When the Devil Broke the Universe

It was early morning when he approached her. The rain was still pouring and she'd been out in it all night, drenched and soaking. She didn't care. She didn't care that her body was numb from the wet cold, or that she hadn't eaten since arriving in this godforsaken place, or that she was covered in mud.

She should die here. She should just suffer and then die here.

Homura had at some point fallen over into the grass, she wasn't sure when. But when the strange man in strange armor (Samurai? Roman? Some cross between the two maybe) rode up to her on a horse and then disembarked, she took notice.

"… What do you want?" she asked flatly, more out of habit than anything.

The man responded in a language she didn't recognize and if she was being honest with herself, she found she didn't really care.

"I don't understand what you're saying," she told him. He attempted conversation a few more times, but she wasn't willing to indulge him further and simply shifted her gaze to the middle distance.

Seemingly frustrated, the man pulled off his gauntlet and knelt down, feeling the girl's forehead and then her pulse. He put his glove back on, and then with a few more alien words in a comforting tone, gingerly took her frail body in his arms and lifted her up in a bridal carry, taking her back to his horse. Some deep part of her wondered where he was taking her, worried that maybe she was going to be taken advantage of. But a larger, more dominant part of her just… didn't care.

Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she deserved to be punished before dying. Pay evil until evil.

The man placed her in front of himself on the horse and then took off at a casual pace to keep the ride from getting too rough, making sure to keep a tight grip on Homura. The rhythmic bounce rocked the exhausted, sleep-deprived girl and despite herself, at some point it lulled her to sleep.

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When Homura came to, she found she'd been placed in a bed. The room—which was made of stone with odd carvings-was full of beds actually; ordered in rows with a fireplace at the end that was currently roaring. Bags, clothes, and armor lay at the side of most of the other beds, and outside she could hear talking.

"… You brought a child here? We're not an orphanage, Nabar. Why didn't you drop her off at the village?"

Another voice, one she recognized as the man who'd taken her, responded—surprisingly in speech she could understand now, "Where, Karthspire? Kolskeggr? The Reach isn't exactly known for its hospitality to non-Reachmen. Unless we're wearing our armor, at any rate. And she clearly didn't belong to anywhere around here, she doesn't even speak Cyrodiilic."

"That would explain the language amulet," the other man sighed, "Probably a slave they imported. Fine. She can stay for now. Don't make a habit of adopting strays though, we don't have the resources, and we don't want The Reach getting on our back. They're hard enough to deal with these days as it is."

"Yes, sir."

Homura looked down under her covers, grasping the amulet hanging from her neck he'd been talking about. She'd been cleaned off and her clothes had been changed too, a basic shirt and trousers.

An amulet that translated speech? Magic that didn't revolve around magical girls or contracts?

This definitely wasn't her home universe. Nothing about this place seemed familiar either-though granted, a lot of her memories of the universe as the devil were fuzzy and disjointed now, with most of the less important background stuff fading away. She wasn't surprised by that, after all how much information could a human mind (or magical girl facsimile) realistically be expected to hold? Still, it was… disconcerting, to say the least. It felt like some of her identity was being washed away against her will.

She sat up before swinging herself off the bed entirely, letting her bare feet touch the cold stone floor. She ignored it and continued forward, stepping out of the room, down the stairs, and into what looked to be the main hall; a large circular chamber built into a cave of some sort, with ornate pillars and an intricate mural stretching across the wall separating it from the stairwell. In the absence of outdoor light the place was lit by torches and braziers, and a number of stone chairs and tables littered the place, all occupied by a host of men and women in various states of armor dress, in the same style as the man who'd found her. Some were eating, others talking, and still others reading or going over maps.

"… Ah, you're awake!" the man's (Nabar, was it?) voice said. Homura turned to him, seeing a dark-skinned man with short hair somewhere in his early thirties, "You dozed off on the ride back. How are you feeling?"

… How WAS she feeling? Empty, mostly. Devoid of feeling. The goal, the person she'd been chasing for so long, was no longer attainable. She'd utterly failed, once and for all. And now after all the grief had ebbed out of her, there was… nothing. She was nothing.

