The Simulacrum

Part 1

This wasn't the first time I'd seen Crowy's Abyssal form and it wasn't the second either. Despite that, looking at him up close was different than doing it through Far Sight. For one, this time I could feel the strange, otherworldly pressure radiating from him that was as uncanny as it was familiar. The oppressive, prickling sensation on my skin felt just like when I was standing in front of a Mana Well, which made a lot of sense, now that I thought about it.

As for the guy's appearance under the roiling waves of purple aura, it was similar to the one I'd seen during the school incident, but also clearly different. I wasn't one hundred percent sure about the small details, because back then I was naturally more concerned with saving Josh and Snowy, and later there was also that whole 'icicle in the gut' thing going on, but the outlines were mostly the same.

His feet now ended in a pair of cloven black hooves, smaller than the Nergal patriarch's, and his back had a pair of black wings with a strange mixture of feathery and leathery features. Most strikingly, he sprouted three horns; two of them were long goat-like ones extending outwards from his head, while the last one was coming out of the top of his head and formed something that resembled a four-pointed crown.

I was pretty sure he didn't have that the last time I'd seen him transformed. Not only that, but unlike Belette Nergal, he had an outfit as part of his Abyssal form, which was reminiscent of his normal garments, just baggier (especially in the pants department) and with some golden tassets hanging from his shoulders and hips. I wasn't surprised about that, considering that these alternate forms were prone to subtly change over time based on the person's internal evaluation of themselves. That said, it took Snowy months of image training to make her Abyssal form look slightly more like actual clothes and less like some fetish-fuel dominatrix gear, so I didn't expect Crowy of all people to change this much.

Though again, there were both Watsonian and Doylist explanations for this. For one, he would naturally change his own internal image of himself, now that he was the Herald and everything. For the other… Let us be honest for a moment. This guy was our chief antagonist at the moment. He needed to have some gravitas, and getting his clothes exploded off his back only to fight effectively naked wasn't very dignified.

In any case, it was an unwritten rule of the shounen battle genre that one did not interrupt someone's transformation sequence, so we patiently waited for him to finish. It didn't take long, and the process concluded with the insides of his crown-horn-thing lighting up with a bright purple flame. It only flared up for a moment, then settled down into a more subdued yet still visible form that continued to bathe the top of the man's head and his horns in an eerie violet light.

Just as I was trying to figure out if it was meant to be something like a dark analogy to Angie's halo, my danger sense suddenly blared at me, and I reflexively dived to my left, and not a moment too soon. The air trembled, and so did the ground under my feet as the spot where I used to stand abruptly exploded with a flash of violent amethyst light. It wasn't localized either, but more like a wave that originated from Crowy's location, and… wait. Weren't there some Abyssals and Faun guards further behind me?

I had no time to check or even worry about such things. The dust in the air parted as Crowy lunged at me with blinding speed, his right hand raised high and holding something that resembled a whip made up of some inky dark liquid with a brightly smouldering violet core. I couldn't take a better look though, as he closed in on me in the blink of an eye, his rapid approach sending a series of shockwaves through the air and concluded by a downward strike.

My sixth sense was still on top of things though, and while it took some effort to stop myself from reflexively Phasing away, I got out of the way scot-free. The same couldn't be said about the stone floor, as it wasn't just damaged but outright gouged out in the wake of the lash, filling the area with an acrid stench. I held my breath and slipped under a second, horizontal sweep and dashed past Crowy before he could make a third.

"Where do you think you're going?!" he bellowed after me, triggering my danger sense once again.

I dove to the side, and this time I managed to catch a glimpse of his outstretched left arm and the ball of purple magic light condensing in his palm before it exploded in a wave of pure force, cracking the floor where I ran just a moment ago.

"{Scene 2-A,}" the mechanic voice in my communication array informed me, and as soon as I got onto my feet, I locked onto future-me and shifted Teeny into sword mode before launching myself towards him.

"{Sync,}" I messaged back, and this time there was no need for specific designations.

"{Sync,}" he responded.

Right away, my blade clashed with his glove. Both of them were aglow with a fancy aura that the average onlooker would've likely associated with some kind of mystical combat technique, but we were all about safety, so they were essentially magical padding. We followed that by series of well-rehearsed back-and-forth strikes, and I'm sure that from the outside it looked like one of those exchanges that in a martial arts story would have six paragraphs of vivid descriptions, only to end with something like 'it took long to explain, but it all happened in the span of a single breath'.

In reality, this was more of a quick break and we were pretty much flynning. Strike high, block high, kick low, jump, shoulder bash, sidestep, strike low, parry low, counterattack high, block high, rinse lather and repeat. In other words, advanced flynning. We continued this well-practiced routine until future-me gave me the signal and we concluded it by turning the special effects up to eleven and ending in a classic blade-lock style standoff, with future-me grabbing my hand over Teeny's grip and pulling me in.

"Now, now, Polemos. I'm flattered by your attention, but weren't you listening? I'm not the one fighting you today." He shifted his grip and pushed on me with a harsh, "Scram!"

Using the momentum he imparted on me, I made a half-spin and then kicked out towards him. It wasn't perfect, because my footing was bad due to all the debris underfoot, so he leaned into it and pretended to be sent reeling back, putting some distance between us.

"I've got you, bastard!" Crowy cried out triumphantly from above, and so I pretended to be shocked when I glanced up and found him floating in the air. His arms were constantly moving as if weaving an enormous tapestry (or spinning a giant invisible pizza, though that sounded less dignified), and he was surrounded by dozens of large, vaguely defined floating lances. Each one was as long as he was tall and made of the same weird inky material as the whip from before. Their jagged forms constantly roiled and shimmered, which, I'm not going to lie, made them rather sinister. "Feel the wrath of the Emperor's Herald!"

