Taimanin Asagi Quest: Episode 0

(The following Quest is set in a very, very loose interpretation of the Taimanin Asagi setting. This isn't an inherently adult-rated Quest, despite the setting inspiration.

Also, this is a second shot at it, hopefully at a better time.)

It is the end of the world.

The plantation is a vast place. Dark, oppressive, tightly clustered trees and hedges rise like the walls of a labyrinth, the night lit by the flicker of flashlights and under-muzzle torches. For five hours, war - Open war - has been waged here, in the shadow of the grand, crumbling manor that looms inexorably across it all.

The house is dead and dark, all power killed in the first, furious exchange. Behind you, the main doors are splintered on the pitted floor - where breaching charges blew them from their hinges. The windows are smashed holes, too, the writhing mosaics fused and charred; Smoke, the glow of flames, issues from all around.

Bodies are everywhere.

The roof has fallen in, and - overhead - thunder rumbles, lightning flickering across the pitch-black clouds. Every step crunches glass, or disturbs debris.

There's blood in your mouth. Your eufiber armor is caked in gore, plastered by it - Your ears ringing with tinnitus, lungs aching with every sharp-edged breath. You can feel glass slicing your hands, like a thousand papercuts; a vile throbbing light in the distance, from the main hall...

The first wave went in, an hour ago - After the first demands were issued, after sniper fire shattered the sweeping spotlights and punched men from their feet in bloody coughs. Then it came down to the crack-crack-crack of gunfire and murder in the dark.

Everything aches. You remember - Keeping your head down. Stumbling after the other Investigators. A blur of motion, a shout-

"-he's got a-"

Then the blast. The explosion. Wringing you inside-out, blasting the world away.

(More)

And this is why making /qst/ worksafe was dumb

They're scattered around you. Torn to pieces by the blast. Face-up, staring at nothing.

Greasy smoke curls down the hall. It reeks of blood and flesh and human waste.

The smell of death.

Six of them. The whole squad - The *whole squad* -

Your first operation. All hands on deck; Special, first, second and third class. And you - Provisionary-class. Fresh out of the Academy. Meant to be an adjutant, a supporter, trusted with nothing and no-one.

And now-

It's your *first day*, and you're slipping in gore, every breath aching like jagged glass.

"-Boy." Rasping breath, hissing through teeth. The lift of a hand, amid the pile of bodies.

The Old Man. His body is crumpled against the wall - A jagged spike of sharpnel pins him in place, blood leaking through his vest. His pale face is paler than ever, the lines in his weathered features stark; when he speaks, blood gushes from his mouth, drools down his chin.

But those blue eyes are as harsh, as fierce, as unyielding as ever.

"Boy. You're-" A racking cough wrenches his form - Harsh, brittle laughter as he chokes on his own blood. His lips are peeled back from his teeth, flecked with blood.

"-You're still *alive*-"

[ ] "Sir - I'll get you out of this. I swear."
[ ] "The medics, they'll - Sir, you have to *hold on*-"
[ ] "I...They're all dead. I - I can't-"
[ ] "I'll get help, I'll-"
[ ] "Jesus, I'm the *only one left*-"
[ ] Write-in

>[ ] Write-in
Screaming. Just screaming.

Seconding this.

>[X] "Jesus, I'm the *only one left*-"

>[x] "The medics, they'll - Sir, you have to *hold on*-"

You try. You try to get up-

Your hand slips on something. Skids, a welter of black, arterial gore.

Inspector Second-Class Kyoichi. Ruptured by the blast, face-up, his eyes staring blindly at the ceiling.

You remember him in the first few blank moments of combat, a friendly giant with a great spear in one fist, on his lips a gently humorous smile as though the horror to come was only some friendly jest. His face - curiously untouched - still wears that same smile.

Maybe he thinks death is funny, too.

Nausea blurs your vision. You can feel a shriek - A wild, mad shriek - clawing at your throat. It burns your lungs, wrenches your gut as you feel the beginnings of that raw scream boil from deep within-

You turn your head to the side just in time, as you dry-heave, retch. The only thing worse than throwing up would be vomiting on the corpse. There is very little inside you to bring up; Acrid drool spatters your chin, your gloved hands wet with gore.

Your ears ring. But your head is clearer, now.

> [X] "Jesus, I'm the *only one left*-"

You're-

Just *moments* ago-

How can they all be dead?

(Continued)

this

A rasp. A dry, rattling exhalation.

No. Not all of them.

Not yet.

> [X] "The medics, they'll - Sir, you have to *hold on*-"

On your hands and knees. Heedless of the splinters of glass embedded in your legs, in your palms.

