Fic: A Dire Thunderclap
Title: A Dire Thunderclap
Fandom: Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Summary: At the end of all things, when it all falls apart, there is only the quietness of a warm night. Homura/Madoka
Word count: 1,250
Notes: I’ve wanted to write this for a few weeks now. Thanks to judamacaby for help with making some of the sentences work, as well as talking about and generally following the series with me.
A Dire Thunderclap
The world was flat, and where it was not flat everything was a shadow, dark and long and sharp across the greyness and yellowness that had consumed the face of the mother. The horizon was bleak, blank, blanched: White and glowing softly and sickly like a fluorescent light when there had still been industrial civilisation upon the earth. Animals had long since vanished from the surface of realised and reified Hell. Only mankind remained, mutated beyond belief, dragging sagging octopus-bodies over the level while a hot wind swept across everything unencumbered by mountains or forests or cities or seas. Akemi Homura stood on a rocky outcropping fifteen metres above the plain, one of the highest points on the planet, and looked up at the faint, blotchy, vaguely round red patch in the grey sky that had been called the sun.
A million centuries of fighting and this was how it ended. There had been, the last time anybody bothered to send a transmission (how many millennia ago had that been now?-five?-six?), thirty human worlds extant, survivable, worthwhile. The system had followed. It had followed and it had left its oldest survivor, and the only one who knew its progenitor, behind. The white things, taller than any remaining mountain, prayer cards like pixels floating in front of their faces, were cold comfort and company, but came cheap in a land smitten by the curse of a dying star.
She saw one of them. She turned, and drew her bow, and fired, and it was dead. She reached up and caught the cascade of little black squares. It was a series of movements bred in her bone. She had repeated this series of movements more times in her life than there were milliseconds in the lifespan of any normal being. In the former days this had happened almost every day; now, her memory fogged when she tried to remember the last time one of them had shown up.
‘Cold comfort coming cheap’?
That was what was called: A lie. They were cold comfort and cold company that came at the price of days in this parched wilderness, alone, unwilling to leave on one of the passing starliners. She was committed, absolutely committed, to this world even when nobody else was, just because it was here, roughly here, somewhere within this million square kilometers or so, where this whole business had started for her-them, of whom she was left to see it through. Incubator was probably off somewhere rooting around for something to eat, or do. She knew this better than he did by now, even though tens of millions of years of history were simply blank for both of them. It would have driven them even madder, remembering too much.
She turned again and there was a mass of them. She sighed, and stepped forward. This was unusual in these days. The sky above her was the colour of brass and the ground beneath her feet felt like iron. She moved forward, the winds blowing the dust out around her; they milled about, bellowing. For centuries now her soul gem had been black, but still it glimmered; the lustre was fading, and this was a lucky opportunity. Homura laughed. Where had Kyuubey got himself to now, at a time like this?
Something touched her back. Her first impulse was to turn, draw, and shoot. Just like that. All the time, of course: Turn, draw, shoot. Then a voice above the murky hot air whispered from on high into her ear. Homura’s mind turned and flipped and fell. Of course…
‘Keep it up.’
Of course.
The universe exploded into wings behind her. The demonic beasts before her bellowed their obscene canticles over the remnants of the world. The voices blasted away, assailing her consciousness and driving her down into the ground. The winds above her collided with a dire thunderclap and her sanity fell into eternity before her will let go.
Homura was back on her feet, and saw Kyuubey, eldritch but supportive as he had been to her for so long, standing several metres away. She smiled. All right then. She was going out from this support into another, one that she honestly had to thank the alien bastard for creating. No…no, ‘alien bastard’ wouldn’t work, that would never do…
‘Keep it up.’
The wings folded and burst. Heat, energy at its rawest and most dissipated form, the womb and grave of life and being, rippled through the dusty air. The heat blasted Homura forward against the towering white figures, her soul gem burning black, her clothes and skin and hair all out of order. O the times! O the customs! And the dirt and the squalor. The bones breaking, the organs failing, the soul gem going blank, the demons falling in about her, Kyuubey scurrying-she in this state of clarity was not blaming him, could not blame him, any more-and then a pink sun rose and fell, crashing down in the middle of the hazed horizon, and an apparition in white came on condor’s wings.
