Summoning the Saber [Justice]

[Rath Smith]

After spending potentially thousands of years in the land of the dead, a spirit would likely prefer to be called back to life somewhere lovely. Someplace extravagant, maybe, with soft fabrics silhouetted by a beautiful sunset to properly reintroduce them to the wonders of the world. Maybe instead, a setting that showcased the progress humanity had made since their departure, like an expansive train station or at the peak of a bell tower. Any of the natural wonders of the world would have done, too. Now, take into consideration that the spirit being reeled back into mortality was a legendary hero. It wasn’t something they’d prefer; it was something they deserved.

Rath hadn’t thought about it.

It just happened to be that Japan was teeming with supernatural magics, and it was conveniently one of the portals that would take them back to the other dimensions. So in the armpit of Kyoto, tucked into the slums of a shitty church basement he stood in preparations to summon his heroic spirit.

The church itself was but a shell of what it once was. It had been born of pure intentions, sought to enlighten Japanese people of the Roman Catholic religion while simultaneously offering a pure, holy haven to practice the faith. Rath weaved through upturned pews, eyeing graffiti-smeared paintings of the messiah and a shattered porcelain crucifix that someone had given up looting halfway. Now, the place was just a shithole. A rotting, open wound of a building that was only still holding it’s own in the gut of impoverished Kyoto ghettos because no one had the money to unearth it.

Or was it because of the magic that it possessed? Anyone who was even partially versed in divine magic could feel its thick cloud of enchantment, and Rath was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Most people looked to beautiful things for magic, but in his experience, it was always hiding in the sewers or the dirty, abandoned places no one cared to check anymore. And since this place was both disgusting and sponging up holy magic from the natural mana of the world, here he stood in the very center of it, pulling a string of rosary beads from his suit pocket. He licked his lips, steeling himself.

“Hero.” The summoner began, both hands clasped together in prayer, “You have served the world in your lifetime, and in the pursuit of glory, I ask you serve once more.” The hot, sticky air of Japanese summer dematerialized, replaced by an ominously cold aura that swept the entirety of the area. Even the candles lined up against the wall began to flicker with the abrupt change in atmosphere, and the uneven planks of wood beneath Rath’s feet burned with a ring of red-hot, arcane magic. “You are the saint, the convicted, the fighter. Rise again from the sacred fire.” At these words, ribbons of light ran off tangent from the circle to carve their design into the floor until they had completely lined the wood with the secrets of summoning magic. When they reached the center of the circle, coming to a rendezvous beneath him, he dropped one hand and outstretched the other arm before him, palms up and unveiling a gold bundle of divine power. It lulled in his hand, softly humming and bleeding ivory tendrils into the night. “Heed this call to power. Remember who you are, and what you’ve left behind! You, the living dead, the breathing sword!” Determined now, Rath Smith clenched his jaw and furrowed his brows; let all of his mana coil up his forearm. His other arm came up to place a finger at his lips, at which point he bit down on the flesh on the side and pinched blood from the tiny wound. It slivered a wet, dark stain down his finger and fell, splashing into the ring. Now, in the presence of the white mage, the circle of summoning lifted up and around his body like a vice, and the church creaked and groaned with power. “Let this holy light be your guide, and bind to me!”

With those final words, he clenched his fist and the magic – seeking escape – exploded from between his fingers and cloaked the scene in an unearthly, golden glow.


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Credits: To Justice for the awesome header! You're amazing. <3
OOC: Lol. :< A church.

[Justice]

It had been years. Hundreds. Too many to count, and too irrelevant to matter. Time did not sleep where he did, when all you see is a white void. Then everything becomes blank. He was once a human, lived a life deemed honorable by human logic, earned the respect of other humans... Meaningless. As a man he only served his own goals, and when he died, he felt regret's embrace upon him. By obtaining the title of the greatest swordsman was supposed to be a prestige, it was what he had worked for all his life. But when Musashi had stared at his aging body in a spring, and looked back onto the things he has done, people he had killed and the path that took him to his title. He felt nothing. Defeated by his own progress.