Okay, so as much coaching future-me did to get him to this point, he apparently still needed to work on the one-liners. More importantly thought, my sixth sense was telling me this was no joke, and as soon as I started moving, the lances cut through the air with high-pitched whistling sounds, followed by loud thumps and gut-shaking explosions as they hit the ground and sent pieces of rocks and dust flying.

Was this more of an extra-destructive variation of Snowy's fighting style, or rather a dark reflection of Deus's favourite rain-of-flaming-swords spell, the back of my mind wondered idly as the front was busy trying to dodge the incoming projectiles. There was no end to them; a new one would form next to Crowy as soon as one landed, and while avoiding them wasn't all that hard, the ground started to resemble the back of an enormous black porcupine more and more with each passing second, limiting my range of movement.

Not only that, but every time I was about to catch my breath…

"Stay still, mongrel!"

There was a kaboom as he pointed his palm at me and sent another lilac explosion where I stood a moment ago. Or more like 'where I dashed a moment ago', but let's not split hairs over the details. On the bright side, these instant-purple-fireballs, or whatever the heck they were, at least broke up the forest of giant black javelins surrounding me and gave me more space to manoeuvre, so there were some silver linings.

I would've been lying if I said I wasn't getting a bit impatient though, and it was only partially because of Crowy's commentary.

"Hah! I've got you in the palm of my hand! All you can do is dodge!"

Okay, I lied. It was mostly because of his inane commentary. But at the very least we didn't have any gawking onlookers whose whole job was to explain the obvious and go all 'oooh' and 'aaah' at every twist and turn of the battle. But then again, we did have a bunch of witnesses on the sidelines, so… do I dare to look, I pondered?

Not that I had the leeway to do so, and even if I did, I finally received the message I'd been waiting for all this time.

"{In position.}"

That made me both relieved and a little nervous. This was going to be the most crucial part of today's performance. I absolutely had to nail it, so it was only natural to feel a bit antsy. I was also of two minds about not drawing things out a little more, considering that this was supposed to be a climactic clash and everything, but seeing the collateral damage unfolding around me, maybe it was for the better.

The next step was all about timing, and I had no choice but to stall until Crowy let loose another of his violet explosions.

"Teeny!"/"{Ready!}" I yelled and messaged simultaneously as I came to a screeching halt.

"{Response: Enacting pre-designated sequence.}"

I got no reply from future-me, but I trusted that he was still in position, so I focused on my weapon's response. Crowy must've realized that I was up to something, because he stopped doing his previous interpretive dance routine and shifted to small circular motions, the same one I'd see him use to conjure his shield. His movements grew even more frantic when he saw my spearpoint glowing white-hot with accumulated mana.

I was a good sport, so I continued to 'gather energy' while I waited for him to finish casting his shield spell, and as soon as he was ready, I let out a loud grunt and thrust the spear into the air, aimed right at him. It was effectively the same as the sword-beams I practised with Josh, just in a different form. This was more akin to the torrent of energy released by Josh's signature move, just much more controlled. Less of a wave, and more of a tight beam originating from the spear-tip.

It was still a pretty spectacular move though, as it should be with these kinds of things, and the flash of its silver light momentarily overpowered all the purple stuff Crowy was throwing around. I could feel Teeny grow hotter in my hands as the stream of mana took the shape of a white beam as thick as my forearm. There were some superficial elements as well, such as a couple of circular lights surrounding the spear like a series of progressively smaller halos, and I even forced my theoretical Celestial wings into existence for a moment, just to give the moment even more gravitas and to get that 'dramatic game CG' aesthetic down pat.

More importantly, while I added a lot of extra special effects to the strike for the sake of presentation, the beam attack itself was anything but impractical; fast, precise, and straightforward. Crowy had no chance to avoid it, so he made the right call by trying to block it. What I didn't expect was that his protective spell would only manage to partially deflect the attack. The silver beam drilled through multiple layers of his hexagonal shield, and only changed direction at the end, glancing to the side and hitting him right in his left wing.

Despite his Barrier being fully intact, it pierced right through and gouged a fist-sized chunk off the tip of his wing. He roared in pain and tumbled out of the air, barely managing to stop himself from falling flat on his ass by turning around and making a forceful three-point superhero landing instead. There was a long moment of silence lingering in the hall as I retained my posture and waited for the next act, which came in the form of a heavy impact on my back.

"Nothing personal, friend!" future-me exclaimed with glee as his open palm struck me right between the shoulder blades and sent me tumbling forward.

From the outside, the force of the strike must've looked an order of magnitude greater than what I felt thanks to activating a couple more special effects enchantments on his glove and my Leoformer, but even with most of the impact mitigated, it pushed the air out of my lungs. I kept a level head and followed the script by rolling forward, retrieving a red packet from my storage enchantment, and then immediately springing to my feet, my spear held out in a defensive stance.

"See? That's how you do it!" future-me yelled out to make sure everyone could hear it. "You don't even need to teleport to do it! It's all about the staging!"

"I thought you weren't going to fight me," I growled with the perfect amount of indignation, and he responded with a delighted chuckle.

"Oh, my dear Polemos… Since when do you believe every word I say?" He waited for a beat and then abruptly folded his arms. "By the way, I was pretty sure I hit something vital back there…" That was my cue, and I bit down hard on the packet filled with red food dye in the back of my mouth, followed by a forced cough and a splattering of red. "Ah, there it is! Phew! For a moment I almost thought I lost my touch!"

Future-me followed that up with another grating cackle, but it was cut short by a suitably startled 'Oops!' when Fidèle Shamash suddenly descended next to me, her scythe making a wide horizontal swipe that cut through the jagged black thorns surrounding us and almost reaching future-me.

"Lord Leonard! Are you all right?"

"I'll live,"

I did my best to sound like I was trying to put on a strong front while barely keeping it together, a complex performance that required lots of physical acting. A bit of a grimace here, a slight shake of a hand there, those kinds of things. By the look of the Shamash matriarch's face, it worked.