The Old Man. Inspector First-Class Retsudo. Fierce, upright, grim. Weathered, lined face wizened beyond belief - Still powerful, heedless of the twisting of age.

You have never seen him look so small. Beyond old, ancient - Possessed of incomprehensible age. Exhausted, in pain. It squeezes the breath from your lungs, and wipes the words from your brain.

He's dying.

You reach for your radio, but only static comes over the channel. Corospant flickers, dimly, at the end of the hall - A building charge that makes your mouth go dry. The medikit, where's the...

His hand closes on your shoulder. Grips tight, seized into a claw.

"Too late," he rasps. His eyes are hard chips of ice - Gone somewhere cold, gone somewhere beyond the pain, facing down death for just a few moments more and insolently staring it down...

He nods in the direction of the foul, flickering light - the effort costs him.

"-Finish it, Boy."

[ ] "But-"
[ ] "I - I can't do it alone."
[ ] "If - I can get *help*-"
[ ] "I won't leave you here."
[ ] "I will. I swear."
[ ] Write-in

[X] "I won't leave you here."

>Watch him die in front of you, and, in a daze, finish it.

>I will. I swear.

[X] "I won't leave you here."

>[x] "I won't leave you here."

>[ ] "I will. I swear."

> [X] "I won't leave you here."

He laughs. It is a hoarse, brittle sound - leaving his cracked lips as a strained whisper.

The fierce claw latching on your shoulder with a talon's grip relaxes, fractionally, and something thumps against your chest. His other hand - and the pitch-black case in it. The edges of the case are scuffed, pitted from a thousand butcherings...But you can feel the quiet lethality of the thing within.

"You won't," he says - Voice a papery whisper, now.

"*Proud* of you, boy. All of us."

"Always-"

Always-

Sir?

Those cold eyes grow colder still, and he says nothing more.

> [X] I will. I swear.

Through a haze of smoke - It's the smoke, it has to be - you see what he has given you.

Pitch-black. Heavy, greater than the weight of the world. It is not much to look at; A rectangle of black steel, held in place by a complex electromagnetic lock. Tiny sigils acid-etched into the metal...

The world moves. But now you no longer feel adrift. Now, you feel the tug of the anchor, pulling you round to face the rising tide.

Your hand finds the release catch. A tiny spot - smaller than the circle a child might make of thumb and forefinger - turns the color of old blood.

Then fresh blood.

Then open flame.

(Continued)

That hungry crimson light wells through the cracks - Pure, somehow, primal, like a note of defiance against the foul illumination that beats against you.

When the first Incursion happened, the weakness of modern weaponry - Of demon-fighting, under practical conditions - became all-too-clear. Fire and blades had far greater efficacy than gunfire - the primitive qualities of edge, and blunt force, and flame dealing greater harm to the primordial entities the first Investigators faced. There are studies that postulate a link between damage and ritual function; fire, cutting, stabbing tools were all essential elements of ancient sorcery.

It seems only fitting that demons - raveners, products of the primeval void - remember the instruments that were used to invoke them.

Every Cypher is unique. They are not mass-produced, not churned off some anonymous assembly line-

Each one is taken from a demon. Made from it.

As tradition goes - A demon the Investigator has killed. Personally.

The case opens, blossoming like a steel flower, and you lift from it's dust-dry depths-

[ ] An elegant blade of singular and lethal function.
[ ] A great crushing mace few could ever hope to lift.
[ ] A baroque executioner's blade.
[ ] A fanged, hissing chain-link viper, gleaming with razor barbs.
[ ] A gun of alien and grotesque design.
[ ] A long-bladed spear, tall and cruel and spiked.
[ ] Pick two of the above.

Mace & executioner's blade.

>[X] A baroque executioner's blade.

And
[X] A fanged, hissing chain-link viper, gleaming with razor barbs.

>[ ] A baroque executioner's blade.
>[ ] An elegant blade of singular and lethal function.

(You're likely already aware of it, but selecting two options creates a Cypher with the combined properties of both types. I'll give it about ten minutes before I close the voting.)

this one mate

> [X] A baroque executioner's blade.

Your hands close around the Cypher's hilt, and it fits your grasp as if made for it.

It is a two-handed sword, more than a meter and a half in length - Single-edged, exceptionally sharp, with a cleaver's broad blade. The secondary grip encloses your hand in a cage of brutal spikes, ebon thorns that curve outwards, like the vicious teeth of a bear-trap.

You've seen the Old Man kill with the blade. With the thorns. Even the jagged pommel-spike, meant for driving into eyes and through skulls.