The streets still ranked with nobility stepping down the poor, brothels were still filled with prostitutes and men seeking desperately for the right to fornicate. Art, sculpting, calligraphy, poetry, and writing his famed literature books did little to ease his mind off his continually degrading health. And at his final thoughts he reminisced about the reason which brought him to become a swordsman; Nothing. Change occurs quietly, and as subtle as a wisp of air passing through the fingertips. The man felt death's embrace, asked for his wakizashi and his cane, knelt on one knee and drew his sword on the other. At the age of sixty two, Musashi; Japan's greatest swordsman-- died.

There was no circle of rebirth for the man. His soul was torn away and frozen onto one spot. It was in this time, that whilst remaining conscious, Musashi started to change. He had much time for contemplation. An endless white void to gaze into and ponder his existence. His first few centuries were to be encased in absolute meditation on this though, and he found nothing. There was no reason to understand why life had such a violent nature, there was only reason to prevent such atrocities to become born. He had no body, just a soul of his previous self. It would not suffice, his old self must be cast aside to become something pure.

He envisioned his hands grasping at the white void. And there were hands. He envisioned his feet touching the surface of light, and there were legs. He imagined colors and touch, felt the warm embrace of blood rushing through him once more. He wished that there was a heart, and a pulse echoed within his shell once more. Finally, he wished for his soul. And there was his sword. He had been de-materialized and rematerialized. It was to happen soon. He awaited his return.

In the dingy rancid church, the golden glow erupted with violent intensity. A glowing seal; the fox of nine tails imprisoned within nine seals, trapped under an all-seeing eye formed on the floor in front of the summoner. There was an intense blaze of white that poured through the seal, covering the surfaces of the walls and everything that encompassed the church's interior and flatlines everything into pure white space. And all at once, the light was sucked into the seal in front of the summoner, and formed a vaguely humanoid being.

"Awakening at your call."

Utterly faceless. At a height of seven feet and encased in a void suit of white metal, the spirit had gone through. He took time to stare at his surroundings, a dark damp and cold church, scented of rotting dust and broken wood, crawling with spiders and rats and floor stained with once colorful glass. His legs touched the cold stone ground and he heard the light chink of his blade as he tapped his foot once. The real world, once again. He stared at the man in front of him, and began to speak in his newly found voice.

"Fate calls me Saber. It calls me true."

"I am the white void. I am the cold steel. I am the just sword. With blade in hand, shall I reap the sins of this world. And cleanse it in the fires of destruction."

The spirit looked upon his newly found partner. He drew out his sword. With a heaven defying roar, he planted the sword firmly into the ground.

"I am your blade forsworn. I am Justice."

[Rath Smith]

As the summoning circle dissipated in ethereal tendrils of red smoke, another seal had taken its place just a step’s distance in front of Rath. He exhaled a breath that he’d been bottling in his chest, relieved that his efforts hadn’t been in vain. But was it a success? Even Rath recognized the fox that composed the bulk of the symbol. The same animal, whose array of tails were fanned out behind it more like a peacock than a vulpine, was known in lore to be something of a mischievous and demonic spirit who did as much evil toward men as it had good. What kind of spirit would it reveal? Incidentally, the summoner didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Maintaining a certain amount of control over the magic expelled, Rath had confined the emitted light to the church’s interior; it was as if a dam had been erected at every window. From the exterior, the rotted building was as inconspicuous as every other orphaned landmark in Kyoto’s slums. Though nothing, none of his efforts and restraint could have protected secrecy when an indescribable, unimaginable white light flashed outward from the seal and leeched the color from any and every thing in its path.

Holy magic, overwhelmed and forsaken, had long since retreated back into Rath’s veins. The boy in question was holding his ground bravely, though both arms crossed to protect his eyes from the glare and… well, his face from a blow, on instinct. Reeling, he tried to process - nevermind make sense of - what was happening.

Was it the initial ignition of a bomb? The splicing of an atom? Like a supernova exploding, making way for the being who had certainly spawned from none other than hell and nightmares. He fought the light, defying all photons and the dignity of his eyes to take in the form of his newly summoned spirit. Rath wasn’t smiling. Instead, looking on with the kind of disturbed awe of watching a train derail and slaughter it’s riders, the summoner wavered in his spot and listened intently.

“Saber.” Rath swallowed, then gathered his wits enough to overcome his initial shock and reply in a steady, calm voice, “You... Your helm… It’s unfinished.” The words he needed so desperately danced just out of his reach, so he mentally paged through the leaflets of his mind to find the perfect phrase to both express himself appropriately and simultaneously return the introduction. But… “I…” was the only sound that fell from his lips, and it only required a marginally higher IQ than his previous vocal emission.

