#fp chapter 1

Cliffside was a pleasant place to be, far moreso than the city. The breeze was fresh but feather-light in its touch, dancing across her skin and gently stirring the dark waves of her hair yet not tousling it. The sky was an endless azure summer haze that seemed to melt into the sea on the horizon. In the city the buildings seemed to swelter and bake in the embryonic stages of summer - here it was still spring, and her lungs felt clearer than they had been in months.

Yes, Kohana thought, hands folded tightly in front of her. Cliffside was quite a beautiful prison indeed.

She did not consider herself a cynic, but a realist. Looking back through the scrambled mist of her memory, each piece of this puzzle slotted snugly in place, just as definite and final as the closing of the gates, so much so that it was infuriating that she was only seeing now with the benefit of hindsight. Kohana remembered looking at the others, the fifteen of them waiting for the coach, and seeing not a single familiar face. How had she, the most sensible of all her class, been the one without the sense to avoid this?

Kohana dug her thumbnail into her palm to sharply reprimand herself. Having been snapped out of her self deprecation, she forced herself to think logically. She’d had several perfectly valid reasons for accepting the invitation; it would not do to dwell on the past. What was done was done, and despite her talent, she knew that it was only counterproductive to squander so much of one’s energy of what had been without looking forward to the future.

This was a prison: that she had accepted. Now all of her energies would have to be dedicated to finding a way out.

“Facilis descensus Averno,” She murmured. The Latin was familiar, one of the first lines she’d ever memorised by heart; it flowed easily from her mind and on her tongue, soothing in its familiarity. Yes, it would be quite improper of her to fret.

With that decided, Kohana primly took her bag and extracted herself from the group. For now, at least, their captors were giving them a brief period of calm respite. No doubt soon they would announce that they were being held ransom or something of the sort - for now, all she could hope to do was entertain herself until some drastic change came.

It was to that end that she ended up perched on a swing not far from the rest of the students, heels firmly dug into the ground to keep her stationary and hands neatly folded in her lap. She was watching the group, sea blue eyes cool and calm and face betraying not so much as a shred of concern. Her bag lay on the ground next to her.

She turned her head ever so slightly when she heard the sound of someone approaching, and her previously neutral mask changed to adopt a slight yet polite smile.

The Devil takes you on a sharp right, and then across the street, down to a grand and elegant building. By the door is a plaque in several languages, English, Japanese, two or three others- one of which barely looks like a language, looking at the lettering makes you uncomfortable.

The Brass Embassy, the sign proclaims. The inside does indeed feature quite a bit of brass, although it’s brighter than you generally think of brass as being. The decor is tasteful and expensive, it’s impeccably clean, everything gleams, and it’s also inexplicably warm. As soon as you step through the doors you can feel the rise in temperature, going from a brisk wintry afternoon into an almost stuffy atmosphere. Without pause or explanation, the Devil waves you onward, leading you through another door in the building to a staircase and then down, down, down... is it just you, or is it getting hotter?

Before it reaches the point of discomfort, you arrive in what appears to be a large conference room. Just as the building above the room is heavy on brass and features quite a bit of red, but the centerpiece is the long curving table. An odd horizontal tube runs the length of it, it looks a bit like the pneumatic tubes you may have seen at a bank’s drive-thru. 

There are eighteen seats, and as you shuffle forward you notice the name cards in front of each. It takes a few minutes before you’ve all settled into the chair you’ve been assigned. In front of you, aside from your name card, there is a pencil and a piece of paper. At each place, there is also, on the pneumatic tube, a small hatch that can be opened.

“I’ll keep things simple for you. Discuss what you’ve found and your theories amongst yourselves. When you feel you’ve reached a decision, write the name of the person among you that you believe is the killer on the paper in front of you, and place it in the tube. Now to be certain you understand, you have only one chance to vote. If you write the name of anyone other than one of your classmates- me, for example- then your vote will be counted as a vote for yourself, so don’t get cute. And if the majority of the votes are incorrect...”

“One of you will die. It will be random, won’t that be fun? It could be someone you’re fond of, it could be you... best not to risk it, don’t you think? Of course, if you all decide to get it wrong on purpose for whatever reason, we’ll have to think of somethin’ a little worse to drive the point home. Doubling down, perhaps? Here’s a friendly suggestion: Don’t be wrong. And don’t throw your vote away. This is no time to debate morality, little darlin’s. Your lives are on the line. Go ahead and get started then... oh, and y’all have fun.”

When she stepped onto that bus, when she accepted that invitation, Kohana had no intention of staying in Cliffside for an extended period, let alone for the rest of her lifetime. But the Fool seemed to have another idea entirely. Looking back, she couldn’t see any point at which she had agreed to such an arrangement. Which meant that, cheerful brochures and claims of care aside, she and the other graduates were, fundamentally, little more than prisoners. Prisoners in a comfortable, charming little cage, but just as trapped as woodcocks in a springe.

