised the napkin in front of her, then blinked, then gave Chris her ‘look’. “One plus one?”

“Hey, fundamentals first.” The rest of the napkin was more complex of course. Multiplication, division, trig, algebra, pre-calc, even a little calculus. “Just to make sure it’s a problem in front, not in back.”

Miku sighed again, closing her eyes. She picked up the pen and wrote her way swiftly through most of the problems. Now that she thought about it, the math homework she worked on always felt this easy. In fact, when she was teaching Hibiki or sitting by her side, it went even faster. But still, her grades were dropping. Maybe it really was an issue with the fundamentals--the things that she’s so sure were easiest--surely they can’t just slip away like that, right?

Miku set down her pen and pushed the napkin back.

Chris snorted. “One plus one is seven. Hah. Good one.”

Miku blinked.

Chris blinked too, then squinted. “One plus one is seven, really?” She stared harder, eyes darting across the impromptu quizsheet. “One plus one is seven?”

She stood right up, eyes wide and disbelief on her face. “One plus one is seven. Right. Of course.”

“C-chris?” Miku started to stand, too.

Chris put the napkin down, then quickly snapped it back up and stared . “What the hell. One plus one is seven. One plus one is seven. Why does this make sense? ”

“Chris, I-.” Miku raised a hand to catch her, but Chris had already walked right up to her door. She opened it, then shut it with a slam.

Stunned, Miku could still hear her through the wall.

“One plus one is seven! What the fuck! ”

Miku slowly sat back down. The simple things, then. Control the simple things first.

She sunk a little more, letting her head rest on the table. Maybe this is what her Sun always felt like. Her cheek touched the cool surface. Well, it’d be rude to stay around. And she should apologize to Chris soon.

Miku got up, picking up her bag, too. Simple things. Control the simple things. Miku paused. Of course.

Tsubasa.

 

 

 

Notes:

Honestly, I do want to finish this one at some point, but I've been motivated more to do other things.

Ultimately, though, I was halfway done with this prompt, and it was already over 6 pages, so I realized I just couldn't submit it at all.

It would have continued with Tsubasa and Miku helping each other out, and then something really heavy and particularly sharp falls on Miku, forcing her to perform Divine Regeneration... and making her realize that now she has to tell Hibiki she's literally the one person or thing who can truly hurt her.

After that, she'd meet up with Kirika, Shirabe, and Maria separately, and eventually find peace with the idea of slowly becoming normal, knowing that it might not be the same normal she initially wanted--she'd learn to live with having life-disrupting levels of power on hand.

Also I had some concerns with Chris' characterization, and parts of the last section in general.

Chapter 5: Unnamed October 2021 Prompt (Incomplete)

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server October 2021 Writing Prompts, incomplete.

I chose the prompt 'Horror'.

This work was not posted, nor submitted.

“Hey, Chris, your arm.” Miku reached out carefully, concern washing over her face.

“Huh?” Chris turned said arm around, furrowing her brow and frowning as she went to prod the nasty-looking yellow and purple bruise. “ Ah ! Damnit.” She winced and tensed it up.

The two of them were sitting in one of S.O.N.G.’s lounges, empty plates and glasses off to the side of their circular table--one significantly more messy than the other. 

Miku took Chris’ forearm and held it out, looking over it with a deepening frown of her own. “You should be more careful, you know. This looks bad.”

“Ugh.” Chris rubbed her forehead, then over her hair. There was a bump. She winced and sighed, slumping back in her seat. “I didn’t think I was training that hard.”

Miku winced in sympathy. “Still, be careful. I worry enough about Hibiki as it is.”

“I will, I will, don’t worry.” Chris sat up a little, bending over the table, and letting out a short laugh. “This sucks. Just like those cuts you don’t notice for hours, right? You’re just walking around and right there you’re bleeding on your homework and you’re sure you didn’t cut yourself in the last five minutes.”

“Hmm… I hear you can get bruises easy if you aren’t eating well enough. You’re getting enough to eat, right?” Miku narrowed her eyes a little.

“Yeah! Of course. With the way the Old Man makes us ‘training meals’ I bet I’m eating too much.” Chris groaned and leaned forwards over the table, face in her hands. “I’ll never forgive him for the eggs.”

“Well, you’d better not be lying.” Miku wagged her finger like a mother scolding her child as she went to grab the plates. “Or I’ll just have to come over there and make you something myself.”

With a laugh, Chris stood too, taking the plates instead. “I’ll get them, let me. And you-”

The door to the lounge slammed open, right up against the wall as a panting Sakuya Fujitaka entered. “It’s Hibiki-san!”

Both stopped and snapped their heads towards him. Miku’s eyes widened and Chris’ narrowed. Sakuya looked desperate, scared, almost shaking in place as he took in a deep breath.

“She’s injured! Bad! Come on!”

The plates and silverware and glasses clattered to the floor, forgotten.

_-_

“Numerous bullet wounds of three different caliber, extensive burns of all degrees, and severe internal pressure damage--likely explosive.” Aoi Tomosato calmly, but solemnly informed the group to the steady but dangerously slow beeps of the medical ward’s heart monitor. Her hands gripped her clipboard tight enough to make her knuckles white.

Despite the bright glow of the room, the mood was dark, oppressive. Confining. Genjurou stood by the far wall, arms crossed, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his hair. Tsubasa, in her biker’s suit, clenched her own fists even tighter than Tomosato’s, enough that without her gloves she would have bled.

Miku clung tight to Chris’ arms, wrapped around her, nearly hyperventilating while she whimpered out Hibiki’s name.

“It’s… its a miracle that Hibiki-san is alive.” Aoi bowed towards Tsubasa. “If it wasn’t for Tsubasa-san, she may not have made it. Thank you.”

“I’m-” Tsubasa started.

Chris interrupted. “Who the hell did this to her?” Her arms occupied, she stomped hard against the floor. “When I find out, I’m gonna’ do this five- ten times over right back.” She snapped her head towards Tsubasa. “You tell me right the hell now who you saw shooting her.”

Tsubasa’s shoulders tensed, her head flicking away, hair falling in front of her face. Her arms started to shake as she stalked one, then two, then three steps closer to Chris. “There were no sightings. No suspects fleeing the scene, no suspicious bags, no alchemical readings.”

Chris stumbled back, letting go of Miku. “Wh-... then...”

“But there was an Ichaival waveform. Correct, Yukine ?” Tsubasa took one last step, clacking her foot, only inches from Chris as she stared down at her, eyes alight with fear twisted into desperate anger.

“What…?” Chris squinted, her own expression caught between confusion and anger in kind. “You’re not implying-”

Tsubasa snapped up Chris’ arm, holding it up high, giving her bruise a pointed look. “You’re hurt. Take off your shirt.”

“Enough, Tsubasa!” Behind her, Genjuro stood, reaching for her shoulder.

But Tsubasa was unwavering. With the skill and swiftness of a sword drawn, she tore Chris’ sweater and shirt up and off her.

At the same time, Genjuro gripped Tsubasa’s arm and wrenched it away, only to freeze and stare at Chris in kind.

There, coating Chris’s front and back, from the one on her arm to the rest of her body, lay clumps of deep purple and blue--all bruises, all familiarly shaped, all the same size.

“Explain, Yukine.” Tsubasa grit her teeth, frowning deep.

Still sputtering in shock, Chris shook her head, covering her chest up in her arms. “Hey! What the… what the hell are you-” But her shock turned to anger, her voice to a growl. “No! I was training! You think I would do something like this to the dummy? I have no clue where I got any of these! They just appeared!”

“I didn’t ever want to think you would, but the evidence betrays you.”

It wasn’t Genjuro who came to Chris’ defense.

Slap.

Tsubasa reeled back, holding her cheek as she slowly looked down at Miku’s crying face. Miku gripped her suit.  “Chris wouldn’t do that! She wouldn’t ever do something like that.” A shake. “She wouldn’t hurt Hibiki, and she wouldn’t hurt me like this, not like you’re hurting me now!” She shoved Tsubasa, then stormed out of the room, her echoing footfalls fading. 

Aoi bowed to the room and followed shortly after her.

“I… I-I-” Tsubasa’s hand slowly slid from her face, her arms crossing as she looked away. Her hands bunched up, then she turned to Chris, standing ramrod straight. “Yukine.”

Before Chris could respond, Tsubasa bowed at the waist, a full ninety degrees. “I apologize. I have no excuse.” She bowed deeper still, and her ponytail brushed against the floor. “You did not harm Tachibana.”

Chris snorted. “If you didn’t save her life I’d do a lot more than just slap you,” she spat. Then she sighed, leaning against the wall and clenching her eyes. “And, look, Miku’s really grateful too, I can tell. She just doesn’t want us fighting, and the dummy wouldn’t either. So… Apology accepted, Senpai.” Her words trailed off into near-mumbles.

Tsubasa held her bow for seconds longer. “I will apologize to Kohinata, too.” Slowly, she rose. “We will find the perpetrator, and we will both deal with them, together.”

“Yeah. We will.” Chris pulled her clothes on as Tsubasa stepped from the room. Her eyes snapped open again, narrow. “So, Old Man, you’re finding whoever did this?”

Genjuro nodded firmly. “Elfnein and our Staff are already doing everything they can. Our first priority is our own.”

“Great!” Chris stepped up to the pod where Hibiki lay, looking down at her bandaged and tube-filled body. She couldn’t even see her eyes. Tsubasa had looked like this, once, and it was Chris’ fault, even if Tsubasa had made her decision, all the way back then. “Hey, did I do something to Senpai?”

Genjuro sighed out deeply, setting his hand on Chris’ shoulder and kneeling down, sparing a glance towards the door where Tsubasa had just left. “Tsubasa is searching for answers, too, but she fell prey to her own grief and guilt. She already blames herself for falling to meet Hibiki-kun earlier.” And then he stood, breathing in just as deep. “I’ll talk with her.”

“Yeah.” Chris crossed her arms.

Aoi returned with a tray of hot chocolates, offering one to each of them.

“Thanks.” Chris took a sip, then dragged her way out of the room.

_-_-_

It had been an hour since, and Chris couldn’t stop pacing. She’d wandered the sub’s halls a dozen times, sat in every seat outside the bridge, had passed by Maria, Shirabe, and Kirika twice as much, and had stomped so much that she could barely feel her ankles anymore.

Finally, she paused, her head thumping against the wall. “Shit.” Her head dragged down, then she pushed herself off with her chest, turning to walk once again. “I’ll check on Miku,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

She made her way to the staff quarters, checking one room, then another. “Hey, Miku. Where are you?”

One of the doors was already open partway.

