Director's Commentary
He's here. Suddenly, without warning, with me lacking any kind of backup, the final boss appears in front of me. His eyes are closed, his brow easy as he sips something red from a teacup at the table in my own room.
For a moment, I can't respond. Lub-dub, lub-dub. My heartbeat echoes in my ears, and I feel the burning urge to expose my neck to him. Vampire. This is a Vampire.
"-My apologies. Costume!" A swirl of shadows deposits the holy shroud Jeanne gave me so long ago upon my shoulders, and the urge to accept his bite recedes. Zepia smiles, gesturing for the seat opposite his own.
"[Minya]!" Naturally, I attack.
"Oya? Well, I suppose imprudence is the flaw I have chosen to highlight," Zepia says with some amusement, a twisting of shadow in the air causing my projectiles to vanish far before they reach him. "It's an excusable turn of the script. Still, won't you have a seat? I'd like to hear your thoughts on the production so far. Will you have some tea?"
"I won't, I hate it, and absolutely not!" I shout reflexively in response to his barrage of questions.
He gives a quiet chuckle. "Come now, I'm sure you must at least have some questions. If things go to plan, this will be my only chance to give the director's commentary - things will be far too tense at the climax."
"No, why are you talking like this is even a coherent plot, it's clearly all over the place…" I mumble. "I mean, what the hell was even with that Tengu?"
"Ah… that was part of Scandinavia Peperoncino's story, not yours. I'm afraid it's a bit of a bad writing habit of mine, to tailor a personal tragedy for each member of the cast rather than choose a single hero to suffer," Zepia answers, shaking his head. "Do not worry - for you I've crafted a truly cathartic experience. I tried to kill as much of the extraneous cast off as possible before the tower, but it seems I've failed. Ah, for a chance to re-draft!"
…Alright, let's re-center. What are my options here? I can't call telepathically, since nobody will answer - there should have been someone, right? But when I try to remember her, my mind simply fills with stars. Aldebaran, and the Hyades. My brain feels a strange moldy yellow-
"Cut!" Zepia cries, and his form flickers. Sharp-nailed fingers grab my aching temples, and I snap back to reality as something warm and sticky is poured down my throat. I spit as much as I can out as he draws the teacup away from my lips-
"My production is far from at an end; this is not the time for another play to take the stage!" He shouts. "I will not accept heckling from a bored audience!"
My stomach feels like something is burning a hole through it, but my brain ceases to tremble even as I clutch it in pain. "Gah… AHHHHGGGH!" It burns. It burns. dozens of 'somethings' coursing through my body, as my arm and leg sear with a strangely familiar heat.
"This was a matter of costuming to begin with, but those curses should also suffice to restrain my Audience's influence," Zepia speaks over my screams as he swirls his cloak and teleports back to his chair.
What… what the hell is this!? Like molten iron, clawing through my limbs like a rabbit. "Ahh! AAAAAHHH!" Why does it feel… so familiar!?
I clutch my right arm with my left, drawing it up to my face despite the searing pain, trying desperately to see- ah.
Black skin, and grotesque dark veins. The curse of the dragon's blood, which I had received in Lugunica. Returning to Earth had put me back to my original physique, though strangely it hadn't healed my ability to use magic or stripped me of my Witch Factors - and now this curse had found its way back to me as well. "What… the hell?"
"This has been a bit of a slapdash production, you see," Wallachia says, shaking his head with exaggerated embarrassment. "I was only able to get the costuming department up and running midway though, speaking of which-"
He snaps his fingers and shadows swirl like a curtain, an object appearing behind them - a mannequin. It's my size, wearing what looks to be a reproduction of my adventuring gear from our first visit to the tower.
…What.
"It's a proper Mystic Code, of course," he explains casually. "I realize demanding a wardrobe change this late in the performance is, dare I say, unprofessional, so I made sure that it actually serves some use."
"No, I'm obviously not going to wear it!" I finally shout, rising to my feet and pointing my now grotesquely blackened hand at the item in question. "You're my enemy, just how stupid do you think I am!?"
"Hm? Resistance…?" Zepia frowns slightly, his brow creasing - and then he springs to his feet with a sort of jerky movement that perfectly reminds me of Petelgeuse Romani-Contee, his hands outstretched in exasperation. "Don't you understand that this is required? For your confrontation with the Dust of Osiris to be narratively satisfying, you should look like the 'Natsuki Subaru' that he has searched for all this time. In order for it to be aesthetically pleasing, you ought to be a near perfect mirror of him! For the sake of the artistry of it!