She looked like she had many things to say, but she inhaled sharply and pointedly glanced in the direction of Belette Nergal and the rest.

"I couldn't make them see reason. How is your condition?"

"I told you; I'll live."

My grim response caused her to reel back for a moment, but then her brows descended into a determined glare aimed at future-me and she declared, "I'll hold them back. Lord Leonard, you must escape and—"

"No, you've got it backwards," I cut her off and then theatrically wiped the fake blood off my lips. "You must retreat while I still stand." I jerked my head towards the still reeling Crowy and then my patiently waiting future self. "If I try to get out of here, they'll just follow after me. At least one of us needs to leave in one piece and inform everyone of what happened here, and you're the only one who can do it."

Honestly, this bit wasn't in the script, but it felt suitably dramatic, and seeing how future-me was nodding along, he was on the same wavelength. Or rather, already expecting this development.

"I can't leave you behind," she insisted, and seeing that Crowy was already getting back on his feet, I decided to improvise. But first…

"{I'm gonna use the trump card, then jump to Scene 4-B. Sounds good?}"

"{Perfect.}"

That was an instant answer. He knew. As a matter of fact, seeing how much he was insisting on the whole 'trump card' business, I was completely certain this was part of the 'real plan', and I was just being kept in the dark on purpose. And some people wondered why I had self-loathing issues nowadays…

Anyhow, it was now or never, so snapped at Fidèle with a frantic, "Don't argue! We don't have time for this!", and then followed it up by shifting Teeny to sword form again. Right after that, I triggered the storage enchantment again to fill my free hand with my other weapon.

"{… can't hold any more than…!}" Cal's protest came to a halt, only to become even more frantic. "{Young knight! Did you put me away while in the middle of—?!}"

"{Greetings: Welcome back, Interface:Caly. Please prepare to rapid deployment operation.}"

"{Don't call me Caly, and…!}"

"Focus!"

Before they could get into an argument, I crossed my arms in front of my chest while holding my two swords vertically. Cal was already filled to the limit with mana, so I first spread that between the two equally, then pushed my circulation to high gear. It resulted in yet another bright silver light-show, and while it made Crowy reflexively erect another shield in front of him, he wasn't my target. It wasn't future-me either, though he certainly deserved a solid hit on the chin one of these days.

No, the spot I locked onto was the broken circular rose window overhead. While whatever the Nergal patriarch did made its pieces return roughly to their original places, there were plenty of gaps. Behind them, I could see both the night sky and a thick layer of magical light. The latter was my target, but before anything, I needed to get closer.

To do that, I channelled all the leftover mana I had in my system into the physical enhancements of my lower body, and after crouching down, I let it all loose in one explosive jump. It sent a painful impact up my legs, but I had no time to care about that, as the fragmented window was approaching fast. It wasn't until one of my phantom limbs could finally touch the shimmering ward enclosing the building that I let out a suitably spirited battle cry and swung both of my blades.

If I was a shounen protagonist type, I might've even yelled something corny, like 'Cross Slash!' or 'Twin Horizon Divider!', but I left that to the hot-blooded types and just fired off my sword-beams at once. The two partially overlapped and formed a large, curved silver 'X' in the air that immediately collided with the window and the barrier behind it. At the same time, I used my phantom limbs to tear at the wards, and with a loud screech, the barrier gave way and the parts of my attack that weren't blocked by initial contact broke through, momentarily painting the night sky of the Abyss white.

It was very dramatic, but more importantly, the backlash of the strike pushed me back, and after a strangely long moment that made me feel I was floating weightlessly in the air, gravity reasserted itself and I plummeted back to the ground. I didn't have the inclination to do any fancy three-point landings, so I just did my best to mitigate as much of the impact as I could by rolling. It was still hell on my legs, but it could've been worse, and I came to a halt between future-me and the Shamash matriarch.

"What are you waiting for!?" I yelled at her in the heat of the moment and gestured at the gap in the wards. It was like a giant, jagged hole left behind on an enormous yellow glass window after someone threw an equally huge brick through it. Way more than enough for someone to slip through. "Go! Just go, and don't look back!"

Despite my urging, Fidèle Shamash remained conflicted, and it wasn't until Crowy dismissed his shield and started conjuring up even more black lances that she finally gave up and yelled, "I'll come back for you! I swear on the name of House Shamash!"

By the time she finished saying that, the Inanna patriarch was already done forming the first projectile, so she hastily wrapped herself up in her misty wings. Both her outlines and her scythe blurred, and in the blink of an eye, the woman behind me was replaced by a ball of swirling black fog. It quivered, then flew towards the hole like it was shot out of a cannon, deftly dodging Crowy's black spears and disappearing into the darkness of the night.

Meanwhile…

"{Are we skipping Phase Three?}"

Once again, the response to my message was instantaneous.

"{Nah. We practised it a lot, let's just go through the motions.}"

The speed and ease of future-me's reply, even after what was a major break in the script, only cemented my earlier impression: he knew everything would happen this way, and he manipulated me by not giving me the full picture. Probably so that my response would look more natural, but it was still infuriating.

"{Phase Three then.}"

"{Okey-dokey!}"

That happy-go-lucky response alone deserved a smack in the mouth. And some people in my life still wondered why I was developing self-harming tendencies…

Part 2

I put my distaste for future-me's methods aside for the moment and took account of the situation. After the stunt I just pulled, the wards surrounding the building were breaking down, which allowed the onlookers to finally evacuate. That was neat, but I wasn't exactly invested in them, so whether they ran or stayed mattered little; they'd already seen the main show, so it was fine.

"How gallant! Such self-sacrifice!" future-me opened the third phase of the battle by heckling me a bit, as is tradition in these kinds of fights. "So… stupid. Polemos, old friend. You've still got more of the kid in you than you're willing to admit, haven't you?"