Chris’ brows raised. “Hey, you in there? Tsubasa apologized, the whole right angle.” She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Splish

Jolting, Chris looked down, only to see-

“You’re… you’re kidding, right?” Her eyes widened, her voice shaking, desperate.

There’s Miku’s arm, on the floor by the door.

And there’s Miku, over there.

“No, no way, right?” Chris shook.

And Miku’s clothes, her body, covered in perfect, precise, practiced, familiar slashes.

_-_

“Tsubasaaaaaaa-! ”

Notes:

And then, after arguing and accusing each other violently, the two come to the horrified realization that they accused each other far too easily based on surface level evidence.

Shortly afterwards, Elfnein tells them that she detected Divine Power around them.

Chris and Tsubasa understand what Elfnein is telling them: In another universe somewhere, A Chris and Tsubasa from another alternate timeline attacked Hibiki and Miku, both divine-powered and hostile. The divine Hibiki-Miku from that timeline must have performed Divine Regeneration, transferring all of their wounds onto the Hibiki and Miku in this world.

And there is nothing Chris or Tsubasa could have done to stop it.

And then Chris notices a burn on Tsubasa's arm.

--

This one was another one that I made way too long for its prompt. It probably needed 2-3 more pages before it was done, but to be honest, I think my biggest issue with this work is my concerns with Tsubasa and Miku's characterizations, that is, the public accusation from Tsubasa, followed by Miku's slap, and her leaving Hibiki's side. I wasn't sure how to resolve that and keep the intended flow, so I eventually dropped it.

Chapter 6: Domestic Tune

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server November 2021 Writing Prompts.

I chose the prompts 'Creative Usages' and 'Eureka'.

This work was posted on the server anonymously on November 11th, 2021. Because it's a bit of a spoiler, I'm choosing to save the listed caption for the end.

“Happiness p-lus, go lucky attitude-”

Kirika’s Sythe twirled in a vertical spin, its thrusters sputtering before roaring into action, spinning it only faster.

“-times rockin’ bass n’-”

It spun left, right, around her back, all the way in an arc over her head as she, too, started to spin on her toes and heels, becoming a whirling blade of, well, what else?

“-Dess!” 

With a clack, her shoulder plates thrust back in turn, flashing right up into full power. Meat and juices flew into the air, cut in twain and fourth and tenth by a scythe that more resembled her twin heart’s own sawblades.

“Cute-st girl in town, cause she likes meat t’ eat-”

Ding!

“Oh! It’s done!” Kirika cheered. Her skills refined by countless hours of practice and her technique beyond precise, she and her scythe came to a perfect stop, its tip a bare millimeter above the ground.

“Aaand-”

Clunk! Six perfectly burnt slices of toast popped right out of slits in the back of her scythe and clattered down in overlapping pairs onto three separate plates. Shortly following them, steaming medium-rare cuts of ham rained onto the platters, and settled into place without so much as marring the bread with even a drop of dampness.

Only fitting for such a breakfast, Kirika shrunk her armed gear into a little butter scythe to spread both butter and strawberry jam on each and every piece of toast.

“Good job, Kiri-chan.” Gentle clapping popped up from behind her. 

Kirika turned to smile broadly at, who else but, Shirabe. Shirabe stepped up from their open door to hug her greener half, then took the three plates to the table, shooting Kirika a small, quiet, daring smile. “Maybe you’ll beat me, someday.”

Kirika let her gear shatter off her, then took her seat. “Hehe! I couldn’t ever cook better than Super Wow-wow Master Chef Shirabe .”

“I’m impressed, Akatsuki.” The visiting Tsubasa stepped up and sat down across from the pair, nodding towards Kirika. “I had no idea gear could be used so skillfully for mundane tasks.”

“Thank you, dess!” Kirika smiled broadly and dug in, speaking between swallowed bites. “I was wondering why you wanted me to make three. I thought you were just that hungry, Shirabe!”

Tsubasa hummed out a laugh and Shirabe giggled behind her hand.

“Oh, and Shirabe’s been learning how to mow the lawn with her saws, and even how to buff and polish things.” Kirika raised a finger, then two, then gasped and took Shirabe’s hand. “Hey, show Tsubasa-san your fuzzy-saws--they’re even softer than pillows!”

Tsubasa raised her brows and frowned. “As impressive as this is, however...” She sat up straighter and glanced between the two. “Is this truly a wise use of S.O.N.G.’s stores of LiNKER and Elfnein’s hard work?”

The pair froze. The toast fell from Kirika’s lips.

“Ah-”

“Dess...”

The toast rattled on the plate before going to rest.

All was still.

“Symphogear--cleaning maid mode.” Shirabe recovered with lethal precision.

Tsubasa blinked, then turned all her attention towards Shirabe’s unwavering and unmatched stare. Her eyes widened as embarrassed blush bloomed over her cheeks.

“Yeah! Yeah! Your room’s so messy whenever Ogawa-san isn’t around but if you could use your gear just like us, you wouldn’t have to worry about it at all! You wouldn’t even need to bother him for help, dess.” Kirika rocked eagerly in her seat.

Tsubasa lowered her head, her face hidden by her bangs. She calmly set her knife down, then put both her hands on the table. It was as if the pair could feel an aura growing around Tsubasa.

“Tsukuyomi… Akatsuki...”

Both tensed. Tsubasa slowly stood from her seat, her ponytail falling from her shoulder to hang dangerously close to her toast. Her pendant swayed, its refracted red light flitting back and forth across their foreheads like a sniper picking between targets. Kirika swallowed and squirmed closer to Shirabe as dread dropped into her stomach. Shirabe swiftly took her hand, nervous eyes darting between Tsubasa’s hidden gaze and her fingers, which gripped the tablecloth up as she made fists. 

Tsubasa bowed sharply.

“Please, teach me everything.”

_-_-_

Maria opened the door to her and Tsubasa’s room, sighing out after a long day’s training. Hibiki had been quite energetic today--even more than she usually was. Maria flicked on the light.

“What...”

Her jaw dropped, arms going limp by her sides. Maria’s eyes were slowly drawn in, not a single detail escaping her, at what could only be described as unimaginable. Her expression was filled with awe.

That is to say, the sight was awful.

Maria lurched.

Down on the floor, there wasn’t a single piece of carpet that wasn’t covered in clothing, sheets, or towels.

Up there, the blankets, stuffed so far up the ventilation that only a quarter hanged out, swaying in the breeze of their fan.

Upon the fan’s blades, glasses and mugs gently twirled above the dining room table, itself coated in sponges and paper towels, somehow stuck to the ends and edges like a mockery of the idea of a tablecloth. Chairs were stacked to its side along with a set of drawers and half its clothing in some sort of arcane physics-defying tower. And draped over the tower was the limp form of-

“Sh-shirabe?!”

And then she looked left.

At least the dishes were clean and unharmed, but compared to the monstrosity of a balancing act she had seen months before, this was as if a Divine Beast had cleaned and placed the dishes--incomprehensible. The same cleanliness could not be said for the kitchen counter itself, coated in equal, even, and smooth portions of butter, jam, grease, and olive oil.

She didn’t want to think about what she saw of the refrigerator.

And as for what Kirika was doing, unconscious, along with the kitchen sink? Even God wouldn’t understand.

“Kirika!? ”

Finally her eyes fell on Tsubasa herself, wreathed in Ame no Habakiri, which flowed like a traditional cleaning servant’s garb while she herself lay prostrate amongst her sins. Tsubasa slowly looked up, her eyes wide, desperate, and pleading, same as her smile.

“H-have I done… a-acceptably?”

...

Maria stepped back out, closed the door, and took her phone. “Hello. Yes, it’s me, Ogawa.”

 

 

 

Notes:

The caption was:
"Kirika being asked to make brunch leads to a unexpected catastrophe..."

I experimented with humor in this one. I wanted to try for something lighthearted, dumb, and have a bit of obvious twist humor, followed by describing the scene of the horrors that Tsubasa caused. I'm not sure how I did in terms of making people laugh, but I wanted to generally avoid "The Noodle Incident" style humor--I wanted to try and make it amusing through a lot of description.

Also I want an Igalima-shaped butter scythe.

Chapter 7: To Channel a God

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server December 2021 Writing Prompts.

I chose the prompts 'Creation,' 'Swap,' and 'Empty', loosely combined.

This work was posted on the server anonymously on January 1st, 2022 with the caption:

"Once more, with passion, a connection is attempted..."

Long ago in the great and radiant land of Eridu, there was erected a vast and even more radiant ziggurat. From each of its four walls, made of gleaming turquoise and lined with shining gold and black obsidian, flowed a river made from the waters Abzu, which each split into ten streams, all of which streamed into a boundless lake that swam with more fish and squid and creatures than the seas have ever known since.

Inside the ziggurat lay a temple, made of the same kind of turquoise, where water had carved out waves on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling: the waves of the teeming oceans, the waves of the exultant crowds, and waves of sound so complex it defied comprehension by all but the eldest and most learned of the Lulu Amel.

Further inside the temple, the High Priestess was bowed in meditation within a pool of water at the center of a chapel, one of forty. The water vibrated to a melody that came from the turquoise itself, one that made her imagine a deep, bright reef surrounded by a school of many kinds of sea life, flowing in and around and between all the corals. 

It was written that one who drank deep from the waters of the great temple of Eridu would soon bear a child, even the infertile. But the High Priestess wasn’t here for that–She was here to pray and meditate and think on the works that her God had in store for her. Yet for all her devotion, she was to become among the most wicked of women, even if she didn’t know yet.

Just then, a breeze tickled at her blonde hair, brushing her damp robes against her pale and unblemished back and shoulders.

“My lord, my God, you’ve arrived?” The High Priestess’ voice echoed around the chapel’s walls,  further growing the melodic ripples of the pool and its artificial fords.

“Yes. It is I. Shem-Ha Mephorash.”

The room shuddered, the reflection of its waters wavering across the walls. For a moment the melody shifted , before snapping back into its proper form.

The High Priestess tensed, resisting the urge to turn her head back towards the lit-up form behind her.

“You are not my God.” She barely restrained the growl in her voice.

“We shall see.”

Shem-Ha hummed.

Another soft breeze whistled through the room, and the chapel’s melody slowed dangerously, matching its beat to the leisurely clack of Shem-Ha’s wedge heels.The pool and fords rippled and splashed dissonantly, spraying droplets onto the floor and the High Priestess’ cheeks.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The hum was not a hum at all, but a rumble, slowly growing and growing until it shook the High Priestess’ bones like the heaviest and loudest of bass drums. At the same time, Shem-Ha glowed, so bright that the High Priestess saw white through her eyelids.She gripped at her robes with rigid arms, bending down until she lay prostrate, her forehead touching the lapping waters. A show of power, nothing more, the High Priestess thought with clenched eyes. She wouldn’t dare address the intruder further, just as the intruder wouldn’t dare mar His temple.