> CYPHER - KOSCHEI - RANK [A]
> CLASS: HEAVY
> Effect: When KOSCHEI strikes a surface, it leaves a redly-glowing mark that can be invoked - Causing a jagged blade of rusted iron to erupt forth. Up to six marks can be placed at any one time.

The brutal weapon's blunt edge rests on your shoulder. The weight makes you stagger, but only for a moment - It impels you forward, one solid step at a time, teeth gritted as you breathe the agony away.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Forward, into the foul, throbbing light.

(Continued)

Through the smoke-

You step into the vast chamber beyond, and choke. It feels like thick cords are wrapping around your chest and mind - Constricting your breath, torturing your thoughts. Impressions hit you in a jumble, twisted by the chaos of the day-

Sludge.

The light, pulsing in all directions.

Shadows.

Walls of damp obsidian, spine-encrusted and laced with throbbing runes and sigils that flex and coil with a life of their own.

Smoke.

A pillar of the foulest light. A wound in the fabric of reality, bleeding alien illumination. It is a ragged gash, like a bloody eye - things move beyond the tear. There a sounds: A medley of screams and echoes and cobwebs and moans. It squirms, *throbs*, like a membrane...

And nausea cramps your guts for the second time, as you realize-

It is not an eye at all.

What you are witnessing is a birth.

A battle of titanic proportions has taken place, here. Dozens of dead, sprawled across the tiled floor. Inspectors and cultists alike - the chamber warps dimensions, reaching away beyond the curve of space, the jumbled corpses covering the endless floor into infinity.

So many dead. So many, many-

And then comes the only sound that could possibly drag your attention away from the abdomination that is yet-to-come; the click of a hammer being drawn back. A figure in the dark - Eufiber armor smudged with dust and blood, one fist closed around the grips of no less than three Cyphers; the metal cases knocking together with dull thumps.

In his other hand, he holds a gun.

"-Identify yourself." The voice is calm, level - a pale face turning towards you, as you feel that faint itch right between your eyes-

[ ] "Shoot me if you have to. I'm ending this now."
[ ] "There's no time-"
[ ] "-What *happened* here?"
[ ] Show your badge.
[ ] "Inspector third-class Ryou. You're *alive*?"
[ ] Write-in

>[X] Show your badge.

> What you are witnessing is a birth.

So it's a giant vagina?

>[ ] Show your badge.

A non adult Asagi quest? Are you kidding?

(Probably, but let's see how far we can get. Writing now.)

Your badge-

It's not much. Just a small shield of metal, enough to fit into the palm of your hand - But it gleams. It has survived the carnage, survived the explosion, the filth of the days before, without a mark on it.

Inspector Third-Class Ryou looks at you. Simply looks.

He's young. Almost as young as you are, with fine, almost delicate features - Yet he is exceptional. To already be promoted to the rank of full Inspector - There are the whispers of nepotism, of course. Darker rumors still. But to see him alive - almost casually so - amid the plain of death-

He lowers the weapon. Holsters it. Reaches down, to prise - Gently but firmly - another Cypher from a clutching hand.

The rest of the hand's owner lies several meters away.

"Provisionary-Class user," he says, formally. He turns the case over his hand, checking for damage - As all the while, the tear in reality continues to swell. "-You should retreat. There is still time to signal for the sterilization of the area."

A glance, over his shoulder.

"The effect is expanding with greater efficiency than expected," Ryou continues - As if he's standing in some clean, air-conditioned lecture theatre. "I will delay the entity, while you withdraw."

[ ] "Like hell you are."
[ ] "What are you *doing*?"
[ ] "Not alone, you won't."
[ ] "-How much time do we have?"
[ ] "'Sterilization'? But that means, everyone will-"
[ ] Write-in

>[ ] "Not alone, you won't."
>[ ] "-How much time do we have?"

this

> [X] "Not alone, you won't."

His brow furrows.

"Provisionary-class, I formally request that you withdraw."

As if.

"I could make it an order."

He could try.

> [X] "-How much time do we have?"

Ryou hesitates. His eyes flick to his watch, which has somehow survived intact.

"I-" he begins, a frission of alarm in his voice-

You hear - *Drip*.

A mist rises in the air. Blood, parting from the corpses with slow gravity - thin strands braiding together, running in long rivulets that curl and twist in their course towards the burning tear in the fabric of the world. When blood touches the base of the gate, it *crackles* - a silverfire glow that stretches out tentacles of light into the floor and walls, snapping and hissing and spitting sparks-

And then the storm hits.