Can't you see, Natsuki Subaru!? You are my star player, it won't do for you to be unsuitably attired! After centuries of producing mere disaster movies, I finally get the opportunity to pre-plan a true tragedy, and this is what you give me!? Cut, cut! This cannot stand, you are off-book! RETAKE!"
His cloak swirls, and once again he's seated, the mystic code vanishing into shadows. "Now!" he says, manic energy filling his voice despite what appears to be an effort to restrain it. "Our costume department just finished this! A mystic code, perfect for the final act!" Again, he snaps his fingers, the mannequin reappearing.
Though his voice is agitated, there's no sign of falsehood in his words that would make this into a joke. He speaks earnestly, as though introducing the costume for the first time, confident in the belief that this is my first time seeing it.
At this point, it finally strikes me that this man is batshit insane.
I should have known that already, but it hadn't hit home. When I first walked in and saw him, his initial manner of speaking had tricked me, subconsciously, into believing that this man was fundamentally the same as the Director Zepia who I had met in Atlas.
Quickly, my brain recalibrates. I'm not dealing with someone like Prelati or Roswaal, a man who despite a certain madness, is capable of keeping on track and outwitting me. This is a true slave to his compulsions, a maniac like Petelgeuse or Sirius who will launch into insane tirades at the drop of a hat.
"Quickly, quickly!" Wallachia cries. "Dress parade! The costuming is vital! If Jocasta lacks her golden pins, how can Oedipus gouge out his eyes!?"
"Like I want to do that!" I blurt out.
"Retake!" He shouts, and again the mannequin vanishes. "I have prepared it! The costume you require!" Again, he snaps his fingers and it appears.
…Just like this. As long as he's talking and doing stupid stuff like this, I can keep buying time for Recorder's… whatever kind of clairvoyance he's got, to notice. At that point. we'll catch Wallachia in his Noble Phantasm, and that'll be that. It's the go-to archbishop response for a reason, after all; if he's too busy yapping he won't attack. I just need to not say something to set him off.
"I keep saying, I'm not accepting a gift from an enemy," I say, and his head drops forward.
"Enemy…? Ki…" his shoulders start to shake as he clutches his face in a clawed hand, rising to his feet. Uh oh, looks like I'm in for a villain monologue. "Ki…hi…heheheHEHEHE!" High pitched, shrieking, throat-tearing laughter explodes from behind razor sharp teeth as he throws his head back, his eyes finally wide open.
There's neither iris nor pupil there, only orbs of pure burgundy, tears of blood pouring in a steady flow down his cheeks. "I am the playwright, the organizer of this tragedy! To have me on stage at all would be unforgiveable! Your foe is yourself, and only yourself! What rumors you conjure, what punishment you bring upon yourself! I cannot be your enemy, or is God the enemy of his creation!? I am your creator! I make sense of your senseless miseries! This is my curse, this is the TATARI! I will prove it, prove it, prove it- there is no future! There is no truth, even in this world! And so, and so, and so, andsoandsoandso I will grant the death you wish for! Spread the blood, spread the curse, in this midsummer night's dream where your death is at least the same one that you fear! This was why Lord Ahriman gave me the Holy Grail! To lower the curtain at the right time, to write a tragedy in blood instead of a senseless ACCIDENT!"
Ah, I set him off. Oops.
I'm knocked off my feet as a black wind tears through the room, upending the table as Wallachia melts into it, until only a smile of blood is visible, and through it all he's still screaming, louder and louder with each word. Without even thinking about it, I give into my instincts and dive out the door, sprinting away through the hallway.
"I am not your enemy, I am nothing, I am a formless curse!! Your enemy is yourself, your suffering your own, the one who kills her will be you, you, youyouyouyouYOU!!!" He shrieks, a swirling mass crashing out the door and bouncing off the wall, whirling towards me. "I bring only the curtain call, the deadline for you to say what must be said! BUT YOU WILL NOT, YOU NEVER WILL - NATSUKI SUBARU, WARLOCK OF IMPRUDENCE!!! KEHEHEHEHAHAHA!!"
He bounces from wall to wall like a pinball, laughing maniacally, and I'm just about certain he'll kill me if he touches me like this so exactly which part isn't my enemy, huh!?