She was sure she could hear cries of confusion and worry beyond the walls, the thump of people dropping themselves. What would she tell them as their High Priestess? She steeled herself. She would simply tell them that an intruder had been banished from His temple.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Shem-Ha turned and stood before her.

A sharp crack resounded through the chamber, and the High Priestess’ eyes snapped open towards her pool. A piece of obsidian had broken off, and a tributary started to flow out from the pool, towards the intruder’s feet.

“Stop.” The High Priestess muttered, unheard. She raised her head. “Stop! This place is not yours.”

Shem-Ha tilted her head, then cut off her voice. The walls stopped shaking, the rumbling ended, the waters stilled, and the music returned to the melody He intended.

The High Priestess gasped sharply, wobbling upright from the pool as she let her robes fall off into the waters, and padded her way to her chamber’s towels.

“What do you want from me?” The High Priestess bent down to clean up the spilt droplets and dam up the loose stream.

“Know that I am as powerful as he. Like Enki is the Seas and the bearer of all life on this world, I am the Light, and soon to be the Words.” Shem-Ha reached down and took the Priestess’ chin, tilting it up to look at her. “My works are taller than the sky and stretch across the whole Earth. My people are more obedient than blood is to its body and as numerous as the grains of sand.”

“Know too that I am forgiving beyond measure, especially of the Lulu Amel. Most tools that slight their owners would be discarded swiftly, but I have borne many of your slights already without so much as a threat of correction.”

“Instead, I offer you a blessing.” Shem-Ha squeezed, forcing a pained sigh from the High Priestess’ lips. “I seek a herald and organizer. Be this for me.”

The High Priestess jerked her head, refusing to meet her eyes, but Shem-Ha’s grip was too firm. “Leave,” she panted. “Get out! I am not yours either.”

Shem-Ha frowned. “Perhaps it is your insolence that drew his attentions at first. Despite so many insults in so few words, I find it is… charming. I ask again. Be my herald and organizer. If you do this for me, then when my works are done, you will rule Earth beneath me, and all of its cities and peoples will belong to you.”

The High Priestess’s eyes fluttered and the corner of her mouth twitched up. “To rule all the Lulu Amel?” But she still looked away, shaking her head the little she could. “No. His works are far too great. The Temple Azbu is far, far more important than your cities. I will not betray Him.”

“Your loyalty to him is equally desirable.” Shem-Ha bent down and leaned her face close, enough for the High Priestess to feel her gentle warmth. Her voice softened. “I ask a third time. Be my herald and organizer. If you do this for me, I will reshape your body into one that appeals to Enki’s every interest and desire, so that he will be unable to look away for as long as he sees you.”

The High Priestess paused. Finally her gaze raised towards Her red-ringed eyes, searching them. “You’re… you’re temping me.” The Priestess’ lips parted gently, blush tinting her cheeks as fantasies rushed into her mind.

But she clenched her eyes tight again, bit down on her lip, and hugged herself around her chest. “I can’t. No, never. Never! I wouldn’t be by his side,” she growled again. “You would have me turn my God into a voyeur .”

Shem-Ha frowned deeper, slowly tilting her own head up to look down on her. “Should I offer another blessing? Must I ask again? How many times?” Shem-Ha let go and rose to her feet. “A score and two? Three score and twelve?” She sighed, brushing her palms along the cloth at her hips.

The Priestess returned to drying and plugging the bow’s damage, doing her best to put the intruder’s words out of her mind and to ignore her.

“But I am not here to tell you what I want of you. I am here on Enki’s request, because he knows I am more knowledgeable than he, in what he intends you to learn.” Shem-Ha’s smile returned to her lips, and she backed up four paces, each dipping into the chapel’s fords.

“For Him?” The Priestess stopped her work. A teacher, not an intruder? “You’re here to teach me for Him?”

“I am.”

Again the Priestess searched Shem-Ha’s eyes, and her expression, for any sign of deceit. Her own face switched between confusion, worry, and excitement. “What… could He want me to learn?”

“You will learn how to channel a God, as many of my people already do, and will do forever more.” Shem-Ha raised her finger. “It would be a simple task to force you to be his voice and melody, and even more simple with tools such as the Pashupatastra.”

She pointed her finger down towards her. “But you,” Shem-Ha said with a smirk, “are precious to him, and he demands you learn how to channel him without your will being snuffed out.”

Exhausted, her legs shaking, her breath heavy and cheeks red, the Priestess couldn’t work up the energy to question Her more. “Teach me,” she half-whispered.

Shem-Ha smiled broadly and spread her arms, all her fingers extended. “Then come to me, my child, and be taught.”

“I am not your child,” the High Priestess breathed.

“We shall see.”

The Priestess cringed, but stepped forwards, taking care to dip her feet properly into His streams, lest she spill his water like She did. Her excitement grew. Him, her God, inside her, flowing through her and out of her to His people–Her people. The last time they were that close-

“Empty yourself of your melody.” Shem-Ha pulled the Priestess from her thoughts.

“My melody… But He gave it to me.”

“You must, or Enki will lose you.” Shem-Ha took her shoulders in her hands, and smoothed her arms down against her sides, then stepped around her, adjusting her head, her legs and feet. “Empty yourself of your senses. Of your mind. Your intent. Your urges. Empty yourself of them, or they will be overwritten.”

Of course, there were no misunderstandings. The High Priestess understood. Her senses were easy enough. Her mind, too. She had meditated in His waters more than enough for that. It was like plucking the strings of a lyre softer, or beating a drum’s side instead of its top. Soon even Shem-Ha’s brushing and straightening of her hair, unwanted and uncomfortable, faded away, as did her thoughts for such things.

But her intent? Her drive to be His High Priestess and perform His works? Would she even be a High Priestess at all?

With great difficulty, she pushed them down, and let them slip away. Her own little melody felt weaker, like it was missing its tempo–notes, but without beat, scattered along a staff with no bars.

But her urges, most of all, refused to fall away. She loved Him. She loved her God. And He loved her in kind, even if it wasn’t the love she wanted most. How could she put that aside? And yet, if it was for Him, then she would stop loving Him, just for a short moment. Because for His sake she would go to any lengths. If He wished to enter her as His conduit, then she could give even love up.

Her aimless notes scattered, a facade of a melody, so soft and quiet that any sound at all would overpower it.

Shem-Ha entered her.

She reached into the very paper on which her melody was written, and took its staff for herself, in charcoal. The High Priestess could no longer feel, and yet she felt anyway: a different melody, with far too many notes and instruments, and so many dissonances that it went from horrid back to beautiful once again. The sound, like light, filled out every shape and smothered every shadow. 

But the High Priestess’ own melody wouldn’t die out completely. She couldn’t give up her love. The rest of her clung tight to her love for her God. And with it, her mind flickered back against her will, as swift as a tidal surge on the beaches of Eridu, putting some of her own notes back on the staff.

Shem-Ha reached one of her notes. And because she couldn’t empty herself, she understood why Shem-Ha could snuff her out, why her God could. Like charcoal rubbed deep into an engraved slate, the flecks of Shem-Ha that marked her own notes on her own staff could not be easily erased. Her will shuddered and bent.

But she understood. Because she was able to be the High Priestess of her God, Enki, only she and few others could possibly comprehend Shem-Ha’s method. Her intent returned too, her bars for her staff. Shem-Ha wouldn’t take her. Shem-Ha wouldn’t overwrite her will, her self, or her love for her God. 

Between the impossible density of Shem-Ha’s music, she found her engraved notes, and marked them with her own charcoal.

The rest of the High Priestess rushed back, and she snapped open her golden eyes, a wide victorious smile on her lips. And if she could learn this from a God-

Shem-Ha’s eyes met her, wrathful. Without waiting for so much as a peep, she pushed the Priestess down with a flick of her hand, the Priestess’ body cracking against the turquoise floor, and her head hitting the edge of the bowl behind her.

“Insults are to be forgiven, but you have stolen from a God.”

The Priestess gasped and shook and clutched at her head, cowering as Shem-Ha raised a finger, a baton of light erupting from its tip, far, far too bright to look at.

“The Lulu Amel have been given laws. I should cut off your hands, as befits your theft, or perhaps for stealing a God’s idea, I should carve out your knowledge and leave you feeble.” Her hand rose, its deadly baton reaching high enough to scrape the ceiling.

“ Shem-Ha. ”

Like a tsunami breaking the banks of a village’s river, Enki breached His own temple, flooded past its walls, and arrived at His chapel. The pool sloshed, the fords churned, and for a moment the Priestess was afflicted with the roiling nausea of seasickness.

“What have you done? What are you doing? My Priestess, her melody, I couldn’t hear it. Where is-” Enki looked down upon her collapsed form, and went to pick her up and cradle her. 

“Leave Eridu, Shem-Ha Mephorash.”

“She has stolen from-”

He snapped His head towards Her. “Leave. You have done enough.”

“I have not finished teaching her. But you will still honor your due.” The baton of light retracted, and Shem-Ha lowered her hands

“We will see,” He muttered.

As Shem-Ha turned, the High Priestess thought she saw the briefest glimmer of disappointment, maybe sadness, in her eyes. It couldn't be, though. It must have been anger, or only disappointment that she didn’t kill her in her own God’s temple.

Enki reached into her, but didn’t flood her as Shem-Ha had. “I’ll fix this. I’ll fix your melody.”

“But your works…” The Priestess raised her hand up towards her God, but her hand fell limp before she could touch Him, herself.

“The Lulu Amel are more important. You are more important.” He turned his head towards the door. “As my High Priestess,” he finished, hurriedly.

The High Priestess had already fallen into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

Notes:

For this one, I really tried to give it a sort of biblical-sounding sentence and paragraph structure. I think I did alright, for the most part, but I definitely slipped closer to the end when I started rushing a bit.

I ran out of time, and I ran out of space to really finish this how I wanted to.

The idea I was rolling around in my head that inspired me was this concept that Fine probably got her ability to body-swap from Shem-Ha. In Symphogear we learn that Fine stole credit for Alchemy. She's been mooching off the relics left by the Custodians since they fled. She's just as touch-inappropriately and arrogant. And so, in a way, I thought it'd be quite the achievement to steal a technique directly from Shem-Ha herself.

What I was trying to get at here, with the idea of 'Channeling', is that a god can enter their heralds/worshippers/etc., but doing so may totally override their will and leave them a husk if they don't empty themselves--if they don't give themselves over completely. The musical staff and its melody and beats were the metaphor to represent this.