At the time, Kohana had wanted to raise her voice. No, thank you, I have a PhD to complete. Thank you for the opportunity, but I must decline. Yet they had all been gassed on the journey there - Kohana highly doubted that there was any room for negotiation in these circumstances. In any case, she was certain that she could not be there forever. It was neither desirable nor practical. She considered herself a grounded person, and logic dictated that it simply could not be. If the police did not search for the missing graduates, at the very least their friends and families would; and being possessed of such a powerful and wealthy family as she was, it was only a matter of time until she was found and freed.

That did not mean that their future was certain in either direction, however. Kohana was not a great believer in the notion of a foregone conclusion. To do so would be to disregard the great complexity of the world, she felt. No matter what their future held - impending freedom, eternal imprisonment or something quite different - she reasoned that there could be nothing lost by keeping calm and little gained by losing her head. It was to that end that Kohana decided to spend her time enjoying the scenery while she could.

Very little on the brochure interested her. The situation regarding food seemed dire, but she was certain that the spices shop could at least salvage the situation until there were such luxuries as vegetables available. As for the church, she’d never been one for religion, really. And what use had a girl like her for a stage?

To that end, she situated herself at the most interesting location - the duck pond. It was a pretty little feature, she could appreciate that much. Not necessarily exciting, but there was something refreshing about the natural scenery.

That said, it was not the ducks she was looking at. Kohana was sat on one of the benches, a small sewing kit placed next to her, and across her lap was a piece of cloth. Her pillow case; as pleasantly modern as the cottages were, and as much as she appreciated that some of her possessions had been moved there, she’d decided to take matters into her own hands when it came to introducing beauty, one piece of embroidery at a time.

Her planned design for this one was quite elaborate. Come to think of it, she doubted she would have time to finish it.

A cacophony of quacking made her look up from the flower she was stitching, and the sudden noise made her slip, jabbing the needle into her thumb. She paused before calmly taking it out and looking up at whoever it was that disturbed the ducks, one eyebrow ever-so-slightly raised.

The day is waning towards the afternoon, those of you who had chosen to do so have had several hours in which to conduct your investigations. Those of you who hadn’t probably spent the extra time sleeping, and who can blame you? Still, as the time slips by, you can’t help thinking of the Smiling Devil’s ominous announcement after the body was discovered.  

You don’t wanna find out what happens if you get it wrong.

Somehow you get the feeling that wasn’t a bluff. Maybe because nothing else she’s said has been. In any case, whether you want to or not, you may very well be about to find out. You are approached in the course of your search by the Devil herself, and she instructs you to meet her at the fence, moving on without waiting for comment.

Once you are all assembled in the foggy darkness of the outdoors, she stands at the head of the small crowd you form, between you and the fence. Old-fashioned street lamps provide an eerie, dim lighting. The air smells of smoke, damp stone, fetid water and vaguely, distantly, a hint of something you don’t have a name for

.

“Nice t’see you’ve been applying yourselves- well, most of you, anyway. Don’t worry, you ain’t gonna have to do this out in the chill and dark. Come along now.” She snaps her fingers, and with excellent timing the gate on the fence swings open. The Devil turns on her heel and leads the way through... to a city street. It’s sparsely populated, and the few lingering passerby quicken their pace as she leads you out. They avoid looking at you, make an effort, in fact, not to catch your eye and to ignore any attempts to call out. Apparently, you will be getting no help from the average residents of this city.

[TW: Burning, Melting]

It’s approximately ten minutes, perhaps a little less, before two panels slide open with the clunking sound of clockwork mechanisms. A pale screen is revealed on one wall and an old fashioned projector descends from the ceiling, aimed at it...

And then a third panel slides open on another wall and chains shoot out to encircle Noriko.

[ ♪ ]

Noriko looked resigned to her fate as she is dragged from the courtroom, as though she’s accepted the fact that you have bested her in a deadly game of wits. She has the grace not to smile, but she doesn’t seem ready to shed tears either.

Perhaps it is fitting that a knight should die with dignity.

When the screen flickers to life, your eyes are drawn to a picture you didn’t expect. Maybe you thought she would die like Joan of Arc--a trial by fire. Maybe you thought she would die like Arthur--going out on a battlefield. Maybe you went into this without any expectations at all, but what faced you was what appeared to be a large ceramic pot.

The camera is still as you are given time to assess the pot, though the thought that Noriko was not yet on screen nagged in your head. It was all white, like something from a school lab, but the bottom was distinctly blackened. From what...? Ah well, there’s no use wondering as you’re soon to find out.

Noriko finally appeared, dropped unceremoniously from above into the pot. She doesn’t seem aware that there are cameras now, as her eyes are wide and fearful. Her knightly composure vanishes as the chains let her loose and the camera pans to let you see inside the pot. She’s grasping at the walls, raking her nails over the clay to try and find purchase and escape, but it seems to be perfectly smooth.

Still, she wouldn’t be a SHSL Knight if she were a quitter now would she? She uses her long legs to her advantage and takes a jump, trying to grab onto the very rim of the pot. Just as her fingers find the edge successfully, the camera pans away. You can’t see inside the pot anymore, but you can just barely see her fingertips as she attempts to pull herself to freedom.