The ground shakes. The chamber flashes, white and red and green - Ryou staggers, not quite to his knees, as you plant KOSCHEI into the cracked floor and hold on for dear life-

There is a howl. A maelstrom of light and heat. Light the color of nightmare, pulsing forth.

(Continued)

There is a shriek-

Straight out hell, there is a shriek-

It is a cloud. It is a serpent. It is a devil. It is an endlessly shifting riot of shapes and forms, gathering, condensing, *defining* itself into something wholly terribly, something inhuman. A voice thunders with a bellow that shakes the abyss, carrion features splitting along a vulture's break crammed with fangs - No, a shark's maw. No, a leering skull swollen with worms. It has wings, great wings that beat with the force of a hurricane, sparks and smoke coiling from each leathery pinion-

Black-barbed claws. Hooks and talons. A crown of pagan horns. Deep-set eyes that burn with ruin.

It is male. Grotesquely so, obscenely so, a huge form fully forty feet tall. Corded with rippling muscle that pulses beneath raw red flesh, as it convulses through it's birth-agonies - Still draped in that hellish, juddering light that spears out in all directions in lances of lightning as those great scarred wings shake forth from a prison of skin-

The first eruption comes. A body flips over, pulverized. There is a grotesque *sucking* sound-

Blood. Organ-matter. Spiralling through the air. Again and again, like short-fused grenades. An awful shape, taking form in the demon's hand-

Ryou is frozen. He stands as if he has been locked in place, frozen forever - Caught between one moment and the next.

The weapon combines sword and butcher's cleaver and axe. It is made from the bones of dead men, and solid delusion - Rippling, gasping with pleasure as that vast spined fist closes around it. Organs throb within it, and winking eyes, and, and-

-And that is all you see of the eight-meter-long blade, as it comes howling towards you.

[ ] Write-in

Try to dodge and cut his arm.

Evade like a wild man and call to Ryou to snap out of his stupor.

DOOOOODGE!!!!

Ryou-

*Move*-

No time for subtlety. You slam into him, from the side - He goes reeling, staggering for one instant before the training takes over, becoming an evasive roll as the blade whips past-

You're strong, but not as fast as he is. Your breath hisses from your lungs as the chattering blade *rips*-

The air around it ripples, as it is whipped and heated. That obscene blade is a blur, raw funnels of madness woven to a killing edge. The few bodies not burst and ruptured liquify, with the speed of its passage.

Your eufiber armor stiffens, and that alone saves you. The great swing rips through the back of your vest, close enough to score a bloody gash across one shoulder; It burns, burns like nothing on earth, and it punches the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground and tumble-

Ignore the pain. Ignore it.

And with a roar wrenching through your gritted teeth, you slam KOSCHEI's blade into the meat of the towering demon's arm. The answering howl of fury makes your vision blur, makes your ears ring - When that arm whips past, it drags you with it, your feet skidding in the gore underfoot; You can't find your footing, it's all you can do to *hold on*...

> MARK: 1/6

-With a sickening lurch, your feet leave the ground.

(Continued)

(Gentlemen, a very quick explanation of the combat system - You have the following HP levels; Unharmed, Lightly Wounded, Wounded, Critically Wounded, Maimed and Dead.

Your armor downgrades any injury you receive: Eufiber armor has the following levels - No Damage, Lightly Damaged, Damaged, Critical Damage and Destroyed that degrade as it continues to take damage.

Momentum is your bonus ability - Consecutive hits improve your Momentum rating. At present, you can hold up to 3 Levels of Momentum. The higher your Momentum rating, the higher the passive accuracy bonus you receive - Each round, you can choose to expend Momentum for a damage bonus, or an evasive bonus.

Each time you're unable to land a blow on your opponent during an exchange, your Momentum drops by a single level.)

You're hoisted into the air by the demon-thing - You can see veins creeping along the wound-site, arteries and cords of raw muscle lashing out, gripping Koschei's blade-

And you *torque*, twisting in midair. The executioner's blade *carves*, ripping through flesh as if skinning an apple; Your blade whipping out in a sharp diagonal, leaving a complex arc of fountaining blood as you rip the weapon free through sheer mindless force-

The demon's blood steams where it hits you. God, you can feeling it *eating* into your armor, feel the eufiber boil and distort beneath it-

You hit the ground hard, on your back. A bolt of pain shoots through you, the ragged gash across your shoulder instantly packed with grit. But as you try - try - to get your spasming legs working again-

A shadow falls over you. Burning yellow eyes. Charnel breath.