Homura woke. It was dark and the stars were out. The cicadas were singing all night in the distant trees. The cicadas were singing in the trees, the Milky Way spread out above her in glory, the water trickled through the rice paddies, and she was in space with her head in the lap of a goddess.
Going from the gritty burst of flesh and death to such a light, ironic, elegant, delicately articulated spiritual being-what had she done?
Homura laughed. She could not keep from laughing. What else was there to do? Her own death, meeting this person again…change, after so very long…how inherently absurd. How laughable. How wonderful.
‘Homura-chan…’
Homura looked up. A perfect face was smiling down upon her and above and around and below it blowing through the blue and the black and the white of the universe was a cool wind, a clear wind through the long pink hair. She smiled; Homura laughed more and began to cry.
‘Madoka…you really…’
‘Of course I did. You’re silly, Homura-chan. Did you really think I wouldn’t keep a promise like that-to my best friend no less? I…’
‘Stop,’ whispered Homura.
‘What?’
‘Talking is…’ Homura choked on her words and forced down a sob. ‘It seems almost…trivial, doesn’t it? After all it has been so long.’
‘Right,’ said Madoka. She reached down to nestle her head next to Homura’s. The sound of the wind and the water and the cicadas, the lights of stars that were fireflies, and the softness of Madoka’s hair and gown stirred up languid loveliness in the exhausted heart. After an absurd death she was of course in an absurd place: space beyond the outside, but an inner time that thrummed to her thoughts and fondness tens of millions of years forgotten.
‘Homura-chan…’
Homura turned her head up and gazed into Madoka’s shining face and smiled and said ‘Yes?’
‘It’s good to rest after a long day,’ said Madoka. ‘How long has it been since you slept, Homura-chan?’
Homura yawned, curled in closer to Madoka, and said ‘Something like fourteen thousand years.’
‘You’re silly, Homura-chan,’ said Madoka again. ‘You should get some sleep. Okay? Then you can come meet everyone else again.’ She looked up, tilting her head at the turned-up horizon of the heavens. ‘I’m glad you’re back.’
‘I missed you, Madoka,’ murmured Homura, as she at last fell asleep on Madoka’s breast.
Fandom: Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Summary: At the end of all things, when it all falls apart, there is only the quietness of a warm night. Homura/Madoka
Word count: 1,250
Notes: I’ve wanted to write this for a few weeks now. Thanks to judamacaby for help with making some of the sentences work, as well as talking about and generally following the series with me.
A Dire Thunderclap
The world was flat, and where it was not flat everything was a shadow, dark and long and sharp across the greyness and yellowness that had consumed the face of the mother. The horizon was bleak, blank, blanched: White and glowing softly and sickly like a fluorescent light when there had still been industrial civilisation upon the earth. Animals had long since vanished from the surface of realised and reified Hell. Only mankind remained, mutated beyond belief, dragging sagging octopus-bodies over the level while a hot wind swept across everything unencumbered by mountains or forests or cities or seas. Akemi Homura stood on a rocky outcropping fifteen metres above the plain, one of the highest points on the planet, and looked up at the faint, blotchy, vaguely round red patch in the grey sky that had been called the sun.
A million centuries of fighting and this was how it ended. There had been, the last time anybody bothered to send a transmission (how many millennia ago had that been now?-five?-six?), thirty human worlds extant, survivable, worthwhile. The system had followed. It had followed and it had left its oldest survivor, and the only one who knew its progenitor, behind. The white things, taller than any remaining mountain, prayer cards like pixels floating in front of their faces, were cold comfort and company, but came cheap in a land smitten by the curse of a dying star.
She saw one of them. She turned, and drew her bow, and fired, and it was dead. She reached up and caught the cascade of little black squares. It was a series of movements bred in her bone. She had repeated this series of movements more times in her life than there were milliseconds in the lifespan of any normal being. In the former days this had happened almost every day; now, her memory fogged when she tried to remember the last time one of them had shown up.
‘Cold comfort coming cheap’?
That was what was called: A lie. They were cold comfort and cold company that came at the price of days in this parched wilderness, alone, unwilling to leave on one of the passing starliners. She was committed, absolutely committed, to this world even when nobody else was, just because it was here, roughly here, somewhere within this million square kilometers or so, where this whole business had started for her-them, of whom she was left to see it through. Incubator was probably off somewhere rooting around for something to eat, or do. She knew this better than he did by now, even though tens of millions of years of history were simply blank for both of them. It would have driven them even madder, remembering too much.