’What the fuck happened?’ He thought, mentally occupying the space between dream and reality, ’Did I botch the summoning? This spirit is a legendary hero, and I practically fucking disfigured him.’ His gloved fingers raked through his hair, dislodging the brilliant red strands out of stress and misunderstanding as he looked up – way up from his stance at 6 feet – towards his towering, ungodly saber.

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Credits: To Justice for the awesome header! You're amazing. <3
OOC: Rath can't even manage a 'hi'. Lol

[Justice]

Justice mused at his surroundings. For he had never found a more physical metaphor for the world. A ruined, forgotten and forsaken church, stood once brilliant with choirs and prayer to a supernatural figure. Misguided perhaps, he was not the judge. But in the end, change falls and everything stops being glorious. Maybe he was wrong, maybe the outside world was one that had attained eternal peace. But if that were so, he would not have been summoned. Speaking of which, he diverted attention to the man before him. Justice listened to the man's trembling voice and statements. It took a while but he comprehended what he was saying. Justice pulled his blade from the ground and retracted it back into it's sheathe.

"Fear not. This is a prison of my own construction. I discarded my former self to pursue a greater goal. Your summoning flawless."

To be able to breathe, move, touch and hear again was a sense of refreshment for Justice. It was not suited to meditation or recitation of mantras, but it provided the vividly rich detail that his mind had long forgotten. The scent of rotting wood and rat feces came sharp and nostalgic to his receptors. As did the colors of crimson red from the lanky human before him. He carefully analysed his new master. Seemed like a civilian, odd clothing, western in design, western in appearance, could communicate without language barrier, strange. Interesting. Justice extended a hand to help the man up.

"Tell me your name Magus, and we can complete the bond."

There was one last thing that Justice needed to do in order to follow this man around. He must pledge an oath of service to the man before him. There was the spirit contract between them, and then there was Justice's personal bond he must take. By attaining the man's name and face, Justice will put his summoner's will over the codes of his morality. Although he sincerely hoped that the man would not abuse Saber's ability.

"I also ask of your goals for summoning me. I would assume you did not summon me just to sit in this church."

[Rath Smith]

Rath was beyond mystified at the creature he’d called back from the dead. Wide, pale eyes watched him – assuming it’s appropriate to call the spirit a male, granted there was no way there were any reproductive organs hiding in that suit of… death – turn his frightfully blank head to and fro to observe the dank innards of the church. Was it safe to say the spirit was looking? How did one look with a head that had no eyes?

Furthermore, how was he speaking without a mouth? Where was the voice coming from, exactly? The summoner’s internal struggle was outwardly manifested by the look of pure bewilderment on his face, and it took every ounce of will to keep himself grounded despite the unnatural ease with which the hellish knight spirit wielded his massive sword. And, indeed, the spirit was intimidating. Yet, Rath found himself swelling with a devious pride. This well-spoken ‘white void’ was his spirit, and being informed that his summoning had been without a kink made the priest all the more open-minded to the thought of fighting alongside this forged giant.

“Right.” The boy agreed, dislodging his hand from his hair to reach out for the saber’s extended hand, “My name’s Rath Smith, Blood Pries- Nngh!” He halted mid-explanation, mind swept clean by an unexpected jolt of pain atop the hand that had just touched Justice’s claws. It was not Justice who inflicted this sensation, however, and the shock of it had Rath’s arm quickly recoiling. Expertly pinching the excess of fabric at a fingertip, the magus yanked the glove from his hand and feasted his eyes upon the dully-throbbing seal taking root in his skin. Pigmentation rolled, expertly marring his pale flesh with the mark of a summoner – and with it, three command seals. This was dark magic; that he knew since most blood bonds were. The burning, sickening smell of it had him wrinkling his nose.

“They always forget to mention these parts of the summoning spells, don’t they?” Rath joked bitterly, offering the newly marked skin for Justice’s blank head to see. “This is a command seal. It’s a symbol of our bond, summoner to heroic spirit. You and I are pinned in a battle royale against six other pairs, each with their respective classes. In the same way that you are a saber, there is the caster, the lancer, the archer, the rider, the assassin, and the berserker. Our goal is to fight them all to the death. The prize of succeeding is to be granted one ultimate wish by the legendary Holy Grail.