For one moment, you have the demon's full attention. Koschei's blade bangs against the ground (MARK: 2/6) leaving a glowing scar, at the reeking titan rears back, raising one vast fist to smash you to gore-

CONDITION: LIGHTLY WOUNDED
ARMOR: DAMAGED
MOMENTUM: LEVEL 1

[ ] Write-in

....the quest setting literally designed from the ground up to facilitate big-titted ninja women being raped into submission isn't adult-oriented?

Well alright then.
Good luck with that.

post makes zero sense, tg is blue

Roll to the side, and let this Super Meat Boy cosplay reject skewer his fist.

Roll towards the demon, between its feet to make it harder for it to aim its fist without taking a step back.
Flip through between its legs and slice through its Achilles tendon as we pass.

I'd like to cut its balls off and make a ruin of its cock, but we're not good enough yet nor do we have enough Momentum.

That isn't true.

There is 1 relatively flat girl.

(Do you want to set off both spikes - The one in the demon's arm, and the one on the ground - or just one?)

I don't see why not. Sure, both of them, in tandem.

Depends, how far do the spikes extend once the mark has been set off, and exactly where is the demon in proximity to the one on the ground. For maximum effect, I'd like to wait until the demon is standing directly above it with his legs on both sides of it, allowing a clear shot at his cock and balls. Seriously, if this setting is anything like any other hentai I've seen, those things may just be the most dangerous part of his body.

Gotta agree with this.
I want this thing castrated before we kill it, if at all possible.

>if this setting is anything like any other hentai I've seen, those things may just be the most dangerous part of his body.
Then you should also understand that attacking that region is useless because everything loses to a cock.

E̲v̲e̲r̲yt̲h̲i̲n̲g.

You try-

Move, move, *move*-

There is a sound. An insect buzz. The whine of a projectile-caster, spewing forth a single vile shell - A barbed harpoon, slow-moving enough to be seen, droning like a glittering hornet.

It hits the demon in the side, and explodes. Sharpnel sprays outwards, a noxious hail of needle-slivers that does hideous tissue damage; the titanic shape staggering, howling, as a great crescent of foul gore gushes from the impact site.

The spined fist comes down anyway.

But Ryou's bought you time. Enough time to roll aside, Koschei's blade scraping dully against the battered floor as you miss decapitating yourself by mere inches - Your finger curling hungrily around the remote activation trigger...

The ground erupts. A ten-foot spear of iron spews forth - a single hiltless blade, tendrils of rusted metal crawling across the ground, blind, questing. The angle is wrong - too sudden, too abrupt - but the descending fist spears into it like a body onto a stake-

The *yowl* of catastrophic agony nearly bursts your eardrums. That fist snatches away - ripping free of the spike - as the red-fleshed monster reels, roaring with distress as the *second* spike rips through the flesh of it's sword-arm; It tears *through* it, the tongue of the blade punching through corded muscle and meat, the creature's substances geysering from the bloody internal wounds, steaming and spitting as it hits the ground and begins to eat into the stones...

You are moving. You wrench yourself to your feet - Adrenaline sings in your veins - without enough clearance to roll; Koschei's blade bangs against the ground (MARK: 1/6) in the intervening distance, the tip drawing sparks as it skids along the flagstones. You turn, in a muscle-ripping effort, carving the executioner's blade towards the pitted flesh of one backward-jointed leg-

And it *kicks* you away.

(Continued)

How the hell did you underline text?

You feel a rib snap. You are *flung*, bodily, through the air as if shot from a cannon. The world tumbles, end-over-end, in sickening anticipation of the pain to come-

-A glimpse of Ryou firing a last barb-spear, flinging his Cypher down; He has a spitting, hissing rapier in one hand, the half-moon grin of an axe in the other - mismatched blades crossing, as he lunges forward-

You hit the ground so hard, you actually-

BLACK.

The world returns, though a haze of pain. Blurred shapes moving, just beyond the edge of perception-

You spear Koschei's point into the ground - Hauling yourself up on it. A coal of raw pain burns in your lungs, and you taste blood - foul with fatigue poisons - in your mouth, as you hawk and spit.

Ryou is fighting the demon. He is slashing, stabbing - Never stopping to parry, rolling, weaving past blows that would speed a man in two. He is dancing between the bloody-tipped blurs, leaping above vengeful thrusts, spinning through the demon's blows like hail. He moves as if time has slowed down, a heartbeat ahead of his foe's attacks-

He's as fast - you realize, dimly - as you are strong.

There is something breathtaking about the whole thing, something almost as wonderful as it is horrible. But - when you glimpse it - you see Ryou's face set in a grimace of effort, even as he gives ground; Again - and again - and again-

He does not parry, because he cannot. A single impact would turn him into a smear of blood.