"Spin, mice! Spin the clock hand in reverse, turn the birth upside down, turn the world upside down, spin, spin, spinspinSPINSPINSPIIIIIN!" I give up on paying attention to his raving nonsense, pushing my body for all it's worth. I take a sharp corner, and hear the whirling mass of blood and shadow crash into the wall behind me, howling with multiple voices now as it rapidly closes - and with a last-minute burst of survival instincts, I dive, allowing it to pass over me. "LIFE LED BREAK DOWN, BECKON FOR THE FICTION! [NIGHT ON THE BLOOD LIARUNZANITY]!"
The whirling mass of darkness condenses, and then bursts into a hail of countless shadowy forms with an echo of a bloody smile hanging in the air behind them. Half-formed, silhouettes of people and monsters. Some I recognize - Nanaya, Yumizuka, the Tengu - others are unknowns - a gray-skinned man whose body itself bursts into countless monsters, a figure like a knight in black armor, a woman with prominent bangs and long flowing hair-.
"This formed ere the worlde first took shape, this hath no name or motive, its figure unknowne–" A familiar nasally voice calls out, even as the wave of shadows falls towards him. He was already here, in this very hallway - and after I ducked, the shapeless mass is now aimed at Recorder. "All of creation dwelleth within the compasse of my recollection-"
"CUT!" Comes a vigorous cry, and the shadows collapse back inwards to solidify into a single form. Wallachia, in a single motion, drives his clawed hand clean through Recorder's chest.
And then, the caster dissolves into a cloud of flower petals.
"[Puppet Playground]." Recorder, a good ten meters further down the hall concludes, and the world fades away into an empty expanse of ankle-deep water, reflecting a sky full of stars.
It had been a vain hope, really. I was basically expecting to get killed and reset. But yet again, this shady Caster has
"I see…" Wallachia mutters, leaning forward once more and leaning his eyes upon his hand. "I see, I see, IseeIseeIsee! You truly were my foil, Hieda-no-Are, Recorder of the Dawn! I am the Night of Wallachia, and you are the sun that dispels it- alas, alas, must it truly end this way? Shall I not even witness the performance's end!? So be it! The show must go on! And so-!"
He thrusts a hand in front of him dramatically, and for a moment, I see something - a gleaming golden cup, bubbling with ominous mud. Then, shadows swirl and it vanishes. "I shall pass the Grail to my successor, and as for Zepia Eltnam Oberon-!" His hand drops back to his side, all of the tension leaving his body as those bleeding eyes close once more. "...Farewell, to this Midsummer Night's Dream."
"Make whatever dramatic speeches you wish. I won't waste any paper recording the words of a falsehood," Recorder replies, walking past the vampire and towards me, even as Wallachia collapses to his knees and begins to dissolve into a puddle of black shadows.
"Ah, but it is that very thing that shall seal your fate…" The madman mutters. "The 'Truth' has no place in theatre; least of all upon this [Bloodstained Nightmare Stage]."
"What do you-?" I start to ask.
"Ignore him, Natsuki Subaru. His ramblings are not only mad, they are the words of an enemy. Why on earth should you heed them?" Recorder says, shaking his head.
"No, no… I am no enemy. I always desire the triumph of my protagonists," Wallachia says, smiling, and I blink - and during that very blink of my eyes, his snap open, and his teeth sharpen to daggers. "I desire it, even as I write the opposite! Because the suffering of the righteous IS TRAGEDY!!! KEHEHEHEHEEEE!!"
And then, Zepia Eltnam Oberon melts into nothingness.
"...Just like that?" I ask.
"Of course not, Natsuki Subaru. We haven't dealt with Tezcatlipoca yet," Recorder says, his voice dripping with condescension. "There's some possibility for a favorable interaction between [Puppet Playground] and that bizarre Underworld, but the safe assumption is that Wallachia will simply buy his way out of Hell - his final monologue aside, I doubt that charlatan has the confidence required to kill his main villain off before the finale."
Well, he was crazy, but… "He said something about not being the main villain, though."
"Naturally. But, amateur writer that he is, Zepia Eltnam Oberon will not be able to resist the emergence of a secret final villain!" Recorder says. "And speaking of amateurish writing - let us speak of your Evil Clone now, away from certain prying ears. Listen closely, and I will recount the records of the Dust of Osiris."