Basically, if you put a sheet of music in a printing press, but that printing press was keyed to another song entirely, then you'd smother the former sheet with the new one, especially if the new one had many, many more notes and cues. And so in a sense, Fine learned how to copy her own notes onto such a sheet, to take a bit of that printing press for herself. (And then later experiment and modify it in order to do what she actually does, because in canon she can't channel into someone directly--she needs descendants)

This all said... it's a bit of a risk to try and 'explain' how something originated in the established lore, and I'm not satisfied with this one. If I were to redo it, I'd definitely put all the focus on the interactions, and much less on the theorycrafting.

Chapter 8: Her Last Birthday

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server March 2022 Writing Prompts.

I chose the prompt 'Reshooting,' although it was very, very loose.

This work was not submitted nor posted.

It was a birthday party.

There, out in the yard of a little suburban home next to a thin, cramped, high-walled street where I’d paused; were balloons, a cake, and a few well-wrapped gifts–others wrapped poorly–atop a circular table. And of course, the birthday girl among other children.

One of her parents was busy chatting with others, and the other was hovering over her, pointing out presents. Should she unwrap this one next? Or this one? How about this one?

The girl was so unlike me, too. Her hair was much lighter than mine, and shorter, a blonde compared to my own hair’s near-black. She had a black band crossing over some of her bangs where my hair didn’t have anything. Unlike me, she wasn’t so terribly thin, either, and had to have been a couple of centimeters taller. Where my eyes were studying, analytical, her green eyes were wide and curious. But she didn’t seem to see me, so focused on her gifts and the other children as she was.
And then she sang. I could hear it even here, between the giggles and shouting of the kids around the same table, the chatter of the parents, and the distant sound of cars.

“O-pen’ing t’ pre-sents!” the blonde girl repeated as she tore the wrapping apart. It wasn’t melodic or in tune, and she gasped between every few times, ruining the beat. But as she sang, I could tell there was something in there that made it ring out to me.

And then she gasped and smiled, bright like the sun. I had to see.

Maybe it was her singing, or maybe it was something else, but something about her that I just can’t describe touched me, and I knew somewhere in my heart that I felt drawn to her.

I glanced left and right. Cars. I was wary of those black cars that had been stalking around near my home. With that in the back of my head, I approached.

I wandered up the steps to the house, slowly and carefully, hand on the wall. I shouldn’t be doing this. I was sure my kin back home would be so worried about me if I took too long. They’d be angry, upset, afraid for me, maybe. ‘ I should get back or-’

One of the parents broke me out of my fretting with her shadow. She stood in front of me, arms crossed as she looked down at me with a warm smile.

“Are you one of the birthday girl’s friends?” She asked with cheer. Even I could tell it was a little forced.

I hesitated. Maybe I was being stupid. Maybe I was just being selfish. A pang of fear struck my chest and I froze in place. But, I had to go up and see. The woman glanced left and right, squinting in her own worry as she looked across the streets.

“Where are your parents?” She leaned down, worry creeping into her voice even as it became more warm.

I clenched my eyes and furrowed my brow, then raised my head towards her. Maybe if I just stayed quiet, she’d let me in anyway. ‘ I really shouldn’t be here .’ As the silence dragged on, and as the conflict in my head refused to let me move, her expression grew more and more concerned.

“Well…” She breathed in with an awkward smile. “Come right on in.” She motioned towards the table, patting my back comfortingly, with just enough force to guide me in. I glanced back, and I saw her talking worriedly to another of the parents there. ‘ I’ll be in so much trouble for this.’

But I was here, and my attention turned towards the blonde girl again. And as I looked at her, she turned her own attention towards me. Her eyes lit up brightly, even though I was really uncertain about this, and I must’ve made some sort of face because she extended her arms towards me with a giggle.

I guess she saw me as her next present, with the same sort of joy as a birthday girl ought to feel. And, I suppose, I saw her the same way, too.

And yet, another girl might’ve felt elated that the object of her attention looked back at her, but I was struck stiff a second time. I felt ashamed that she looked back, like it was wrong to notice her first. But I came closer, even though I looked away from her. She leaned around to try and look at me anyway.

“Hello, my name’s ******!”

I wish I remembered her name.

“I’m *******,” I responded abashedly.

Her face screwed up a little as she tried to roll the word around on her tongue. I looked back at her, studying her expression, the way her brows raised rather than creasing, and the way her mouth made a little ‘o’ as she looked up towards the sky.

“Nice meet you, ********!” She half-shouted all wrong. I didn’t mind.

After that, she turned back towards her presents, returning to her little song, this time with ‘ up ’ added to the lyrics. A few of the other kids said hi to me, or waved in my face. I said hi back, or ignored them in discomfort. One of them touched and pulled my hair, and I winced and pulled away in time for one of the hovering parents to briefly scold her. All the attention left me feeling completely out of place. ‘ Why did I even come here at all?’

‘I came here for her ,’ I knew. Each time the birthday blonde opened a present, it was the same sparkle of happiness in her green eyes, and even then, there was a different quality depending on the gift–one time, even, she smiled at the kid who gave her the gift without even reading the name on the tag. The tag was somewhere off the table a few feet over that way, still attached to the scraps of wrapping paper.

Between the unwrapping of a couple of the remaining gifts, she looked expectantly at me. I fidgeted my fingers.

Here I’d come and invaded her party and I didn’t even bring a present for her. It’s not as if I had the time to, and with the black cars I’d seen back home, well, I was worried something would happen, or that we’d have to move houses out of fear. This felt like it was my only chance to see her.

I don’t know what crossed my mind, but I’d only seen her smile so far–smile and be curious. I wanted to see more of her expressions, more of the way she felt, more of her. ‘ If I just…’

The moment she finished unwrapping her last present, just as she managed to see the toy inside, I reached out with my thin pale hands and took it from her. I held it against my chest, curling my fingers around it.

Her eyes watered and she reached out, too, hiccuping like kids do when they’re about to cry. Another of the children started to hiccup similarly in sympathy, and the parents around us shuffled awkwardly. No one brought me here, and the thought of scolding someone else’s child must’ve stunned them into inaction. I wondered what would happen if left with it. Will she follow me back home?

But then-

But then the blonde girl smiled.

Her eyes still shone, but her expression was filled with pity, sympathy, some other mix of emotions. I never thought she’d react like this. She pulled away, letting me hold it. No ‘give it back’, or ‘give it back when you’re done’, or ‘give me something else’.

“Let’s play,” she giggled. She swept the remaining wrapping off the table and set up the scattered gifts. For a moment I stood still. ‘ I should leave . I should go .’ But I didn’t. Instead, I uncurled my fingers and set the toy down with the others, and we played.

The rules were nonsense, the story was something between a drama and an action story just because it was cool. “Oh no, here comes-!” or “But then-!” while the toys that looked nothing like heroes or villains or lovers stomped around to the whims of all the kids at the party. I glanced around a little, off towards the parents who looked much more relaxed. Even the worried one waved at me when I stared.

I looked out a little further, out towards the street, and saw-

A black car! It wandered slowly towards the yard, and I lowered myself, like just ducking my head a few inches could hide me more. But the Blonde leaned over, giving me a worried look that I just barely missed, and…

“Tag, you’re it!” She poked me in the arm with a sly, self-satisfied look, and then ran away. Another of her expressions–her feelings. With shrieks and giggles, the rest of the table scattered, some twirling, some looking back at me while I sat there, darting my head about in confusion.

A chase? My chest swelled with excitement. For the first time since I arrived, my lips curved up into a smile. I spun away from the table, and locked my eyes on the one who tagged me. ‘ I’ll catch her.’ Laughter of my own ripped free, and I darted out.

I hadn’t had fun like this in a while, just playing around with other children. I’d been all cooped up with my own toys and books for so long, even if I spent so much time with my kin. I chased, then tagged, then ran away, then did it all over again. I lost myself in it all–it must have gotten dark by the time I even started getting tired.

The other kids panted and yawned, most of them exhausted, but the birthday girl and I kept tagging and chasing, tagging and chasing again. One more time, I caught her. 

“Tag.” And then with a smile, I darted out the yard and down the stairs into the streets. She wouldn’t be able to tag me so easily if I took off and turned a few corners. A few of the parents, hers included, shouted behind us as she followed me. I hadn’t seen how she looked when she was exhausted, yet. ‘ I want to see .’

We rounded one corner, then two, then five, and between all the other sounds, ours were lost. They shouted out, calling her name, calling us back, saying we’d be in trouble, but we were too invested in the chase.

So invested, in fact, that she didn’t notice the low hum of an engine, and not the gentle rolling shush of tires either.

I stopped. Her hand reached out towards me. “Ta-!”

I gripped her wrist and jerked her into some bushes, just as the same black car I’d seen crawled down the street we’d almost charged right into. I put a finger up to my lips, and she pressed her own lips together, eyes wide, her twitching smile strained fearfully. My heart pounded. ‘ Is it here for me?’

But I found myself looking at her again. She really was afraid. One more of her incredible expressions, even if this one wasn’t as surprising to me.

The car stopped, and the door opened for a black-suited, sunglasses-wearing man to step out, holding a picture as he scanned the streets, particularly around where her house was. I leaned my head a little over, peeking out between the leaves. The birthday girl tried to do the same, but I held her back. If they’d found me then…

I barely made out the picture he held. It was her, the birthday girl! They were looking for her . I sucked in a deep breath.

She really did give me something I hadn’t had in a while–fun without a worry in the world, without other worldly distractions. Maybe someday I could could give back to her.

But…

A green glow appeared behind the blonde birthday girl. She turned back, just in time for a gust of wind to send her tumbling out of the bush and onto the street. I dipped my head, just to be sure that she could see my wicked smile as the man responded, clamping his hand around her mouth and dragging her into the car as she reached out with muffled whimpers.

I wish I remembered her name. I wish I’d stolen her away myself, but I knew she would put the girl through worse for far longer. ‘ I’ll be in so much trouble when I get back.’ I sighed wistfully. Still I didn’t mind.

Because to me, the alchemist François Prelati , watching her childlike joy turn to terrified crying; watching her eyes that begged to know ‘why?’,  made it all worth it.

Notes:

I was thinking about how there wasn't really much meaning in Shirabe (alongside Tsubasa) fighting Prelati in AXZ from a character to character standpoint. I was thinking of ways that Prelati could be tied to one of the Zababa pair that could make... SOME kind of connection between them.

And I came up with something that was deeply uncomfortable to write.

This was written during duo prompt week, having finished a fun prompt work in the middle of the month, but after an editing pass I didn't really feel like it was ready to submit. Too many small nagging details, too little time, and I wasn't looking forward to coming back to it.

Chapter 9: The Song of a Child of Zababa

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server April 2022 Writing Prompts.

I chose the prompt 'Genre Shift'.