A glancing blow rips the rapier from his hand - He slashes the axe across the demon's knuckles, leaps high over the carving sword as he thumbs the quick-release catch. A metal case goes flying, and - Like a magician's trick - a toothed scimitar is in his hands before he hits the ground-

Held at bay. Total stalemate.

And then you make a gesture of your own.

(Continued)

Probably by using individual special characters that have underline.

nevermind

t̲e̲s̲t̲

U+0332

Alright, now you gotta tell me how you did that.

[U+0332]test?[/U+0332]

The demon's organ is a gnawing entity - A fanged serpent-mouth gnashing venom-dripping teeth. It lunges, champing at the air - *extending*, in a warped, obscene parody of an erection, seething with hunger-

Lunging across the glowing scar left by KOSCHEI's blade.

This time, when the blade erupts forth-

This time, the howl that follows - that makes the world wobble on its axis, that makes your teeth rattle, your skull ache - it of more than fury. It is a howl of pain. It is a shriek of offense, and it gives new strength to your battered limbs, pushes down the burning in your lungs.

You're on your feet, now, without knowing it. Every breath aches, but adrenaline sings it's high song through your veins. Ryou has backed away from the creature, too, his expression never changing as he watches the thing's thrashing agonies-

...Is that the slightest hint of a smile, in those dead eyes?

It is thrashing. Flailing with the blade. Great, wild sweeps. It is impossible to approach, as the creature's fury plays itself out - On its knees, while the two of you stand.

Ryou turns.

"Provisionary-Class user," he says, and lifts his toothed scimitar in salute. Tiny gaping mouths writhe along the blade's length, tasting the agony in the air.

The only things demons loathe more than humans are each other.

[ ] "Let's finish this."
[ ] "-Together, then?"
[ ] "One last charge, then. Let's get this done."
[ ] "Not so formal."
[ ] "Third-class Ryou."
[ ] Write-in

>[ ] "Third-class Ryou."
>[ ] "Let's finish this."

>[ ] "Let's finish this."

>[X] "Third-class Ryou."
>[X] "Let's finish this."

>[ ] "Let's finish this."
There's time for talk when the thing is dead.

Haha, lovely. Gotta hit em in the dick.
>[ ] "Third-class Ryou."
>[ ] "Let's finish this."

There's a character that modifies another character by adding an underline.

You can find it in charmap and it has that code (U+0332)

what the fuck

I wasn't even aware Taimanin Asagi had a plot honestly. What was it about?

> [X] "Third-class Ryou."
> [X] "Let's finish this."

The merest suggestion of a nod-

And then you are running. You are charging.

The weariness, the pain - It lifts. Your blood is up, and you are charging, sprinting right towards the crippled titan. Blazing eyes glare hate.

It feels like throwing yourself into a void in reality.

Flashes of battle-

When the demon's fist rockets towards you, you dodge to either side - You feel the wind of the blow's passage, close, so achingly close as Ryou weaves aside, virtually spinning. He plants his feet on solid round, drives forward in a head-down sprint.

The blade comes next, and you meet it head-on. KOSCHEI is braced in both hands, the sword of shrieking bone howling towards you-

The crash of impact sends a peal of force rippling through the dust. Your feet dig in, as you brace - You're being pushed back, an inch at a time, fighting to keep yourself upright - every muscle screaming agony. Your vision blurs, your pulse hammering in your ears with each lurching beat-

Ryou's arm whipcracks, blurringly fast-

The demon's eye explodes. A whistling shriek cracks the stones, and the pressure eases. You raise KOSCHEI in both fists, bring it down in a savage, gutting blow-

Jagged spikes answer your call. Not one, not two, but *six* - spearing from every direction at once, driving through the creature's mangled flesh - spearing into it again and again, impaling it in place - A central blade spearing up through the demon's torso.

(Continued)

Ryou's feet sink into the tortured red flesh of the demon's arm. He keeps going, keeps *running*. Finding purchase, impossibly - His last two Cyphers are pitons, stabbing again and again, scaling a wall of flesh as he throws himself full-force into the fray. Flesh ribbons, beneath the whirlwind of knives - He is on the creature's blind side, as it tries to turn to meet him, braying with pain, only barely cognizant of the gouting wounds that are killing it-

Your first blow rips through the demon's throat. Boiling gore hails down on you.

Your second cuts right through it's lower jaw, as a maw hinges open to bite. Rank effluvium spews forth.

And now it struggles to turn its injured head away. Half-blind, tormented, trapped, one remaining eye glares madly at you - Red veins stitching through the burning yellow orb as you close both hands around KOSCHEI's hilt...