I responded with a glare and a curt, "Shut up," followed by a red-tinted spit to the side. The fake blood was tasteless, but it still felt gross in my mouth, and this also signalled that I was still injured to the onlookers.

That, at this stage, meant Crowy, the Nergal patriarch, Tracas, and Corbeau. The latter three were still in the back, waiting to see the outcome of the battle before making their move. They would most likely stay out of this until the very last moment, only to swoop in on the side of the victor to claim contribution. It was their role to play, but if this wasn't a controlled scenario and I was in actual trouble here, I would've been mighty pissed at them by this point.

Future-me was still in mint condition, as expected, while Crowy was grimacing hard at me. It was fury and pain in equal measure; his wings might've only manifested during his transformation, but they were still a part of his body, so his injury must've hurt quite a bit. Last, but certainly not least, I was fine.

While that big cross-shaped sword-beam looked overwhelming, it didn't take much out of me, because it only used up the mana I pre-dumped into Cal before coming here. He was naturally less than enthused about being used as a glorified battery, but hey, we all had our roles to play tonight. I didn't like to be on the losing end either, but what can you do? The thespian arts sometimes required sacrifices.

Not too much though; despite what the onlookers must've thought, I was completely hale and hearty. Or rather, maybe a bit winded, because all this running and jumping and sword-swinging wasn't a leisurely walk in the park, but I was uninjured at the very least. I was willing to take a few scrapes and bruises in the name of making things more authentic, but my kayfabe had its limits, and if I went home all mangled and battered, the girls would've killed me. It was best to do everything in moderation.

"On this day, one of us isn't leaving this place on his own two feet," I declared while pointing Cal at future-me, and he responded with a masterfully grating cackle.

"Kahaha! You have nooo idea how right you are, my dear Polemos!" He then snorted and glanced at the injured head of House Inanna. "I'll take it from here. Go and rest a bit."

"But my Emperor…!" Crowy started to object and tried to step up, but when he tried to flex his wings, it drew a pained hiss from him and he reeled back.

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Future-me ignored him and lightly tugged on the ends of his sleeves, channelling the gentlemanly elegance of a certain incognito dragon just about to step up to the bowling lane. We let the moment linger for dramatic effect, and then he extended a hand towards me and made a beckoning gesture.

This time, we didn't need any syncing clues. I flourished my weapons, still engaged in a quiet but insistent argument about naming conventions (which I ignored with the staunch indifference of a celebrity fakir handing out autographs on a nail bed) and took up an aggressive stance, both blades pointed towards my opponent. This kind of standoff demanded another dramatic beat, so waited for a couple of breaths before planting my feet and rushing forth in earnest.

Honestly speaking, what we were doing here was mostly superfluous. As far as our goals were concerned, we achieved everything already. Heck, even more than planned, really.

While musing so, I also made sure to pay attention to our exchanges, and I swung my blades in a very deliberate rhythm. It helped to keep us in sync, especially when we moved onto the main point of this phase: mobility. Per that, we only exchanged a few blows while standing still before we began to move, weaving left and right amidst the debris and Crowy's magic projectiles still embedded in the floor.

Why did we do that? Speaking in simple terms, while we needed to make this scene spectacular, it was also necessary to keep things grounded. Looking back on it, it was clear that the power ceiling of this scenario was always rather high. Even at the very beginning, we had stuff like Elly's dragon-fire beam attack, or Snowy freezing an entire Purple Zone the size of the school campus in a matter of seconds. Since then, everyone had gotten a little stronger, and battles started to involve way more flashy super-moves.

That was, in a way, the natural progression of a battle shounen power scaling system. Things would be more tactical in the beginning, relying on positioning, mind games, and clever use of one's limited set of abilities and combat tricks. Then, as the story and the characters progressed over time, they would steadily develop their own unique powers and signature moves. That was usually where the combat in these kinds of stories tended to peak. It was a balancing act after this point, where the goal was to keep everything in the sweet spot for as long as possible while also ramping up the power-levels and the tension at the same time.

In case the balance slipped, it would often lead to the raw strength and power of the characters getting so over-blown that fights would get boiled down to a numbers game, and then gimmicks would get introduced to somehow side-step the question of 'Both of these people can blow up planets with their punches, where do we go from there?'. The answer was conceptual powers, like 'only people born on a Sunday can hurt me', or 'I can steal half the power of anyone I touch for three seconds'. Stuff that the protagonists would need to figure out mid-fight and cleverly circumvent using their own wits and unique skills instead of just punching the problem away.

But then if those kinds of powers were left to their own devices for too long, you would end up with more and more specific powers with more and more specific counters. Things like the villain yelling, 'I'm invincible, because I'm a god!', and then some character suddenly revealing, 'What a coincidence! I have a power that's completely useless anywhere else but it can one-hit-kill any god!'. Asinine stuff like that.

Anyhow, the point was that we weren't there yet, but with all the flying people and grand magics and (especially) my abilities to teleport and prevent teleporting, we were straddling the power-scaling line a bit too hard these days. In light of this, the goal of our recent exchanges (including this one) was to ensure that the battles of the scenario would not get too out of hand. While fully grounding things was impossible at this point, we at least tried to make mobility, positioning, and surprise attacks more important than who could fire the biggest magic beam, and keep super-moves like the sword-beams reserved for finishing blows and last-ditch efforts only.

That's the reason why we were exchanging blows like this, and we almost completely circled the spacious hall in the process by this point. We were using the environment and the dozens of black lances sticking out of the floor at odd angles to enact a sort of cat-and-mouse game, where I was aggressively chasing after future-me while he would retreat and take potshots at me from time to time. Of course, the idea of someone rushing in to punch someone armed with two swords was a bit silly, but then again, magic gave us a lot of Watsonian mileage to hand-wave away the absurdity.

