Fallen

(Takes place shortly after the Epilogue to Third Incarnation)


“One more night.  I can do this one more night,” she told herself.  It had been getting harder and harder to pull the blood out, to force it to flow.  It had been more and more difficult a task to concentrate on the silent incantations of the internal magic.  It had been taking longer and longer to harden the blood all the way to the intricate, intimidating bone exoskeleton she had been wearing as armor.

When the ritual was finally over this night, AstaTheBroken stood panting.  If she were human, she would have been sweating profusely.  Her appearance had changed as of late.  Her eyes were sunken in, with bags underneath.  Her full lips almost had a dry look to them.  Her skin, once the texture of a perfect pearl, had taken on the roughness of freshly quarried granite.

Her comrades had fallen before her.  Her Lord had fallen twice.  Yet she fought on, as well as she could as of late.  Once again, as she had so many nights before, she performed the final bit of magic to summon her bone scythe.  The effort nearly made her keel over.  She was nauseous, and leaned on the staff of the scythe for support.  She closed her eyes and bowed her head.  “This will have to be the last night.  I’ve repaired enough arms to do things the traditional way tomorrow.”

Asta tiptoed out into twilight, sneaking to the hiding places where her enemies spent the day.  She was alone this time.  Her clanmates were either still asleep or in torpor.  For a little while, she was able to check names off of the hit list.  “Vex…check.  Seppuku…check.  nitenurse….check.  JennyThePirate…check.  ophelia…check.  Much easier when they’re still sleeping,” she thought to herself.

She stopped for a rest and squatted down, again supporting herself with her scythe.  She raised her hand to rub her forehead; she had a headache.  She was tired.

“Just for a moment.  I need to stop.  Just for a moment,” she pleaded with herself.  The effort of walking was enough to drain the last of her waning strength.

She was still sitting on the sidewalk when the attack came.  She was too slow, moved too sluggishly to react.  There were too many attackers to gain quarter; it was all she could do to block the blows.  It took her full concentration to raise the scythe to absorb some of the power of the Scrolls of Turning, but in the end, it would not be enough.

In the end, she was too weak, and too alone.

With a look of grim determination in his eyes, gmanusrex dealt the final blow, firing two Garlic Sprays.

A look of shock passed over Asta’s eyes.  The combined forces of Yggdrasil and the Republic of Ravenblack had done the impossible-something that had never before been accomplished in the City since its founding.  They had defeated AstaTheBroken on the battlefield.

As she fell, the terrible armor began to crumble.  Bits of it began to blow away in the wind, like dust.  Then, unexpectedly, she burst into deep crimson flames and billowing black smoke.

Within a few seconds, the smoke and fire had disappeared.  A great demon stood where Asta’s body had fallen.  He was over seven feet tall, with deep red reptilian skin.  His hair and armored pants were black; his eyes were blood red.  He had horns on his forehead and three pairs of black feathered wings on his back.  Astral.

He looked over at the attackers.  “Just because she can does not mean she will.  She will observe the custom and I will respect her wishes.”

The demon turned and walked away.  He would take her home.

Astral had to hurry.  The girl was merely unconscious, an aftereffect of the blood loss.  He did not want her to awaken in the streets.  Of course, there was the other problem, one that demons, like angels, did not have.  How would she keep her dignity when she came to?  She would come awake without her armor, or any other covering, and he could not fit into her clothes so she would be dressed.

He passed a bedding store on the way to the Castle.  It would do.  He smashed through the window, not caring about security, and took a satin sheet of deep purple form one of the display beds.  He felt her stirring inside.  She would come to soon.  He had to get her home.

Running out of the store, he jumped into the air and took flight straight at the castle.  Astral watched it grow in the distance.  He couldn’t leave the girl out here!  He pushed himself, six wings beating against the cold winter air.  The Castle loomed ahead.  Faster, faster!

He chose the closest tower to make his landing.  He threw open the curtains and landed without grace, covering his hulking form as quickly as possible.  The body underneath the sheet began to shrink.  The wings were sucked into the body.  The horns disappeared into the skull.  The broad shoulders narrowed, and the masculine figure began to take on a feminine quality.

Soon the form stilled.  After a few seconds of peace, it began to stir.

“Unnnnnhhh,” a woman’s voice groaned.  Her body was pressed against cold stone, but it was too smooth to be the sidewalk.  The events of that night ran through her mind.  The battle…the battle…she’d lost the battle!

“AAAAARRRRRRHHHH!” she screamed, slamming her fist into the floor.  She’d LOST!

She pulled the sheet off her head and stared blankly at the floor.  When she finally looked up, she found herself gazing up at Capadocious himself.

“I have failed you, my Lord!” she exclaimed, tears of frustration streaming down her cheeks.