And *swing*.

Right into that mad, staring eye. Through the thick skull plate, all the way to the hilt.

When the edge carves into the demon's brain, it screams like you are murdering the world.

And perhaps you are.

....

...

..

.

(Continued)

An electronic beep. Another.

Again. *Again*.

It becomes a drone. A buzz. A relentless sound, again and again-

-And you wake up.

DARK.

Your eyes are thick, crusted with sleep. There is the taste of quinine in your mouth - A cold, clammy sweat clinging to you. The blur in front of you resolves into numerals, as your hand comes down on the alarm - You fumble for the switch, hit it once, then again.

The sound, mercifully, stops.

6:59

6:59

7:00

...That dream again. How long ago was it, now? Since that day?

[ ] Five years.
[ ] Ten years.
[ ] Fifteen years.

>[X] Five years.

>[ ] Five years.
I hope we got a reputation as a mangler of genitalia, a symptom of our PTSD.

>[ ] Five years.

You can't post sexy quest writings on /qst/, or at least that was the rule when I first went on /qst/.

Five years.

Five.

Sometimes, it feels like everything after that is a blur.

Perhaps part of you will always be there, in that endless night and the long, long mourning that followed.

Still-

[ ] ...Longing for revenge.
[ ] ...Trying to do the right thing.
[ ] ...Hoping to make the Old Man proud.
[ ] ...Hoping to prove yourself.
[ ] ...Trying to come to terms with your loss.
[ ] ....Write-in.

>[ ] ...Trying to do the right thing.
>[ ] ...Hoping to make the Old Man proud.

>[ ] ...Hoping to make the Old Man proud.

>[ ] ...Hoping to make the Old Man proud.

>[X] ...Trying to do the right thing.

> [X] ...Trying to do the right thing.

It's the most fundamental, most ephemeral of regrets.

Could you have saved them?

If you were faster. More alert. If you had *known*-

But no-one could have. You *know* this. You've always known.

> [X] ...Hoping to make the Old Man proud.

Like the others, you never had a family. Your first - your earliest - memory is of the Academy's white walls, the murmur of the tutors. For you - and the country's first disposable generation - the Bureau of Public Safety was father. The Bureau was Mother.

The Academy was home.

The Old Man was harsh at times, hard and cold. Never cruel, but impossible to please.

Always-

That one word, haunting.

Always-

You'll never know.

(Continued)

A warm hand cups your shoulder.

"Darling-"

It's a strange word. Unfamiliar, almost-

...You've only been married for a year, after all.

"-It's okay. I'm here. Just a nightmare, that's all."

She's behind you, her hair a tousled halo of deeper shadow in the darkened bedroom, her eyes wide and almost luminous, a faint vertical crease of concern between her brows. The sheets are tangled and sweat-soaked.

"The same dream again?"

[ ] Write-in.

"Yeah. Sorry to wake you. We should get back to sleep."

>the Bureau of Public Safety was father. The Bureau was Mother.
Huh. Guess we're part of the Corps.

+1

Sounds good.

>You've only been married for a year, after all.
>married
>in the Taimanin Asagi universe
S-surely nothing bad will happen to her, r-right?

"Mmmm-hmmm."

A soft chuckle, low. Her lips graze against your shoulder, as you ease yourself back to the bed - Your pulse slowing, back to something approaching normal, as the dream recedes.

The coppery taste in your mouth - the dampness to your palms - fade, slowly.

"You're lucky, you know~" she murmurs, a playful lilt to her voice - A low, relaxed sigh. Her fingertips trace lightly against your chest. "On leave today again...You must have the *most* understanding boss *ever*-"

**********************

A YEAR AGO...

The room is a small, cramped space - Decorated so richly it's almost gaudy, like the inside of a very expensive chocolate box. Your tuxedo feels too new, too tight, against your frame - Enough to make you wonder if it's going to stretch or tear with every motion, or ruin the lines-

You don't recognize yourself in the mirror. You've put on a tie hundreds of times - No, *thousands* of times - but today, you seem to have unaccountably forgotten.

"...Does the condemned man need help?"

Inspector Second-Class Noriyuki. Unkempt brown hair, perpetually grinning. He's draped himself, casually, across the couch - Looking as fresh as evening frost, an (unlit) cigarette dangling from his hand. He's not supposed to smoke, not here...But that didn't stop him from bringing it along for 'moral support'.

You glance over at him, over your shoulder.

"Sorry, Sir," he says, his semi-insolent grin never changing. "-Does Inspector First-Class user need his subordinate's help?"