It wasn't even all that taxing, as it felt like one of our rehearsal sessions back at the extra-secret hideout, and maybe because of that, I had the mental leeway to listen in to what the still remaining onlookers had to say.

"Why is the Emperor running away?" a female voice asked from the direction of the group still huddled in the corner of the hall.

I couldn't hear the first half of the response, because the clash of Cal meeting future-me's glove drowned out all other sounds, but the second half was, "… already on his last legs. He's using his mobility to his advantage."

"I don't follow…" said another voice, but then we got a bit too far, and by the time we returned within earshot, someone else was yelling, "… internal injuries! The Celestial is done for!"

Oh. Oh no. They were doing it. They were actually doing the 'peanut gallery commentates on the battle' trope. Shame on you, Simulacrum.

…

Or, wait. I was kind of expecting something like this to happen, and because I wasn't in my meditative zen-zone, my expectations had a stronger effect on the narrative, so… did I cause this to happen? If so, then shame on me, I supposed.

Shaking my head, I was just about to message future-me about whether or not we should start the final clash. Originally the plan was to use the mana stocked up in Cal and the big double sword-beam during the climax of our duel, but I naturally had a contingency plan ready in case that would be infeasible, future-me and his stupid future-knowledge be damned, so I wasn't too worried.

I never got around to sending that message.

"Stop right this instant!" a familiar voice boomed just as I was about to leap after a retreating future-me, and I nearly stumbled when I looked over and realized what he was doing.

"L-Lord Inanna, this wasn't what we—!"

"Silence, cur!" Crowy snapped at the black-winged man he was holding up in the air by the throat, his eyes and hair flaring bright in tune with his shouts. "You claim fealty, yet where were you all this time? Hiding in the back with your tail tucked between your legs! If you are unwilling to serve, I shall make use of you in other ways!"

"Stop!" Corbeau cried out with unexpected sincerity, but when Crowy didn't even acknowledge her presence, she turned to the Nergal patriarch for support. "My Lord! Do something!"

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Belette, standing just a couple of steps to the side, didn't move a single finger. He just stood there, back straight and trying to look as composed and in control as he could. Unfortunately for him, he could hardly measure up to the pressure of Crowy's roiling and seething violet aura, but at least he was able to assert his presence, if nothing else.

Seeing that he couldn't expect any help from him, Tracas grabbed onto his captor's forearm and yelled, "Remember our deal!"

"A deal made with fence-sitters and two-faced opportunists is as easy to bend as their spines," he responded with a haughty scoff and a low snarl. "Pray that I don't bend it any further."

"I… did everything I…"

The Ashur noble's head was turning redder by the second as he flailed his wings and gasped for air, but Crowy paid him little heed and locked his eyes onto me.

"Cease your resistance at once, or I'll snap this miserable pawn's neck in an instant."

That… wasn't in the script. I glanced at future-me for his take on the situation, but he looked completely unfazed by this development. Why wasn't I surprised?

"{What now?}"

Instead of an answer, all I got was an ambivalent shrug, so I turned back to the trio and uttered a flat, "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Crowy responded with a chilling glare and tightened his grip, causing Tracas to flail even harder. "He holds no value for me anymore, but what about you? Are you willing to throw him away?"

I had no idea why he picked Tracas of all people to hold over my head like that. It wasn't like I knew the man well, or even liked him. He was a terrible hostage, but…

"{Heads up!}"

The sudden message coming my way startled me for a second, but then I saw future-me closing in on me from the left. I reflexively raised Teeny to defend my side, but he effortlessly brushed the blade aside and crouched low. I wasn't one hundred percent clear about what happened next, but I had seen him do this move before, so I figured that he did a half-turn and then kicked up. It was a horrifically awkward attack more befitting of some 2D fighting game than real combat, but I was caught off-guard, so it still hit me squarely in the chest.

Next thing I knew, I was flying through the air on a beautiful, parabolic arc, right until I connected with the far wall that was, incidentally, just a couple of steps away from where Crowy and his group were standing. He reflexively shielded himself with his intact wing, but he still had Tracas by the throat even after he spread it again.

As for me, I was… surprisingly fine after all that. Both the kick that launched me and the wall that I hit with my back imparted only a small impact on me, to the point my Leoformer's wards didn't even activate in response. That was odd, but I had no time to ponder about it, since all eyes were on me. I had to think fast, and so I hastily put Cal and Teeny back into storage and simultaneously retrieved another dose of fake blood.

I mimed trying to rise to my feet, only to stumble and clasp a hand over my mouth. I grimaced hard to show I was trying to hold back something, and then a second later I bit down on the packet in my mouth and 'coughed up' a 'mouthful' of 'blood'. Was I a wuxia protagonist yet?

Jokes aside, I figured that this was enough to signal that I was out of the fight, but future-me decided to go the extra mile and Phased next to me, grabbed my head from behind, and pushed me down to the ground. For the briefest of moments, I was startled and a bit afraid that he would smash my face into the floor, but he stopped in time and only forced me to stay motionless.

"Aaand touchdown!" he exclaimed from the top of his lungs, accentuated by a hearty laugh. "Hah! Great show, Crowy!"

"Thank you, my Emperor," he responded softly, yet there was a slight edge to his voice, and it turned into outright malice when he looked me in the eye. "May I?"

"May you what?"

Future-me feigned ignorance, so Crowy outright stated, "I have a debt to repay to this man, so if you allow me, I would like to start right away."

"Tut-tut, Crowy." My future self wagged his finger at him and reaffirmed his grip on the back of my head. "Don't you already have your hands full?"

"Oh, this?" He snarled at the winged abyssal still held in his grasp. "He no longer interests me."

For a moment I thought he meant he was going to release him… but instead he squeezed harder. Tracas let out a stifled scream that was cut off when his windpipe was fully constricted, and it sent shivers down my spine. Bloody hell! He was actually going to kill him. Right here in front of my eyes. Fuck that!

