FATE\Deus Decipit

Chapter 81: Now or Never

Earlier...

Monica leaned forward on the picnic table she'd found, resting her head in the crook of her arm. Her damp skin sat chilled in the night air, and, while she had her jacket to defend herself with, she still flinched as her own cold, wet hair fell against her hand. She had dried just enough to put her clothes on, but not much beyond that, and, only a little ways away, Massiah rested her own, weary, wet, body on the beach sand, her head lying peacefully in Echo's lap. She had yet to clothe herself and, at this point, it was probably for the best. She cringed at the thought of all that sand getting trapped where it didn't belong...

But Massiah deserved the rest, that much was true. She had swam God-only-knows how far, and while carrying two passengers no less, although, at the same time, she was fairly convinced that Assassin's Master hadn't done much physical work at all.

It was a magical and terrifying experience. It was almost as if the water had pushed and pulled them forward and towards their destination, not unlike her own experience in the dreamy golden sea. While there was a peace to that, the feelings of helplessness and the sheer unknown of the abyssal depths were things that ate away at her even now, and she could feel the frown etch into her frozen face as she considered the 'ride' home.

'Wait, can we even make it home with three passengers?'

...

She decided to leave that question alone, and said a small prayer that Massiah's rest was a good one.

Instead, her thoughts ran to Chrysaor- and only a little to the pig- who had left her and the other girls here not long ago. It made sense: Echo and Massiah couldn't fight at all, and as for her...

Well, she couldn't fight either, not if Chrysaor didn't transform into a sword.

'-But what if we get attacked while you're gone?'

'-But what if you need a Command Seal?'

'-But what if we need to use you as a sword?'

All of the complaints she'd lobbed before rang through her head. Some of them were half-baked, some were far-fetched, and others were just lies. It was shameful to admit, but, at that point, she wasn't thinking about strategy or practicality, she was only considering her own pride for being treated like dead weight, and her own fear of being left alone.

'A fear of being alone?'

No, that didn't make sense. She ran into the woods to be alone. She ran away from home to be alone. She had built all her life around maximizing the time she spent alone. To be alone was to be safe. To be alone was to be independent. To be alone was to not cause problems for anyone else. To be alone was to remove yourself from all the useless, petty problems that other people inevitably created just by being around.

-But there was a big difference between removing yourself from others and others removing themselves from you. One boosted your pride, and the other destroyed it. One was a power move, and the other was a display of pitiful helplessness, and the other was what she had now.

For him to remove himself so quickly and and almost without warning gave her uncomfortable flashbacks to the only other people she had called 'friends'.

"...It's nice to get away from the city, isn't it?"

'Speaking of useless and petty...'

She gave him the dignity of raising her head, but she already knew who it was. The only surprise was his clothes: rather than his usual black cloak, he wore a navy sweater with a white undershirt, and, poking over the edge of the table, she made out a bit of his gray slacks as he crossed his legs.