This work was posted on the server anonymously on April 4th, 2022 with the caption:

"let us go forward to a time way after our time. To a time of space, of wonder, of beings beyond humanity. This is their story... or at least, some of it"

Aboard one of many of the Akatsuki-Tsukuyomi family’s choir-powered vessels, two of its passengers were at dinner in their cabin, awaiting their arrival on the goddess Zababa’s planet Kish .

“Drink your linker, girl,” came the sweet, melodic, and utterly perturbed tones of a woman far, far too old to be the girl’s mother.

The girl, Tsuki Akatsuki, raised a brow as the woman, Artemis, pushed the glowing green glass of linker towards her plate. Tsuki paused for a few seconds, sniffed in a short breath through her nose, and then pushed the glass away, before folding her arms and leaning back sideways against her seat.

“I’m not a girl,” said the girl. “I’m a woman, now. I’m of age,” said the girl just barely a week past her sixteenth birthday. “And you’re not my mom, either.”

Artemis was not Artemis Akatsuki, nor Artemis Tsukuyomi, nor Artemis Lancaster, but Artemis . The Artemis. Green of skin totally unmarred by wrinkle, bark-colored hair sprouting the occasional leaf or fern, wearing the furry pelt of some beast far too soft and silky for how utterly dangerous she claimed it had been, bearing the sharp brown eyes of a hunter, and covered in angular silvery patterns across her face and arms, reminiscent of human tribal markings, Artemis was a Custodian. An Annunaki. A goddess.

Artemis pushed the glass forwards again. “You must drink. Your family-”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to be ‘the one’ to wield Igalima, so why should I bother?” Tsuki pushed her plate aside, resting her legs on the table, her socks hanging over the glass. “If I’m good enough, it’ll work, and if I don’t, it doesn’t matter if I’m lit up like a glowstick from the inside. Plus, I’d rather not drink the taste of hard-boiled noise ash pizza.”

Tsuki looked out through the port window and blew her short bangs out of her eyes. Stars were everywhere, in a multitude of colors Earth had never been able to see so bright and so cleanly. The images never did them justice. Asteroids passed them by, too, covered in flashing images so large she could see from the ship. She stared at one of them just long enough for it to sing its ballad right into her mind. Shaking out her head, Tsuki pulled her eyes away. She really didn’t want any ‘Sparkle-sparkle-sparkling Sunshine Jewelry.’

Instead, she stared at her reflection–bright green eyes, short black scraggly mop of hair, perpetual lopsided frown, her black T-shirt (even in the space age some things never change.) Yep. It’s her alright, Tsuki thought.

“It is unlike an Akatsuki-Tsukoyomi to give up so readily.” Artemis took the glass out from under Tsuki’s feet and approached her side, eyes narrowed dangerously, predatorially, threatening the vicious wrath only the Annunaki of the Hunt could bring to bear.

Tsuki, however, had seen this look for years. Artemis was her ‘friend’, after all. “Come on, have you heard their ballads?” Tsuki rubbed her fingers against the back of her neck, doing her best to look away from both Artemis and the linker. “ Kirika bore her warrior’s will with unwavering cheer, and Shirabe with unending patience, ” Tsuki briefly sang, then rolled her head. “And I’m an impatient grump. I’m nothing like them. Really, the family should just up and ship me off to war or something. It’d be exciting.”

“Devil’s triad, girl,” Artemis swore. “You shouldn’t wish for death so young. Especially not at the hands of the Mephorash Alliance.”

“We killed the God that made them. As if they can do anything to us.” Tsuki crossed her arms, her expression much less certain. She rolled her eyes for show.

“Either way, it’s all the more important that you drink. No matter how little you think of your chances, if you activate Igalima, neither I nor the family would appreciate seeing you bleed from your eyes.” Artemis approached her mouth with the glass.

“Don’t you have some cleaning to do, custodian?” Tsuki raised a brow.

“Oh curse Enki. You humans and your wordplay. Why won’t you drink?”

“I just won’t, okay? It’s a matter of principle, or something.”

Artemis gave her a withering stare.

“Good, that’s settled.” Tsuki pushed herself up off her seat and made to leave.

“Very well,” Artemis sighed.

_-_-_

 

Tsuki groaned as she delicately poked and prodded at her nose. That hurt. She didn’t think Artemis would pinch her that hard. And the only reason she was still poking at it was because the sting distracted from the awful lingering taste of the linker still coating her tongue. She could even see the dull glow in her stomach if she looked down her shirt! Safe as the entire family said it was, no longer plagued with overdose sickness or self-destructive qualities as it may be, glowing from the inside really didn’t look healthy to Tsuki.

Maybe poking her poor nose wasn’t enough of a distraction. And a distraction she would get.

As Tsuki exited the ship onto a glowing goldenrod road, her jaw dropped in awe, before curving into an eager smile. She’d been to places like this before, but it never ceased to amaze. The atmosphere was quite literally musical, melodic, and flowing, paired with a subtle background tempo, a beat, that made her want to start stepping in time. But no one said she couldn’t put in a little off-beat countermelody of sways and headbobs.

The buildings towered above her on either side–obelisks, arches, more glowing translucent paths, grand ziggurats embroidered in the colors of sandstone, the green of Igalima, and the magenta of Shul Shagana. The colors of Zababa. She wasn’t brought up on Kish, but she and everyone she knew also knew this place. The Akatsuki-Tsukuyomi family’s capital all but officially.

Tsuki’s mind flitted back to some of her history courses.

Not everyone liked the sing-along documentaries, but when they had that kind of power metal, how couldn’t she get into them a little. It made things memorable.

Humanity had taken to the stars a long time ago and spread from planet to planet, until they inevitably settled on the world of another race. A war started, but neither side won–instead, it was the intervention of the Custodians, the Annunaki, that stopped the fighting. Some of them knew of humanity, but had forgotten about them after they’d fled the planet a ‘short while ago’. That is, a whopping few thousand years ago.

Those custodians who knew of humanity decided to teach them many things, helped develop their power over phonic gain, repaired the relics humanity had used to reach out into distant space, and gave them knowledge of the emotional sciences. Emotionless logic itself had hampered humankind’s progress, and so they turned to song, both as a power source and a technological boon, growing a small empire alongside many other of the enlightened races the custodians had made. But, when all was said and done…

“ The Gods had not taken in Humankind. Instead, Humankind had taken in the Gods. ” Tsuki mouthed the lyrics. 

It wasn’t her destination, but her eyes trailed towards a distant ziggurat, taller than all the others by an order of magnitude. Zababa’s own temple. Zababa, the de-jure leader of the Akatsuki-Tsukuyomi family.

She passed by a building undergoing repairs. A quartet of construction workers sang the fragments of brick back into the shape of the wall, while an assigned custodian helped locally turn off gravity to let the team fit it in place. Normally, Tsuki knew, they’d pick another universe to snag a repaired copy of the building from, but whatever hit it must’ve been a CT weapon–a cross-timeline weapon.

Tsuki shuddered. It was one thing to lose, say, a limb, but something entirely different for every single ‘you’ to lose one. It made her anxious. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and hunched a bit, staring at the little patterns on the walkway.

Anyway, it’d be a hassle if she was late, or got in trouble on her way there. Not to mention how much her family would get on her case. “I should get to the ritual,” she grumbled.

_-_-_

 

It had taken nearly an hour to get ready for the ritual, between undressing, her snarking, getting a short lecture from the attendant, her griping, saying hi to a bunch of family members she’d never met, and the constant ‘readjustments’ both she and they made to the stuffy, uncomfortable clothes.

But Tsuki walked out of the room, a changed girl. Her lips and face were painted up in a way that made even her lopsided frown and glares look like a princess’ demure expressions. Her double-layered robes were patterned in an image reminiscent of the old suits the relic wielders wore thousands of years before. They’d straightened out her mop of hair and given her fake extensions, befitting of the same hair color as Shirabe.

She had never felt more elegant in her life. And she hated it.

“Why couldn’t they have let me style it like Kirika, huh?” She groused. “Fits me way better. Dye it if they have to, even.”

“Shh!” Another of the many young candidates glared at her with the ‘family stare’. Tsuki rolled her eyes but shut up. It was like the family only had two personalities. It wasn’t true, but it sure felt like it, sometimes.

Around the silent and patient half the candidates, and the giggling and playful other half, Tsuki spotted a woman near the front. She practically had a mane of brown-blonde hair, dyed red at the tips. Her arms were crossed, legs spread wide and sturdy, built with incredible confidence, and eyes that spoke of dozens of battles’ worth of experience.

Kanade Tachibana, the current wielder of the relic Gungnir.

“Woah,” Tsuki whispered.

It was a common name in their family, Tsuki had heard. But instead of her trademark smirk, Kanade was wearing quite the frown as she argued with someone wearing a distinct shade of dark lavender, who stuck a finger right in her face in turn.

If there was just one thing she’d learned about all the families, it was that they held grudges for a long, long time. No one messes with a family and gets away with it. Case in point, the Tachibanas and the Kohinatas had been at each other’s throats for at least a millennium. Maybe they were arguing over who was going to be the one to train the next wielder of Igalima. Or the next trade disagreement. Or which kind of pizza was better. Tsuki hadn’t taken Artemis’ hunter’s-ear lessons well enough to listen in.

That, and even if Tsuki was the sort to get in the way of two people arguing, she wasn’t the sort to get in the middle of a family grudge. Especially not those two.

But being a wielder was a capital B capital D Big Deal , at least, for most families. Each family had one major relic that belonged to them and them alone. Gungnir for the Tachibanas, Shenshoujing for the Kohinatas; the only exception was Tsuki’s family, who wielded both Igalima and Shul Shagana. And each wielder would bear the relic until she gave it up, or died.

“And it won’t be me.” Tsuki tilted her head to her own grumpy mutterings. Part of it was how totally unprepared she felt, and part of it was she knew just how much responsibility would be lumped on her if she was in fact ‘the one’. But there was no way.

Either way, Tsuki pointedly looked away from the pair. Her eyes caught Artemis, standing by the wall. Tsuki sighed softly, then carefully nodded at Artemis in apology. She really gave her a hard time earlier. Artemis, eyes unmatched as a goddess of the hunt, nodded back. They’d talk later.

_-_

 

Eventually, everyone had shuffled into their seats around the central procession. “Here comes the boring part.” Tsuki rolled her head around.

“Shh!” said the very same girl from before.

“It has been three decades since Igalima was last…” The priestess at the front began.

Tsuki tuned it all out. She knew all of this, practically memorized it over and over again. Some people liked the story, or the melody, but it was just another reminder that she almost definitely wasn’t ‘the one’. A more optimistic girl might say ‘one in a couple hundred means there’s a chance.’ But it’d already been over thirty earth years, and this ceremony happened something like three times a year. 