"{Blan B, Plan B!}" I messaged frantically and jumped to my feet.

Or at least that's what I wanted to do, but my legs refused to budge.

"Lord Inanna! Stop!" Corbeau cried out, yet didn't leave the Nergal patriarch's side.

I tried to push myself off the ground, but my arms also didn't move. It felt like my whole body was embedded in solid concrete, and even breathing was getting harder.

However, before I could figure out what the hell was going on, there was a crunching noise, then a snap, and a lifeless body fell to the ground without any pomp or ceremony. There was no slow motion. No drawn-out 'Nooo!' from the back. No orchestral sting.

A life was just snuffed out. Gone, like a candle flame in the wind. And I just watched it without being able to move a muscle.

"Hey, Crowy!" Future-me snapped at the horned Abyssal and shook his head. "What did I tell you about breaking your toys? Sheesh. This is why I can't take you anywhere!" He rolled his eyes and then roughly pulled my head up by my hair. "Sorry, but I can't let you play with Polemos yet. You see, I also have many things to discuss with him, and I call dibs." He paused and made a sweeping gesture at Belette Nergal and the ruined reception hall. "Clean up this mess. We'll talk later."

I felt the strange sensation of his phantom limbs wrapping around me, and a blink later, we reappeared inside a familiar scenery. Stone walls, rusty iron bars, and musty, stagnant air. I didn't care about any of those, as I shifted on the ground and kicked out without holding back, sending future me flying across the cell and breaking the frontal wards of his outfit, as well as the ones on his back when he hit the barred door and nearly knocked it off its hinges.

"What the fuck was that!?" I roared in hollow fury as I staggered to my feet. "You reversed the physical enhancements on my gear!"

"Yeah, I did…" His voice was a bit strained and he remained sitting at the base of the door. "Ow. I know I deserved this, but…"

"Fuck yes, you deserved it, you bloody bastard!" My bellows echoed in the prison, and after a while, they were followed by a mousy voice.

"Uncle Antonio? Is that Uncle Polemos? Are you fighting?"

"Don't worry, Ollie," future-me called over his shoulder, towards the other end of the cell block. "It's nothing serious. Go back to sleep."

"Nothing serious my ass," I hissed at him, though this time I tried to moderate my volume. "You stopped me and let him die."

He gave me a flat stare through the mask. We maintained eye contact like that for a few seconds, but then he exhaled a tired breath and grabbed one of the bars for support. Once he pulled himself to his feet, he took off his mask and used it to vaguely gesture towards the bed in the back.

"Sit down. There's some meta-stuff we need to discuss." He let his arm down and amended, "Fair warning: you're going to hate it."

For once, I had no trouble believing his words.

Part 3

Once I sat down on the corner of the surprisingly soft and springy bed, I was hit by a wave of fatigue. While it wasn't too bad (I certainly had worse crashes in the past), this wasn't the right time to feel enervated, so I lightly slapped my cheeks to get the adrenaline flowing again. Future-me glanced at me but didn't bother to say anything and just walked to the corner of the surprisingly well-lit and furnished cell to pick up a wooden chair.

I kept my curiosity about the place in check for the time being and pinched the spot between my eyes with my thumb and forefingers to focus my mind. Let's summarize what happened to make sure I didn't miss anything: I arrived at the Abyss. Fidèle Shamash showed up to warn me about a trap, which I already knew about, because we set it up with future-me. Then he showed up with Crowy and, the Shamash matriarch's presence notwithstanding, things went mostly as planned.

We fought, I clowned on Crowy a bit, and then we pretended that I was injured by a cheap shot to raise the stakes. So far, so good. Then I mixed things up a bit to let Fidèle leave the combat zone, followed by resuming the script by having a one-on-one duel with Bel. So far, we were mostly on the rails, but then it all went to hell when Crowy took the prospective head of Houe Ashur hostage, future-me used my shock to hit me with another cheap shot that wasn't in the script, and then he paralyzed me so that I couldn't intervene when Crowy snapped Tracas's neck right in front of my eyes.

He used the same trick I invented to stop Knights in their tracks in the past; by interacting with the physical enhancement arrays of their equipment, I could tune them into 'negative values', meaning that instead of speeding up and strengthening their movements, the enchantments would have the opposite effect. I never expected it to be used against me, so it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize what was going on and undo the changes. By then, the Ashur noble was already dead on the floor, and soon after we got here and there was nothing I could do about it.

In the meantime, future-me settled down on the chair he pulled over and we sat face to face. The silence was heavy in the cell, and I was the one to break it first.

"You set me up." He didn't move a muscle, so I barrelled on. "You never told me the true plan."

"You already knew that from the start," he pointed out, and my next words got caught in my throat for a moment.

"I mean, yeah, but… I didn't expect things to go down like that!" I burst out, trying to not sound hysterical. Whether I succeeded or failed was beside the point.

"And you also know that it was half the point."

"Yes, but…" I clenched my teeth and hissed, "Be straightforward with me, for once: was Tracas getting killed part of the plan all along." Future-me nodded without the slightest hesitation. "Why?"

"Because it was necessary for meta-reasons."

"But it makes no sense!" I snapped, throwing my hands in the air.

"Two words," future-me countered in an even voice and raised two fingers for emphasis. "Sacrificial lion."

"The trope…?" I fell silent for a moment as I considered that. The 'sacrificial lion' was a trope where an established character's death was used to raise the stakes of the plot, especially at a crucial juncture. However, the more I thought about it, the less I could see the logic. "That's nonsense. You can't just kill off someone like him for that. We didn't even like the guy, for god's sake, and we knew practically nothing about him! Where was his tragic backstory that explained all his motivations and contextualized his betrayal to give his death the necessary gravitas?"

"It's not like we know the background and history of Percival either," my future self pointed out, so I crossed my arms with a soft huff.