You’re intelligent – I know you’ve already made the connection. People in this war have less honorable aspirations, like people often do. We need to prevent them from using the Grail for evil, Saber. Terrible, fucked up shit could befall the world if the Grail were to fall into the wrong hands. They must all be defeated.” He inhaled shakily, eyes closing as determination made its way across his features, “In essence, I have drafted you into a war. The Holy Grail wars.” He blinked awake to regard his spirit with a fire of competition, and made a show of masking the seal beneath his glove as he slipped it back on. “This war, however, is a secret. Humans cannot, by any means, know about it. And the sooner the summoners and their spirits know who we are, and what our weaknesses are, the worse off we are. And vice versa. If they know my identity, it isn’t such a big deal. But, if they know your true name, we could be seriously fucked.” Rath blinked aback, then backtracked to save face, “I mean, we could give them the upper hand. Do you understand, Saber? What is your true identity? Every heroic spirit is a figure in history who was able to make it to the Hall of Heroes – that’s how I was able to draw you here. So, who were you? A crusader? A dictator?"


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Credits: To Justice for the awesome header! You're amazing. <3
OOC: That's a lot of dialogue.

[Justice]

"The maker must have a sense of sadism then. To have forced such power to be born into this world."

...

What the child said was fairly accurate. Other heroes, like him were stopped from the cycle of ressurection to be forced into service. Justice did not enjoy the thought, but nevertheless flt compelled to help the child. Even more so since many lives depended on it. Justice stared into the seal, quickly before Rath put his glove back on again. This war is meaningless, a couple of mages deciding to compete for the all empowering ability to grant whatever they wanted. Unwise, because no one truly understood what they wanted. Especially if it is for selfish reasons. Having five hundred and seventy seven years to contemplate on the foolhardiness of humanity, Justice found it meaningless to resist tides of events. And he still owed some degree of gratitude for this man for giving him a chance to step onto this earth again.

However there was a tiny little problem with the name he was given, Saber. A one dimensional name to represent one of the many things that he was a master of. He did not like it, that name. It signified the shackling of fate, and also that it was such an inaccurate description of what he wielded. His was not a saber, it was a katana. The embodiment of his soul. His new name, Justice, was a much better representation of himself. Of his beliefs. "Rath, I would prefer you call me Justice instead."

He was then asked his identity. It had been a long time in that afterlife. Vague memories, flashes of life, appeared of the person he once was. "Musashi, Shinmen Takezo of Miyamoto." He stated. He did not know of the consequences of telling others his name, but he did not care. His old name was a relic, he had embodied the sentinel of judgment, something that carried far more weight than the strongest swordsman in all of history. But something innate, possibly from his previous life, sparked within him. A battle royale, to the death, with the greatest warriors and heroes in all of mankind. Justice could not help but give an amused laugh. This will be a wonderful rebirth. Returning to Rath's question.

"I know not what to say. I do not think humanity could be expressed in two dimensions, they are often far too contradicting to be able to fulfill that categorization. Although, I was once known as a master swordsman."

"I was a murderer, who stuck to a code of honor that I believed to be righteous. I stole lives in order to prove myself better than other humans. I learned philosophies and slept as a beggar. I walked nobility and was revered by others. With blade in hand I was called 'Unrivaled Under the Heavens', I wrote books, painted, sculpted and taught others to live their lives. And I was unaware of the pointlessness of my path until my deathbed. That is who I was. But not who I am now."

Justice gave a few moments of silence to the area around him. His head, although having no eyes, stared blankly at Rath. Awaiting a response perhaps. He sweeped his right foot, kicking a rat that was sniffing his foot. He was eager to see the outside world, the changes that would have occurred from his death.

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OOC: --
Music: --
Tags: Camby
Moar Stuff: Terminator has arrived bby.

[Rath Smith]

“Musashi...” Rath echoed, dissecting that bit of information from the lot of what Justice had spoken. He suddenly felt dwarfed, and not just physically. He’d felt shortened immediately upon Justice’s arrival from his nine-tailed seal, since he – usually considered tall for a male at six foot by Japan’s standards – was a full twelve inches shorter than his summon spirit. No, he felt dwarfed by importance. Here, standing before him, was the all-famous Musashi.