And personality aside, she was nothing like the incredible warriors that the top of the top of her family pumped out. Like Chorus Tsukuyomi from Earth, or Antes Akatsuki of the Eve worlds, who trained under the still-living Maria herself.

The priestess finally stopped, and stepped forwards, and with the help of other priestesses, unveiled the great, unembroidered, green-bladed scythe, Igalima. Even Tsuki couldn’t help but sit up a little more. Its importance couldn’t be understated. And now, everyone would stand up, one by one, touch Igalima, and try to connect with it.

The most boring part. Tsuki couldn’t wait to get this over with. But, then again, it might be her only chance to touch the relic. Even if nothing happened, it’d still be a moment to remember, she supposed.

And so they did, one by one. The first of the candidates, slow and careful, step by step. One failed, and cried, to be comforted by her parents. Another growled in frustration and stomped the ground, another bowed reverently as she gave up, another-

Tsuki squinted.

Something felt off.

Artemis always told her to trust her instincts, so she looked around, eyes darting this way and that. She noticed a few of the others doing similarly. Tsuki couldn’t see anything but-

BANG

The ritual hall erupted into smoke and dust, arches started to crack and topple, and the floor vibrated under Tsuki’s feet to the bass of the explosion. Someone shouted, but it was muffled. Oh, her ears were ringing! Tsuki waved her hand in front of her face, trying and failing to clear the dust well enough to spot anything–anything at all. “Are we bei-” She dissolved into coughing as the dust invaded her lungs. Artemis had trained her to stay calm even in situations like this.

“~ Alainem Naizze Gungnir Zizzl ~ ”

“~ Nil Shenshoujing Ill Tron ~”

That must be Kanade. Her and the Kohinata–she didn’t realize they were both wielders. More crashes interrupted the shouting.

“This way! Everyone to the side, it’s clear!” One of the priests called.

“A Custodian!  A Custodian!” Another cried.

“Traitor of your kin! You’d enter this place-” That was Artemis!

Blasts of some sorts of energy and the dim outlines of outer-physics circles lit up through the dust, paired with flashes of weaponry and the gleam of the relics and their wielders’ forms. The temple rocked, and the atmospheric music moved to fit the intensity of the two relic bearers.

“ I’m putting a hole in the roof! Push out the dust, the kids need to see! ” came Kanade.

“ No, you imbicil! They’re obviously after Igalima! Don’t give them a line out, keep them blind, ” the Kohinata growled back from somewhere up above.

“H-hey! Gh…” Tsuki ducked down. She didn’t have any idea where she was going. Her hands met a pillar, no, an arch, it must’ve fallen. Tsuki heard groans from somewhere beneath it. Custodians, two relic wielders, it didn’t matter. She wanted to get in there, she wanted to help, she wanted to fight . “A weapon! Give me a rifle! A javelin!” she called raggedly, coughing into her robed shoulder moments after. If only she wasn’t wearing this stuffy constricting junk!

“ I’m rushing. You’d better cover me! ” Kanade shouted at the Kohinata. “ Aaagh! ”

Tsuki stumbled as the floor beside her shuddered and cracked, her arms rising to brace her face against the sandstone and tile shrapnel. Part of it cut a line across her cheek, splinters embedded in her fingers, and she grit her teeth. The robes cushioned her from the rest. At least it was good for something.

“CT! They’ve got CT!”

Tsuki’s heart nearly stopped. Cross-timeline weapons? Here? Her breathing shallowed and she started to pant, to hyperventilate. More cries and grunts and the sounds of clashing metals surrounded her. She had to get out of here. Where was the exit? Artemis’ lessons fizzled in her panicked brain.

“ Gungnir is down! That idiot… Damn her. ” Tsuki could hear the Kohinata’s voice from here.

They even hurt a relic wielder. Her heart thundered in her ears, blotting out what everyone else said. Her veins burned. And she was just talking about being shipped off to war hours before. And she had just been thinking about keeping her cool in battle a minute ago! Where did all of that go? What was wrong with her? Of course she’d never wield Igalima.

Tsuki ducked down and covered her head behind the archway, then crawled across the floor. This was the way to the exit, right? Forget it, she’d get the lecture of her life from Artemis afterwards for panicking like this. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t cut out for this. Why wasn’t it over? She’s wasn’t important enough, not good enough to fight like this.

And then, her hand touched a haft. A smooth shaft that thrummed beneath her palm.

A weapon.

“I’m really not that important, huh.” Tsuki steeled herself. If she wasn’t important, then she should be in there, fighting in front of the people who were. She could take a blow for them. Something welled up in her, a feeling. Her fear became anger and determination. “Don’t clamp down on it. Feel it,” she recited. The feeling spread through her limbs like something greater than adrenalin, burning hot, scalding her innards and arteries. She wanted to fight. She wanted to fight .

Tsuki gripped the haft tight, and stood as the feeling rose up into her throat. Her lips parted. She knew the words. It was only when they passed her lips that she’d realized what she sung.

“~ Velunar Sinkhet Gungnir Tron ~”

Notes:

This was inspired by the likes of "To the Stars" by Hieronym. I thought to myself what it might be like if the Symphogear world eventually went into space, and what it might find, and wound up creating quite a bit of background lore. This story is really just the start, and I even started up a little RPG campaign using this as a setting.

I want more Space Age Magical Girls. Someone go write it!

Chapter 10: 5M370K RPM

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server July 2022 Writing Prompts, later edited.

I chose the prompt 'Sports'

This work was posted on the server anonymously on August 1st, 2022 with the caption:

"coming in late to the party, we have a race! Start your engines, because the skies are going to be torn asunder in their wake!"

Five million, three hundred and seventy thousand revolutions per minute.

That’s how fast my ship’s turbines can spin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the amateur level Senkei Zesshou-3047 Antigravity Racing competition! I’m your host…”

A fragment of an ancient relic, imbued with the power of a song, placed inside a crystalline lattice with perfectly aligned and designed impurities, sealed into a sphere made of metals beyond the dreams of our ancestors, became the core of my ship.

At five hundred thousand revolutions per minute, the heat generated melts steel into a liquid with the viscosity of honey. At two million, it rivals the temperature of the surface of the sun. At its maximum, my ship grinds itself apart into frothing sludge.

It’s a miracle that in the cockpit my burns limit themselves to first degree.

“First on the line we have the crowd favorite, Chris Yukine, sponsored by the Finè Conglomerate, in her lightning-fast road rocket, the Ichaival!”

“Yassai Mossai!” cheered the crowd.

Even at seven thousand kilometers per hour, my ship’s ventral stabilizers can make a hairpin turn on a one hundred meter wide track without losing half of its speed. On straights, it easily reaches half that speed again.

It’s only through constant training, weeks of simulation practice, and a near-military grade onboard computer that I even have the chance to react at these speeds, and turn a fatal crash into something merely severe.

“ Taking over the old ship of the rising star Kanade Amou herself, say hello to Hibki Tachibana, piloting the piercing spear, Gungnir Prime! ”

I can’t take all of the credit, and I may not have won, yet, but, regardless…

“ Next on the line, sponsored by the Yatsuhiro Foundation, subsidiary of Kazanari Clan Enterprises, please welcome Shirabe Tsukuyomi- ”

I, Shirabe Tsukuyomi, built the Shul-Shagana myself.

The cheers were reserved this time around, but I didn’t mind so much. I wasn’t racing for them. I wasn’t racing for fame or my sponsorship or even to get ahead. But winning–even third place–meant one step closer to saving someone more dear to me than any of this.

Thump-Thump-Thump

I jerked up in my seat and gripped onto my controls. What was that? Did one of my mechanics pull the core? Did my cockpit have a last-minute fracture? Would I have to pull out of the race, again ? She was running out of time and-... I snapped my head left and right, and met the cool gaze and blue side ponytail of my chief mechanic.

“You are brooding, Tsukuyomi,” her voice crackled through my headset. Tsubasa lifted her fist from the cockpit window. She was just getting my attention, then.

I flicked my receivers down from my earphones, turning an equally level stare back. “You know how much these races mean to me.”

“That is exactly why you should dispense with your worries and focus on the race itself.” Even while speaking, even on the line, Tsubasa reached in and fiddled with my ship’s internal tubing and tested the tightness and flex of the plating and wires. I may have built the Shul-Shagana, but there’s no one I’d trust more with its maintenance than her and her team.

“I know.” The barest of frowns twitched down on my lips.

“Good. I have advice for you,” Tsubasa said. 

I tilted my head and turned it towards her. I’d already run simulations of the track this whole week, practicing against her, so what-.

“The blind chicane after the downward spiral is not flat. The curve is subtle, but if you take an outside line, you will scrape the chicane’s first corner. Take the middle way, and you will correct yourself.” Tsubasa stood back from my ship and looked up towards the sky, wincing. “I cannot tell you how many times Amou caught me with little tricks such as these. The simulations are insufficient–it’s a further misfortune that the race is two laps. You won’t have any real experience until you race it again.”

I turned forwards again, settling into my seat as the jitters from getting startled faded. Even if I didn’t respond, she knew I’d listened. Middle after the downward spiral near the end of the track. It wasn’t easy to train my muscles to pull out of the spiral on the left without scraping my fins, so compensating in the opposite direction would mean even more adjustment than if I hadn’t trained. I’d need to remember that.

“Who was Kanade-san to you?” I squeezed my control sticks and thumbed the tops.

Tsubasa, halfway back to the pit, stiffened, then turned her head back. “No distractions, Tsukuyomi. But pay attention to Tachibana. You know Yukine and Jeanne are strong pilots, but I would be wary of anyone who would be Amou’s replacement ,” she spat the last word. “Now, win.”

This time, a small smile threatened to appear on my lips. But I pushed it down. I had to save all my smiles for when I deserved them, when all this was done.

“ Pilots! Start your engines! ” called the announcer. I didn’t bother to remember his name, not that I listened–it didn’t really matter, anyway.

The crowd’s cheering only grew louder.

I flicked the engine switch, fearing the worst–a sputter, a catch, or no sound at all. The next second of silence stretched on and on. I gritted my teeth and clenched my eyes.

Thrum , went my ship, rattling until its vibrations and clatter became a low, chord-like hum that refused to fade into the background. F# minor, my mind told me, straining downwards to resolve. 

That same tension flooded me on the onset of my relief, sending a chill up my spine. Even my quickening heartbeat was drowned out by the sheer sound of my ship. Just leaning up put pressure on me to rest back down, as if I was attached to a gyroscope with the Shul Shagana’s relic fragment at its core.