"That's something else entirely. We're not invested in the bastard, but Leonard Pendragon was supposed to be. Even ignoring that, we're invested in Penny who's invested in him, so…" I would've probably continued rambling if not for a sudden realization rearing its ugly head in the back of my mind, so I shut up and looked future-me in the eye. "Why did you bring him up? That was too out-of-the-left-field to be just a random comment. How is Percival related to any of this?"

My future version let out a long breath and sat straight in his seat, meeting my gaze with a dispassionate one of his own.

"He's not related to this on a Watsonian level, no, but on a more Doylist one." By this point he linked his fingers in his lap, which was my traditional 'scheming mastermind revealing his plan' pose. He knew that, and he knew that I knew, so it had to be on purpose. To make sure I was paying full attention. "Listen. At this point, our understanding of the Simulacrum is… incongruent."

"Because you're from the future."

That should've been a blindingly obvious statement I made just to keep the conversation rolling, but he shook his head.

"Yes, but no. I told you, I'm not that far ahead. It has more to do with the fact that we're both currently experiencing a retcon-in-process, but while you're looking at it from a linear time perspective, from my end, it's more of an instance of time that—"

"Oh, shut up!" I cut him short with a growl. "My head's starting to hurt already. Don't you dare start talking about blocks of time and other Emergent-bollocks like that."

"I wasn't going to, I'm just giving you context," he argued back, his calm and collected demeanour making me feel a bit iffy about snapping at him like that, though not for long. "The point I'm trying to make is that because of this difference in perspective, I have a more in-depth understanding of the Simulacrum's inner workings right now. Tropes, the push and pull of narrative influence, those kinds of things. You get what I'm trying to say."

That wasn't a question, and I begrudgingly nodded along.

"Sure. What you're trying to tell me is that this whole charade was a necessary evil." He nodded. "Including sacrificing Tracas for it."

"It was less of a sacrifice, and more of an inevitability," future-me told me, sounding just a little bit wearier than before. "We both understand that the current state of the Simulacrum's scenario is unnatural and something that we created through both conscious choices and unconscious influence. What you don't understand yet is that the underlying framework controlling the scenario and its limits really, really doesn't like that." He crossed his arms again, his face twisting into an annoyed grimace for a moment before amending his last statement. "I'm personifying it a bit by saying it 'likes' something or not, but it's not a conscious process that makes choices. Not really. It's more like a giant rubber band; you apply force in one direction, it stretches out a bit, but then it wants to return to its original shape and potentially launch you across the room."

"I think I get what you're trying to say, but what does that have to do with…?" I began, only for my mind to make the connection between what just happened with Tracas and the events surrounding Percival, and I had one of those 'ten minutes of thoughts happening in ten seconds' epiphanies.

Future-me graciously waited for me to snap out of it, and he gave me another nod before I could even ask a question.

"It's as you figured. The Simulacrum's original scenario had a much more… 'cavalier' attitude towards the value of human life." His expression was turning darker by the second, and it was clear to see that just talking about this topic was making him indignant. "Snowy was never supposed to survive the battle at the School. Ichiko was meant to be destroyed along with Onikiri, Sebastian was to fall to the stupid dragon-slaying spear at one point or the other, and Percival was supposed to die at our hands. All of them were meant to be big, emotional scenes to accelerate the plot and drive home the dramatic stakes of the scenario. And those are just the tip of the iceberg."

"You can't be serious…" Yet, he was, so against my better judgment, I asked, "Who else?"

"Fred, Galatea, Elder Xinji, Mom-in-law, Morgana, Jaakobah, Xiao, the three ex-Directors, and Tajana were all marked to die depending on which way the scenario progressed." That was already a bombshell, but then he added, "If not for us, I'd say about half of them should be dead at this point in time."

"Bloody hell…"

"You get it now. We've been stretching that stupid rubber band to its limits, and something had to give."

"But why Tracas?"

Future-me shrugged.

"Honestly, he already had his days numbered. Turncoats like him don't live long, and he wanted to assassinate Ollie. Even if things worked out according to the plan I told you, so long as he lived, he would've posed a mortal threat to the kid for the rest of his life. This way, at least he bought us some time."

"I get that, but… It's just so… cold."

"I know. I don't like it either, but some things can't be helped." For the first time, future-me sounded a bit softer than usual. "Listen, we're the same, so I know exactly how messed up all of this feels to you, but I also know you understand that this is something that had to be done. If you want to blame someone, blame the Emergents that originally made the Simulacrum and hard-coded these bullshit restrictions into it."

He wasn't wrong. Human life was precious, and I always hated how killing people in even moderately kid-friendly stories was often glossed over and considered a given. Of course, I wasn't a big fan of the other end of the spectrum either, where every conflict was resolved with a heartfelt talk and a group hug, but both of those were fiction. Our world might've worked on tropes and clichés, but the people here were real, at least to me, and so I wanted to avoid causalities as much as possible. Apparently, there was only so much I could stretch my luck (and the Simulacrum) without consequences.

At last, I decided to mull over the ethical and moral implications of this whole situation at a later date and focus on the ongoing discussion instead. I inhaled deeply and looked my future self in the eyes again.

"You're right. I hate this, but let's not get bogged down in it. You said Tracas's death bought us some time. For what, exactly?"

"To finish the scenario," he answered reflexively, as if waiting for my question. Which, considering he had future knowledge, he probably was. "The framework, including this whole stupid thing about 'balancing the tone' by these sacrificial lion death scenes, is only in effect while the scenario itself is running. Once we reach the end of it, all these restrictions and enforced tropes will be gone."

"And that's when the Crowned Coalescence comes in to resolve everything," I guessed, but this time he only shrugged.

"Probably. I told you, I'm not that far ahead, but that seems to be the logical conclusion."