[ ] "...I'm getting the hang of it."
[ ] "-Bastard thing. You try."
[ ] "You're being awfully casual about this."
[ ] "Your time will come. Believe me."
[ ] "Watch it."
[ ] Write-in.

>[x] "You're being awfully casual about this."

>[ ] "...I'm getting the hang of it."
>[ ] "Your time will come. Believe me."
The battlefield is nothing as compared to this. At least, there, the worst thing that can happen is just getting captured and tortured by your enemies for all eternity.

>[ ] "Your time will come. Believe me."

Seriously though, what's this setting about? I thought
>....the quest setting literally designed from the ground up to facilitate big-titted ninja women being raped into submission
>That isn't true.
>There is 1 relatively flat girl.
covered it, but I guess there's RIP AND TEAR also? Does THAT cover it or is there something else too?

> [X] "...I'm getting the hang of it."

Come on. You took down the Flayer Killer last month, you can *do this*-

...Is it right across left - Or right, then left, *then* across?

> [X] "You're being awfully casual about this."

"It's not *my* head on the chopping block. Sir."

His expression softens, that grin becoming less amused and more genuine - "But seriously. She's a great person. Gorgeous, too - It'll all be all right."

Then, much, much softer - "...ably."

...Did he just say 'probably'?

> [X] "Your time will come. Believe me."

He blanches.

"Don't even *joke* about that." Noriyuki mock-shudders, then - forgetting himself - puts the unlit cigarette in his mouth. His expression goes momentarily sour, before he plucks it out again - Catching himself just before he attempts to stub it out on the armest.

Wide end under the narrow end. Over the loop. *Now* across, *then* through-

Got you now, you bastard-

There's a knock at the door.

"-I'll get it," Nori says. He's slouching towards the door before he finishes the sentence, making to open it: "Look - I told you guys, we don't need any..."

When the door swings open, you hear his sharp inhalation, the catch to his breath.

"S-special-Class Ryou! Good grief, I didn't mean-"

"A word, please."

You hear Nori's footfalls scuffing against the carpet, as he retreats - As Ryou steps in. He moves with that same exacting, careful precision as before - In the long off-white greatcoat that has become his signature. His angular features are as calm as ever, as he closes the door behind himself - So carefully, it doesn't even creak.

Just like always, his fingers curl loosely around the carrying case for his Cypher. Another memory of long ago.

[ ] "It's been a long time."
[ ] "Special-Class Ryou. What brings you here?"
[ ] "...Weren't they sending you to Germany?"
[ ] "I have to admit - I was *not* expecting this. At all."
[ ] Write-in.

>[ ] "It's been a long time."
>[ ] "I have to admit - I was *not* expecting this. At all. What brings you here?"

Wait, he's higher-rank than us? How is that fair?

He far outranked us four years ago, why wouldn't he still be above us here?

What the actual fuck is this

>[ ] "Special-Class Ryou. What brings you here?"
>[ ] "I have to admit - I was *not* expecting this. At all."

> [X] "It's been a long time."

"Yes."

You wait. Nothing more seems to be forthcoming.

> [X] "Special-Class Ryou. What brings you here?"

"I am-"

There is a pause. His eyes narrow slightly behind his glasses - A recent affectation. You're not sure why.

Not unfriendly, just contemplative.

"-There are matters in Germany," he says, carefully. "I will be departing, shortly."

> [X] "I have to admit - I was *not* expecting this. At all. What brings you here?"

Silence.

It stretches. At last, he breaks it.

"I was - unaware - of the news," Ryou says. "The work, as always. It consumes."

His fingers drum lightly against his knee - A nervous tic you've never seen before.

It dawns on you, slowly but surely - He doesn't know what to say. The calm, the serene reserve - It's not a facade. It is who he is.

There's a touch of apology in his voice, now, as he stands.

"I came to give my congratulations...user." He touches his hand to his brow, lightly, as if in salute.

Then-

"Will you tell her?" A heartbeat later, he clarifies. "About what you do. About the work."

[ ] "...I'm not sure."
[ ] "Of course."
[ ] "No."
[ ] "Perhaps someday."
[ ] "Should I?"
[ ] "What do you think?"
[ ] Write-in.

>[x] Write-in.
HARDCORE MULTICOCK RAPE.
MASSIVE SLUTTY TITBOUNCING AS THEIR THOUGHT ARE OBLITERATED FROM POWERFUL MIND-SHATTERING ORGASMS.

This is very, very different from what I expected and I don't know what I was expecting.

>camrashake intensifies

>[x] "Of course."

It's just a quest guys, we can depart from canon for like 2 seconds here.

This is exactly what I expected when I read the thread title. Good job, user.