“Hey Twin-tails! You, back there,” came the rough smugness of the crowd favorite. Just ignore her, I told myself. “That’s right, magenta stripes.”

“What do you want, Yukine?” I spoke levely back, copying my mechanic. I couldn’t help but respond.

“How about you go grind the wall on the first corner and I won’t crash you off the side when I lap you.” I could hear her smirk through the receiver.

“Chris-chan, that’s not very nice!” Hibiki Tachibana interjected with a girlish whine. A total rookie in all but skill, so I’d heard. Her mannerisms proved that to me. It’s a race, Hibiki Tachibana, not a middle school cafeteria.

“Yeah, newbie? It’s a race, not a daycare,” Yukine shot back. I guess she and I had more in common than I thought. “And where do you get off on calling me ‘Chris-chan’ anyway, huh?”

“But I just-”

“And you, Twin-tails, what do you say? Give up and don’t total your ship again? I’m doing you a favor, here. I’m gonna’ win anyway.” 

I frowned deeply, furrowing my brow. She didn’t understand–she was just here for the fame, that’s all. “Someone who can’t even beat my mechanic in the simulations has no chance of going professional.”

“Why you…” The grinding of her teeth came clear through my headset. That should shut her up.

“Not you, too,” Hibiki complained. I ignored her. She didn’t understand either.

Chris Yukine, Hibiki Tachibana, Jeanne, a few other no-names. I supposed I was one of those no-names, even if the crowd favorite called me out.

“ This is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Today’s race… the Treasury of Babylon.”

A sudden cacophony of growls and screeches overpowered even the deafening hum of my engine. My heart  nearly jumped into my throat, and my next breath caught in the same place. It was one thing to see it in the simulations, another thing entirely to feel it for real. But I’d been here before, even if it wasn’t real. I could do this.

“ Three! ” The announcer called, matched by the crowd like an echo.

The air above the empty street tore open with a flash of green lightning, exposing the yellow, purple, and blue swirls of energy beyond, and the racetrack built within.

“ Two! ”

My ship hefted up on its dorsal repulsors, rocking my body. Adrenalin flooded me with tingles.

“ One! ”

One hundred and eighty thousand RPM and climbing.

“ GO! ”

I didn’t hear him. I didn’t need to. F# resolved to B. My engine roared.

The portal blurred past, matched by the wide straight track and its lit up railings, so fast that the lights became a glowing line. My body pressed into the seat’s padding as my acceleration soared into digits that should’ve killed me on the spot. I flexed my fingers over my slowly heating control sticks, which vibrated to my ship’s internal chord progression and beats.

Ichaival had already boosted far ahead, followed closely by Gungnir Prime and Jeanne’s Guardian of Io. I frowned. Yukine in first, Tachibana second, Jeanne third, a few others, then myself. I needed to get ahead, but my ship was too patient for that. Five hundred thousand RPM and climbing.

My left arm slowly pushed its stick forwards. Carefully. Carefully! At her speeds, Yukine couldn’t help but crack against the outside wall of the corner before boosting off ahead. Her bursts of acceleration were her strength. All I had to do, however, was race cleanly, and then I’d be faster than anyone else. I just needed to keep my slowly climbing speed steady. My ship would do the rest.

Just before the same corner, Jeanne careened through a group of Noise that had wandered too far, dissolving them on the spot with little more than a wiggle in response. The remaining ash plinked and hissed over my cockpit.

Come on. Keep an acute angle, a good racing line, and- Snap.

I winced as my fin ground harshly against the inner corner wall and snapped off at the tip. I couldn’t have things like ash distracting me!

“I see you’re taking my offer, Twin-tails.” Yukine’s laughter barely came through under the rattling of my ship’s frame.

“Never.” I furrowed my brow. Just third place was fine, that’s all I needed. Keep it steady. Just one step closer… but I could do even better. I flicked my eyes ahead, catching Gungnir strafing swiftly away from a bump off the track by the Guardian of Io.

The next turn wasn’t as sharp, leading into a no-walls straight–I didn’t need to slow down to take it all. One million, one hundred thousand RPM and climbing.

“Val Verde City, right? Three different Moon races, Tokyo Towers championship, and don’t forget about your performance at the Chateau,” Yukine smirked. I bit my lip and gripped my sticks tight–I knew where she was going with this. “What was it? That’s right. Stall, stall, stall, crash, crash, and blackout.” Ichaival bounced sideways off the very edge of the corner, putting her at the perfect angle to boost down the straight.

“Why don’t you just go save us all the trouble, turn around, and limp back to the start.”

“Don’t say that!” came Hibiki again. “You can do it, Shul Shagana!”

“Really? Cheering on your enemy? What’s wrong with you!” Yukine responded.

I shook my head, ignoring their continued bickering. Except… Yukine was right. Failure after failure, not one single medal to my name–I almost had the speed record the last time, too, but…

My eyes jolted up, then widened. My hands felt stiff. The corner! I’d taken it too wide, too easy. Without a wall, at these speeds I’d fly right off the track. I jerked my right stick back, squeezing my fingers over the brake trigger tight enough to hurt. 

It almost wasn’t enough. Half of my dorsal repulsors hung off the track, barely holding on as I swooped past floating Noise and towering obelisks. If there was a jump here, I could’ve ignored the issue and corrected myself, but-. I glanced down. A giant Noise in the shape of a cross hung waiting for me to fall off.

“No…” Panting, I pumped my side thrusters, rocking myself back and forth. I couldn’t see Hibiki or Jeanne ahead anymore. Another racer flew past me. Just one spiteful pilot bumping me and I could…I could…! Was this it, for me and her? I clenched my eyes without closing them. I wasn’t allowed to fall. Kirika was counting on me. I’d do this. Keep everything clean and my ship would do the rest.

I tugged harshly into a right turn, taking my ship nearly three quarters off the track, the chord-like hum of my ship growing dissonant as its repulsors hung over the edge, grinding its underside. Then, I pushed forwards, and with a high-pitched squeal, my turbine thrust me forwards and back into the middle.

The same racer fell steadily behind me, and the three leaders came back into my view. I breathed out in relief. The track spiralled around another obelisk, twisted upside down, and spun from hard corner to soft corner to hard again.

Two million, three hundred thousand RPM and climbing.

I was gaining.

Hissing breath out the corner of my mouth, I kept my steadily increasing speed firm. More noise ash bristled past the Shul Shagana. More nearly-scraped corners came. More no-wall straights kept me on my toes. My fingers rolled over my uncomfortably hot control sticks.

Faster. Faster again. Two million eight hundred thousand RPM and climbing.

And then, I was ahead of Jeanne.

“Changed your mind?” Yukine growled. My lip twitched.

“I’m winning. I promised.” My ship caught up, turn after turn, my clean lines and consistent speed slowly gaining on Ichaival’s insistant wall-bangs and boosting.

“Hey! Last warning, Twin-tails!” The back of her curved thrusters clipped my front tip, not enough to do more than make a loud screech. Gungnir Prime held on to my other side, not giving me nearly enough room.

But in a few more seconds, it wouldn’t matter. Three million RPM and climbing.

Yukine clipped my front again, enough to knock it a few degrees to the side, at the expense of her own speed. Hibiki started to gain on her, too.

“You aren’t getting ahead. I need to win this.” Yukine shouted. “And if that means crashing anyone in my way myself , then-” Ichaival’s rear thruster cracked into my front, scorching a line down the paint with its thruster. “I will!”

“You need to win?” Hibiki shot forwards with a quick boost, drifting ahead of both me and Yukine. “I don’t understand. I just want to race! The way Gungnir shakes and how free it all feels, and how many people get to have fun watching, and even when they cheer!”

Yukine strafed in for another hit, pushing me into the wall enough to grind–enough to break the ends of my fins–not enough to slow me down. I just had to keep it clean, I had the speed, but if Yukine wanted to hit me, I’d have to play it less than clean, just for a second. My heart thundered in my chest, the heat in my cockpit started to get unbearable.

“What are you even talking about?” Yukine called out to Hibiki.

“I’m saying that we should enjoy racing, together!”

I blinked. I’d hardly noticed the way my lips had curved up into a proper smile. The thrill of being this close to first, of being right inside the pack, of being threatened by my fellow racers with the jerking and rumbling and singing of my Shul Shagana in my hands, of the turns and straights swooping past–I… enjoyed racing for racing, too.

I slowed a mere hundred kilometers per hour, turning my ship sideways, dipping away from Yukine’s coming ram. Just this once, a little less clean. My ship could handle it.

“Oh no you don’t!”

It was a feint, of course. Tsubasa had done it to me, in the simulations. I straightened a fraction of a second afterwards. Three million seven hundred thousand RPM and climbing!

Yukine fell behind, boosting–accelerating harder than my ship ever could as the corner ended. But I had Hibiki to help me out. I turned my head and shot her a smile as I strafed just so…

And guided Yukine to ram front-first into Hibiki instead.

I was in first place.

Even with Jeanne crawling back ahead into second, my ship’s steady increase in speed would be simply too fast for her in the end. I’d played the tracks, I had one of the best amatuer racers ever as my head mechanic and mentor. I listened to the sputter-filled shouting match between Yukine and Hibiki behind me.

“I’m winning, Yukine.” I flicked my receivers up in the middle of her angered response, and let out a whoosh of breath. First place. Shul Shagana handled it. The rush–the tingling–slowly faded.

My lips twitched again. What was I doing, having fun. Kirika–she came first. Concentrate. Concentrate! My ship started the loop. Middle. Take the middle, just like Tsubasa said. I couldn’t be having fun when I needed to win for her sake. Hypocrite! I cringed and bit my lip hard. I flexed my hands as they received their first burns of the race.

Another cloud of Noise ash pattered over my scorching cockpit. My fins started to melt. Just two turns left. The blind corner first–almost there. The ash blinded me more than usual. No more smiles, not until I deserved them.

Four million, five hundred RPM and climbing.

As I came out of the blinding cloud, I found myself not in the center, not the outside, but the inside. I was aiming straight for the wall.

I was too fast to course-correct.

I shut my eyes.

Three hundred and twenty thousand RPM… and falling.

Notes:

This was fun to write. Inspired by RedOut and RedOut 2 (which were inspired by WipeOut and F-Zero), I wanted to write Symphogear antigravity racing.

I've actually decided that I want to try making this a full story, (name pending), although progress remains slow as of posting this here.

Also play the Redout games.

Chapter 11: Sleepwalking

Notes:

A prompt written for the r/Symphogear Discord Server October 2022 Writing Prompts.

I chose the prompt 'Worst Nightmare,' with a side of 'Monstergirls'.

This work was posted on the server anonymously on October 31st, 2022 with the caption:

"Miku had thought everything was okay. She thought it would be fine.
She was wrong."