"Great. Does anyone else need to die for that to happen?" I grumbled, only to pause and hastily raise a palm. "Wait. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

Future-me's expression was inscrutable, but maybe that was for the better.

"I wasn't going to."

"Good. Honestly, even knowing the meta-reason, I'm not sure I could sit still if I knew one way or the other."

"Ah, about that…" This time, future-me's expression was extra-inscrutable. Suspiciously so.

"… What are you not telling me?"

Instead of giving me a straightforward answer, he stood up from his seat and walked behind it, his hands resting on the back of the chair.

"You see, I told you that you're going to hate this meta-talk, but I wasn't referring to the whole death-rubber-band thing." That already caused a bunch of red flags to rise and claxons to start blaring in my mind, but before I could get a word in, he already dropped the next bombshell on me. "The thing is, you can't leave here."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" I asked back, sounding a touch alarmed, and future-me flashed an apologetic smile in response.

"Yes, but… Let me try again: you can't leave here. As in, I'm not allowing you. Literally."

"… Literally literally, or figuratively literally?"

"We both know I'm not a fan of word games at times like this," he answered back, sounding unusually sheepish, and explained, "You see, you're currently inside my retcon, and so I made it so that you're unable to Phase."

"… That's not funny."

"I know. Sorry, but it's kind of necessary." He flashed another apologetic smile and picked up his chair, pointing its legs at me like some stereotypical lion-tamer, stopping me before I could get to my feet. "Whoa, easy there! I'm not finished."

I wasn't listening, because I already locked onto Judy's mark, but when I tried to Phase away, I was immediately hit by a wave of nausea and a mild headache. Upon opening my eyes again, I was still staring at my future self and his defensively raised chair.

"Bloody hell, me! What have you done?!"

"Don't worry, it's temporary. As for your question…" He flashed a shit-eating grin at me, so it was a good thing he had that chair, as I would've decked him right in the nose otherwise. "You see, normally it would be impossible to interfere with our abilities, because of the whole faux-Free-Actor thing, but these are very special circumstances. It's all very technical and convoluted, but to put it in simple terms, I'm technically imposing a limitation on myself, and since you're not supposed to directly affect the scenario at the moment, the Simulacrum lets it slide. It's just a precautionary measure, to make sure things past this point will go exactly as planned and I won't have to work around the whole Free Actor thing. Once you calm down and think about it, you'll realize that it's all very reasonable."

"Then why didn't you tell me about it beforehand!?"

"Because you're not calm right now, and I don't want to get punched," he countered with an index finger raised. "I already took the kick, so let's consider us even."

"Like hell we are!"

Future-me ignored my protests and jerked his head towards the far end of the hallway.

"For now, just chill and relax. Think of this as an impromptu vacation. Snacks are in the fridge, got a nice collection of books and mangas on the shelves, and you'll have Ollie and the swords to keep you company. Just sit back, unwind, and enjoy the show. I'll take care of the rest and call you when you're needed."

"You can't just—!" Before I could finish, my future self winked at me and disappeared, along with the chair he was holding. I jumped up from my seat at the edge of the bed, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Oh, you mother—!"

My second exclamation was also interrupted when future-me showed up again with a cheeky "Yoink!", picked up his Bel mask from the nightstand, and gave me a jaunty salute with his fingers over his forehead before disappearing again.

I glared at the spot for a few seconds, but by the end of it, my previous shout deflated into a morose, "… fucker…", followed by another attempt at Phasing away. The result was the same as before. I wasn't going to be deterred so easily, and I tried a few more times, with no progress whatsoever.

The headache and the nausea that came with it weren't even that bad; I'd endured much worse in the past, but there was something else that made me unable to go through with the whole process. It felt less like a hard restriction and more of a… mental block, maybe?

It was hard to put it into words, but more importantly, I had a distinct feeling that if I tried really, really hard, I could probably overcome this limitation anyway. It was just that…

"Goddamit, me…"

I hated to admit it, but future-me was kind of right. Now that I calmed down a bit and thought about it, this whole thing made a lot of sense. I mean, considering my track record of bumbling into plots and scrambling up narrative threads, I wouldn't have trusted myself with staying out of trouble either. So, I didn't. Or won't.

At least my other abilities were seemingly intact, by the looks of it. My phantom limbs were still as limber and ethereal as always, I could still operate my Leoformer (though it was naturally affected by the magic-disturbing effect of the Inannas' prison), and I could use Far Sight just fine as well. Considering all that, what were my options?

Not much, really. I was supposed to stay here and pretend to be locked up, but I was literally locked up. It didn't make much of a difference, but the fact that I couldn't leave even if I wanted still annoyed the heck out of me.

…

Or… could I?

I headed over to the cell door and… yep. It wasn't locked. I pulled on it and, while the hinges made a loud whining noise, it still opened wide and I could casually walk out into the hallway lined with more cells on both sides. Last I checked, there were no guards down here, only at the mouth of the cave entrance leading to the prison, so if I really wanted to, I could probably leave the old-fashioned way. I just needed to climb all these stairs, then sneak out of the cave, dodge all the Fauns stationed outside, exfiltrate the town, then trek through the countryside to find another Noble House, and then…

"Too tired, maybe later," I grumbled as I turned off my Leoformer, reached into my inner breast pocket, and uncapped the stainless-steel hip flask Sebastian 'let me borrow' for a while.

I took a swig and let the warm tea wash away the taste of the fake blood from my mouth. It was something I desperately needed at the moment, and after a glance at the Ashur heir's cell at the far end of the hallway, currently dark and silent with its occupant presumably sleeping, I turned on my heels and returned to my own.

Was I happy with how things turned out? Not one bit. However, future-me was still me, as aggravating as he was, so for the moment I decided to give myself the benefit of the doubt and only observe the unfolding situation. If nothing else, doing so was going to keep me from being bored while stuck down here. Whether or not I was going to remain obediently stuck here though, that was a question for another day.