"I'm fine," she said stoically.

"Ah, the name's Nabar, by the way," he said, offering a handshake. She didn't take it, and he retracted it a moment later, somewhat unsure—had he misspoke? He changed the conversation, "… Why were you just laying down out in the wilderness like that? In the cold rain?"

She didn't look at him, instead continuing to watch the others go about their lives, laughing, smiling, talking. "… You should have left me out there".

"…Why?" he asked, concerned, "Don't you know it's dangerous to be out alone in the Reach? The place has taken a turn for the worst since the Forsworn took over. You could have been abducted by bandits, or worse, a Forsworn clan".

She deserved it. "It wouldn't matter".

"..Yes, it would," Nabar replied, his voice starting to rise as he grabbed her shoulder, "Why would you say that? Don't you care?" Homura recognized that tone, that concerned vain self-righteousness. He was just another would-be hero, doing what he thought was good and just without understanding even the slightest. It explained why he'd "rescued" her and brought her here.

"Where am I?" she asked, changing the subject from topics she didn't want to talk about.

Nabar was taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation, but recovered quickly, "… Oh, here? This is Sky Haven Temple, headquarters of the local chapter of the Blades".

"… The Blades?"

"Ah, dragonslayers, mostly. But we do moonlight with contract work to help pay the bills. You know, caravan protection, cave delvers, village defense, that sort of thing."

"Mercenaries, then," Homura said succinctly.

"… I wouldn't put it like that…" Nabar replied, a bit off-balance at the sudden jab, but he couldn't disagree.

Regardless, Homura pressed on, "You mentioned dragonslaying. Is that figurative or do you actually fight dragons?"

Nabar blinked in surprise, "… Wow, you really aren't from around here, are you? Dragons have been a constant problem here for the past half-century. It's the only reason the Forsworn lets us stay here, otherwise they'd have burned this place to the ground and forced us out like they did the Nords."

Most of that went over Homura's head, but that didn't really matter, "So, what happens now?" she asked, still not bothering to give the man eye contact.

Nabar shrugged, "Well… that depends. Is there anywhere we can take you? Where did you live before I found you?"

Homura was silent for a moment, considering her answer carefully. She really didn't have the energy to explain her entire story, nor did she have any reason to believe this man would believe her. She just wanted everything to go away and leave her alone, "… No. No there's not."

He sighed, "Escaped slave, huh? That's what I figured".

"Ah, she's awake," another voice said, one Homura recognized as Nabar's superior. An older caucasian man, mildly overweight with thick silver hair and a beard in full armor minus the helmet approached them, "What's your name, little girl?"

Homura inwardly flinched at the man's disregard. A day ago she could have wiped him from existence without a second thought. But she relaxed, it would do no good to get impotently angry here, "Homura. Homura Akemi".

The elder man's face scrunched up in thought, "Akaviri features, Akaviri name. How in blazes did you end up in Skyrim? Where's your family?"

Gone. Abandoned her to the nuns because they couldn't afford her medical expenses, never to be seen again. Not that they would have survived the events of the day before anyway, "Dead," she said earnestly, "It was years ago".

"You were right, she was a slave the Reachmen imported," Nabar said.

The other man nodded, "Is that so," he turned to Homura, "I am Master Alard, overseer of the Reach chapter of the Blades. So," he turned back to Nabar, "What are you going to do with her?"

Nabar sighed, "She says she has nowhere to go, but surely we can't just send her away."

"…You certainly could," Homura muttered, wishing they would all butt out of her business and leave her be so she could just expire already, but no one was paying attention to her anymore. Damned meddlers.

Alard gave the younger man an expecting look, "Indeed, quite the mess you've made for yourself. How do you intend to fix it?"

Neber fidgeted, realizing the old Master already had some ideas that he probably wasn't going to like, "Er…"

Homura frowned at this sudden troubling turning of events. What was happening, and why didn't she like it?