She turned again and there was a mass of them. She sighed, and stepped forward. This was unusual in these days. The sky above her was the colour of brass and the ground beneath her feet felt like iron. She moved forward, the winds blowing the dust out around her; they milled about, bellowing. For centuries now her soul gem had been black, but still it glimmered; the lustre was fading, and this was a lucky opportunity. Homura laughed. Where had Kyuubey got himself to now, at a time like this?
Something touched her back. Her first impulse was to turn, draw, and shoot. Just like that. All the time, of course: Turn, draw, shoot. Then a voice above the murky hot air whispered from on high into her ear. Homura’s mind turned and flipped and fell. Of course…
‘Keep it up.’
Of course.
The universe exploded into wings behind her. The demonic beasts before her bellowed their obscene canticles over the remnants of the world. The voices blasted away, assailing her consciousness and driving her down into the ground. The winds above her collided with a dire thunderclap and her sanity fell into eternity before her will let go.
Homura was back on her feet, and saw Kyuubey, eldritch but supportive as he had been to her for so long, standing several metres away. She smiled. All right then. She was going out from this support into another, one that she honestly had to thank the alien bastard for creating. No…no, ‘alien bastard’ wouldn’t work, that would never do…
‘Keep it up.’
The wings folded and burst. Heat, energy at its rawest and most dissipated form, the womb and grave of life and being, rippled through the dusty air. The heat blasted Homura forward against the towering white figures, her soul gem burning black, her clothes and skin and hair all out of order. O the times! O the customs! And the dirt and the squalor. The bones breaking, the organs failing, the soul gem going blank, the demons falling in about her, Kyuubey scurrying-she in this state of clarity was not blaming him, could not blame him, any more-and then a pink sun rose and fell, crashing down in the middle of the hazed horizon, and an apparition in white came on condor’s wings.
Homura woke. It was dark and the stars were out. The cicadas were singing all night in the distant trees. The cicadas were singing in the trees, the Milky Way spread out above her in glory, the water trickled through the rice paddies, and she was in space with her head in the lap of a goddess.
Going from the gritty burst of flesh and death to such a light, ironic, elegant, delicately articulated spiritual being-what had she done?
Homura laughed. She could not keep from laughing. What else was there to do? Her own death, meeting this person again…change, after so very long…how inherently absurd. How laughable. How wonderful.
‘Homura-chan…’
Homura looked up. A perfect face was smiling down upon her and above and around and below it blowing through the blue and the black and the white of the universe was a cool wind, a clear wind through the long pink hair. She smiled; Homura laughed more and began to cry.
‘Madoka…you really…’
‘Of course I did. You’re silly, Homura-chan. Did you really think I wouldn’t keep a promise like that-to my best friend no less? I…’
‘Stop,’ whispered Homura.
‘What?’
‘Talking is…’ Homura choked on her words and forced down a sob. ‘It seems almost…trivial, doesn’t it? After all it has been so long.’
‘Right,’ said Madoka. She reached down to nestle her head next to Homura’s. The sound of the wind and the water and the cicadas, the lights of stars that were fireflies, and the softness of Madoka’s hair and gown stirred up languid loveliness in the exhausted heart. After an absurd death she was of course in an absurd place: space beyond the outside, but an inner time that thrummed to her thoughts and fondness tens of millions of years forgotten.
‘Homura-chan…’
Homura turned her head up and gazed into Madoka’s shining face and smiled and said ‘Yes?’
‘It’s good to rest after a long day,’ said Madoka. ‘How long has it been since you slept, Homura-chan?’
Homura yawned, curled in closer to Madoka, and said ‘Something like fourteen thousand years.’
‘You’re silly, Homura-chan,’ said Madoka again. ‘You should get some sleep. Okay? Then you can come meet everyone else again.’ She looked up, tilting her head at the turned-up horizon of the heavens. ‘I’m glad you’re back.’
‘I missed you, Madoka,’ murmured Homura, as she at last fell asleep on Madoka’s breast.