Hibiki was sleepwalking again.

Miku thought this had stopped. She thought Section 2 had fixed the problem, had kept Hibiki from doing… this .

A soft growl of two different voices, one high pitched, the other deep and inhuman, echoed from the bedroom hallway. Soft thumps followed in unnaturally perfect tempo.

Miku shivered, looking towards the hallway for a sign that she was approaching, sneaking, anything like that. She closed her eyes and silently breathed out, turning back towards the drawn curtains, not even a crack of light peeking through. It had to have been two hours since Hibiki started. The digital clock shining softly blue in the dark told her it was 2:04 AM.

Section 2 was supposed to have fixed this! That’s why she even allowed this sleepover in the first place. Miku gently reached her foot under the blanket draped over the room’s table, where Yumi was curled up and hiding. Miku squeezed her leg comfortingly with her toes, and Yumi gripped her ankle like a lifeline in turn.

But now, Miku had to wait, be patient, and make sure Yumi didn’t make any sudden movements or noises, until the time was right to get her out the door. If only the hallway to the door wasn’t the same as the bedroom’s.

Miku took a deep breath and sighed out, preparing herself. Any minute now the air conditioning would turn back on, and they’d use the white noise as cover. She tensed up. This would be their fourth attempt tonight.

Thump…

Thump…

The two-toned growl came again, but louder, more curious. 

A leg made of black static stepped out the open bedroom door, and two glowing red eyes peered around the edge. The growl dipped, almost like a purr, and two equally black static arms swayed loosely down in front of her.

Miku’s eyes met Hibiki’s, and both froze.

Hibiki’s static lips curled up, exposing her sharpened canines as she growled louder, and stalked forwards, step by step by step.

The vents whirred, then whooshed gently with cool air. Hibiki paused and spared it a glance. Miku bit her lip, then slowly tugged her foot out of Yumi’s grasp, glancing down and adjusting the blanket to better cover her. Of all the times for Hibiki to leave her room!

Thump-thump-thump-

Miku’s eyes snapped back up towards Hibiki, who had rapidly crossed the room right up to the side of the couch, still staring at her intently.

Act normal.

“H-hibiki.” Miku scooted aside for her, swallowing. She took a shuddering breath, the continued. “It’s late, you should really go back to bed.”

Act normal. Act normal. Act normal!

Despite her shaking fingers, she reached out towards Hibiki. Hibiki’s blackened cheek leaned forwards and pressed into Miku’s palm, nuzzling it like a cat. In any other situation Miku might’ve thought the gesture endearing.

Instead the black static prickled and scraped at her hand like steel wool.

Hibiki crawled up onto the couch, draping herself halfway over Miku’s lap, her legs occupying the rest of the seat. Her hands reached up to paw at Miku’s shoulders, and she sniffed at her between twin growls.

Miku winced. She hated this. She hated this even more than before. Hibiki was supposed to be better. The girl who saved the world deserved better than to become a… someone who would… Even calling for help was a risk. If Hibiki got violent like this, then… Miku squeezed her eyes shut, banishing the tears before they could form. It would be better in the morning, when Hibiki woke up properly. She could already imagine how Hibiki would look once she broke it to her that it happened again and-

Sniff… sniff…

Hibiki turned her nose towards the table and bent down, sniffing the air. She growled like a wave, her chest rising, her hands parting from Miku to curl and clench on the air with nails like claws. Red eyes narrowed into slits as her teeth clacked closed and ground.

Yumi whimpered.

Miku’s eyes widened.

Hibiki’s hand shot forwards towards the table, but Miku gripped her wrist and chin and pointed her face back towards her own.

“I’m here. I’m here, Hibiki.” She forced her voice low, even as her heart pounded furiously in her chest. 

Hibiki’s glowing eyes softened–as much as they could–and her growling quieted. Still, her head tilted, and she nudged at Miku’s sternum.

“I’m safe, okay? Let’s go to bed now, okay?” Hibiki’s prey forgotten, she pressed back against Miku. Miku gently stood, grunting as she pushed up against Hibiki’s far more considerable weight. She took her hand, and started towards the bedroom door.

Just act natural, and then get Yumi out.

Miku opened the bedroom door. If only Hibiki didn’t have the sense to open them back up when she was like this. “I’ll be right there. I just need to go to the bathroom. You stay in here, alright?” She closed the door and let it click shut.

A breath she hadn’t fully let out whooshed from her lungs. A pang of dizziness hit her, but she shook it off.

Now.

Miku slipped up to the table and reached her foot through again, patting Yumi twice. Slowly, Yumi crept out from under the blankets, scooting backwards, kneeling step by kneeling step, and palm by palm.

Thunk .

Yumi hissed in. Her head had hit the table! Miku snapped her head silently towards the bedroom door, and both waited, counting.

One… two…

Ten seconds later, and both sunk, Yumi ducking even lower to keep herself from making the same mistake. And from there, it was just a slow walk to the door, just so long as Hibiki didn’t come out again.

She hated this.

Miku bit her lip. She’d have her Hibiki back in the morning. Not the Hibiki who could tear down walls, or the Hibiki that had to fight to save the world. Not the Hibiki she thrust into a world of pain and danger just with one little invitation. Her Hibiki. Miku’s brow furrowed. Maybe this time she could get Section 2 to take the relic out of Hibiki entirely.

Yumi took her hand and squeezed it, and she nodded. They’d already wasted precious seconds. Quietly, stepping in time with each other, the two made for the door.

Soft growls and light scraping came from the closed bedroom door, but they didn’t pause–Yumi had to get out as soon as possible, as safe as possible.

They’d already passed the door. It was already further than the last three attempts. Yumi breathed out a sigh of relief, and pointed a tired smile towards Miku, just barely visible in the dark.

The air conditioner rattled and turned off.

“Why…” Yumi whimpered. Miku put a finger sharply up to her lips, and Yumi’s eyes widened in fear. She quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her breath…

Only to realize the sound she made.

The doorknob turned. Hibiki heard her! Miku pushed at Yumi’s back–they were past the bedroom door, the safest thing to do was to run for it.

So Yumi ran.

Just as Yumi reached the front door, just as she put her hand on the handle, the bedroom door swung open and cracked against the far wall. Hibiki’s red eyes snapped into a glare and she roared, leaping like a tiger towards Yumi.

With all of her track-runner’s skill Miku charged for the door, slamming her back against Yumi and splaying her arms wide, facing Hibiki.

“Hibiki!” she cried.

Hibiki’s fingers clawed into the door, stopping herself. Her face halted right in front of Miku’s, nose to nose, eyes level with Miku’s, wide as if confused.

Yumi, behind her, struggled with the door, twisting and turning the knob as she tried to pry the door open just enough to squeeze through against both Miku and Hibiki’s combined weight, panting and crying out behind clenched teeth.

“No, no! Why…” Yumi whimpered, “S-stop! Let me… let me out!”

Hibiki jerked her head over, but Miku clasped her hands on both of Hibiki’s static cheeks. “I’m right here. Hibiki, look at me.” She couldn’t even start to keep the desperate shaking out of her voice. Yumi kept pulling at the door.

Hibiki started to move her head again.

“Look at me!” Miku shouted, shaking Hibiki’s head by the cheeks. “I’m here. Look. I’m safe!”

Hibiki growled lower, her hands slowly tearing from the door, sprinkling splinters onto the cowering Yumi below.

“Aah!” Yumi ducked, sliding halfway down the door. “Hina-chan… Miku, help-”

“That’s it… come on, we’re going to bed,” Miku nearly ordered. Acting natural was out of the question. No… gentle voice, keep it gentle. “Let’s go, come on.” Miku guided her back, taking one step, then another, then-

Miku yelped as she tripped over Yumi’s splayed legs, letting go of Hibiki and falling to the floor.

Hibiki turned her head towards Yumi, the growl in her throat rising into a two-toned roar once again. But this time, there was no Miku to stop her.

She lurched forwards, catching Yumi by the arms with her claws, pulling her from the door only to slam her back against it, digging the doorknob into her lower back.

“Aagh!” Yumi shrieked, pulling and tugging uselessly at Hibiki’s wrists.

“Hibiki!”

Hibiki’s claws sunk into Yumi’s arms.

Yumi’s cries cut short, replaced with silent panicked gasps.

“Hibiki, stop right now!” Miku lept onto Hibiki, wrapping her arms tightly around Hibiki’s waist, tugging at her.

She wasn’t listening. Hibiki wasn’t listening. She raised Yumi up, her jaws parting as she approached her neck. Miku’s eyes widened in horror. This was the worst possible outcome. People would hear, Yumi could die , and worst of all… Hibiki would wake up and realize what she’d done.

No, she could still stop this.

Miku steeled herself, pushing herself off from Hibiki as she charged towards the bedroom door. This would hurt. Natural? No. Convincing…?

Miku put her fingers against the frame, and swung the bedroom door on top of them with all her might.

She couldn’t stifle her cry of pain, but that wasn’t the point.

Hibiki jerked her head back towards Miku, releasing Yumi in a crumpled heap on the floor. She charged the bedroom door, tearing it off its hinges and ripping into it with her claws, even more harshly than before. Biting, tearing, crushing, the noise was a cacophony. The door had hurt Miku.

Miku fell back against the frame, clutching her fingers. “Ghh… G-go!”

Yumi rose, her arms shaking–even in the dark Miku could see splotches through her pajamas.

“Go!” Miku cried again.

With all her effort, adrenalin shooting through her, Yumi gripped the knob like a vice and twisted it, pulling it open at last. She pushed through it, then slammed it closed, and her footsteps echoed muffled into the room.

Safe.

Miku slumped down against the frame, her breathing slowing, ignoring the pain and the few splinters from the torn door.

Her sad gaze fell on Hibiki, whose growling was calming with the destruction of the door. Miku choked out a laugh as she started to cry properly. Relief? Terror? Sympathy? Miku didn’t know.

Hibiki ducked down to her and pawed at her chest again, nuzzling at her cheeks to wipe the tears away, licking at her in what might have been soothing any other night. When Hibiki woke up…

“Oh Hibiki… I’m sorry.” Miku wrapped her arms tightly around her, squeezing her close. 

“I’m so sorry.”

…

_-_-_

 

Yumi slammed her front door behind her, gripping her upper arms tightly, skin pale as the moon in shock and terror. Her teeth chattered, her breath came short and stilted, and she slid down the door with a heavy thump, doubly startling her roommates–her friends–out of their sleep.

But as Shiori and Kuriyo found her and rushed to call an ambulance, to clean her arms and dress her wounds…

 

… They all failed to notice the growing black static from a prick on her neck.

Notes:

Happy Halloween, everyone :3

(Six months late shush)