“An honor to fight beside you, then.” He picked up quickly from where he’d previously trailed off, eyes flitting down to observe the rat skidding across the floor in a flurry of black fur and tiny, pink claws, “You may have already realized it, since you’re here with me now. But, after you died, you remained immortally famous throughout time. They say you were the greatest swordsman of all time even today. That means no other man was better with the blade than you. And, so…” Rath tapped a gloved finger against his lower lip, outwardly mulling over Justice’s armor-clad form, “… I hope whoever you are now held onto that skill. We’re going to need it.” The summoner punctuated that thought with a short laugh, fleeting and only half-joking. “I know that, in order to be recalled to the world of the living, you must have a wish you want to make on the Holy Grail.”

Idly smoothing his fingers over the dull, wooden rosary beads still nestled in his one hand, Rath took a nearly hesitant step forward. There was nothing that said his summon spirit wouldn’t find him weak and chose to obliterate him, but legends of Musashi made no claims to him being that breed of person. Still, he was on the verge of enclosing himself in a bubble of protective holy magic as he peered up into his spirit’s empty features. “I won’t mind if you don’t want to answer,” He started, now gripping the necklace with both hands and holding it taut in something akin to nervousness, “But I’m curious. You seem humbled. Are you looking for repentance? Forgiveness? Is that what the new you is about?”

Questions. He was asking too many of them! Rath had hoped he’d remain his cool exterior upon meeting his summon spirit, maybe uphold some teenage ennui and take total control like the master he was supposed to be. However, overwhelmed by the romance of legend and grandeur surrounding the thought of pairing up with the proclaimed ‘greatest swordsman the world has ever known’ had his thoughts reeling. This early in their relationship, Rath sort of adored his spirit. He eyed the reborn samurai, standing proud before him with his pristine white armor and speaking to him in even, confident tones. At the same time, a demon miscast in the interior of a religious ruin, and framed by the remnant shards of stained glass murals littering their feet in a rainbow array. “Before you tell me, understand that a lot has changed. I’ll start by saying that fairy tales are mostly true. There are alternate dimensions that we can access through portals in the mortal world, and… Well. There’s a lot to go over.” He huffed a breath, pocketing the over-loved rosary and lolling his head back to try and look his towering spirit in the face. “Should we talk along the way? We need to get out of this church. It’s technically public property, and someone could see us.”

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Credits: To Justice for the awesome header! You're amazing. <3 And thanks to Leggy for giving me a translation I didn't end up using. xD But I'm grateful for her help.
OOC: Yaaaaa. This post fail'd.

[Justice]

"My wish?"

The spirit halted for a moment. Nothing came to mind. He wasn't even aware of this when he was chosen. Which meant that he subconsciously wished something? He was sure it would come soon enough. Defeat the other six first, then worry about the wish. Justice couldn't really care that much at the moment. The giant nodded in agreement, and began walking out with Rath.

"Activating spirit form."

At once, the giants footsteps no longer bore sound, and his entire body seemed slightly transparent, to Rath, it would seem as if Justice had turned intangible. To others, Justice would not be visible at all. He stepped out the door, walked out from the murky corridor and stepped out into sunlight. Bright, yellow orange colors flooded his receptors and the smell of burning smoke filled the air. Wonderful. He had missed this place, the former capital, and by the atmosphere he could immediately tell it was Kyoto. He recognised the daimyo's castle, which seemed to have been preserved for an intensely long time. Although the entire area was... different.

A metallic beast on four stumpy wheels moved around the street. It had eyes made of white light, and an intimidating factor, Justice was shocked. But he forced himself to prior judgment before he began to even explore the new world. Smooth floors made of solid rock, and houses, made of the same material with clear, transparent fields... "glass." It was the expensive item from western areas in his time, but now it seemed everyone had some of it in their houses. As the sun set down, the entire street was flooded with white lights from tall, metallic poles. Illuminating the path for them to walk on... It was a bit too much for Justice to comprehend. And almost immediately, the sound of an intercom floated in the air, Justice, having never heard of this technology before, was immediately alerted and drew out his blade for no reason. But the electronic voice spoke, in Japanese:

"The time now is... 18:00. The temperature is now... 12 degrees centigrade."

"Rath... Did God just tell me the time and weather?"

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OOC: --
Music: --
Tags: Camby
Moar Stuff: Lulz.