It’s then that you see the sparks. Sparks easily lead to fire and the flames easily engulfed the bottom of the pot. From above, a giant lid descends, smashing Noriko’s fingers and forcing her back inside the pot. You can’t see her anymore and you begin to wonder if this is the end, if she’s just meant to be smothered in a hot pot.

The flames only increase in intensity.

The sound of the crackling fire almost, but not quite, drowns out the sounds of screams coming from the pot. Her screams are amplified rather than smothered by the pot itself as they pierce your ears with their frenzy and fear. Even the boldest might wince at this, but the sounds soon recede into gurgles. From there, only the sound of flames and faint sizzling.

But it’s not over yet! The pot’s lid is removed, and the pot itself begins to tip. You hold your breath as you expect to see a charred human corpse tumble out, but instead all you see is what appears to be gold. The crucible burned out Noriko’s impurities and turned her into...priceless metal? The gold--though there doesn’t seem to be much of it (the thought occurs to you that perhaps there was more impurities than anything worth gold in Noriko)--is poured into a mold of your tormentor; the mascot that’s been holding you here in the dark.

(Art by Lotus.)

The statue, at one fourth the size of the real thing, is displayed before the camera. It’s smiling, of course, as the Smiling Devil always is. You can’t get Noriko’s screams out of your head, but at least the statue wears a proud smile.

The Devil had observed the events of the trial with an enigmatic grin and quiet poise, watching you all, holding up each vote as it was delivered to her chair via the pneumatic tube, and then setting it aside. When it’s over, when the time limit is up and after Noriko’s confession, she stands and claps her hands once for attention.

“We’re outta time, I’m afraid, but it looks like y’all managed to pull it off. That’s right folks, it was The Twice-Blessed Knight over there that murdered the little Scholar. A pretty brutal affair too, from what I understand.” The Devil shakes her head, still smiling, and clicks her tongue like a disapproving school teacher. “Not very honorable of you, shoving the girl into the fire and watching her scream and thrash around. You would have left her there to burn if she hadn’t pulled herself out and tackled you, wouldn’t you now? And that’s such an awful way to die.”

The Devil laughs brightly, a surprisingly wholesome sound, and then turns and heads to the door, opening it only to whisper something to another devil standing outside it. She turns back to the lot of you.

Angel listened quietly, and was going to bring up the bathroom thing herself but she was beaten to it. Instead she collected information from what everyone else said.

Angel pulled off one of her shoes as the conversation about shoe sizes came up. She knew her shoes would never fit the print, considering her small size, but she genuinely also wondered what her shoe size on these shoes was.

"Oh, I'm a 5 and a half. Well I guess I got new shoes in the school year..."

Okay Angel. Anyone who had noticed her legs-slash-feet at the start of their school life likely remembers Angel's slip on shoes not fitting her feet very well. As if they were a size too big... because they were.

Why? Because Angel is dumb. Anyway, turning her attention to Yukiteru's question, she finds her face go red a little, from embarrassment and likely shame.

"Bushida-senpai... Some of you took cold baths, walked around, drank and ate, and numerous things to keep yourselves awake... I was down there because I found peace in the dark. My hallucinations... an early one involved me being watched. So I hid myself in the Cellar. Plus you'll find it's difficult to sleep on a cold, hard floor... even though... Point is, I think I only came out a few times. Once with Nejem-senpai, and other times for food, water and toilet."

She paused.

"As I said before... all I saw was the light from the door opening and something being thrown down. That being the rag... I... at the time I didn't... I didn't ever think someone was... was..."

Dead.

"I... could have gotten out the Cellar and investigated... Maybe... maybe Kurosawa-senpai was... Or... I... sorry..."

Angel had paled as she was talking, but she straightened herself in the chair. She had no time to think about what ifs. She had the events that had happened in front of her. Not a time machine.

"Enough of the what ifs, you idiot..."

Maybe don't speak out loud to yourself, honey. She took a breath. She was mostly annoyed with herself, but they had something to do here.

"First off, I spoke with Necromancer-sama. The burns occurred before Kurosawa-senpai's death, and he also said that the floor is the highest probable cause of... the injury on her head. Judging by the blood splatter he said.

So... Okay. Kurosawa-senpai and the culprit are in the kitchen, and the murderer attempts to kill her by burning. She turns out stronger than expected, and there's a struggle. Somehow Kurosawa-senpai hits her head and dies from the blow. I have three suggestion for the blow to the head: a) the culprit hit her head off the surface b) the culprit pushed her, and then she hit her head and c) Kurosawa-senpai fell in the struggle, then hit her head.

Due to the nature of the murder, there's soot and... gh... b-blood... and I doubt the culprit got out of it clean. So of course, they clean up. The toilets, pumphouse and the rag. Whatever order, I don't think it matters. Nejem-senpai has made a good point about the rag. Even if they cleaned soot off a shoe, there could still be a scuff. And the other thing... Our culprit is still likely female, as some have suggested.

Why I think this...? Well, this murder is not a clean one. As in, it's not... executed cleanly. It's messy, and definitely feels like the murderer was in a panic. If you're in a panic, the last thing you're thinking about is covering your tracks. The murderer would have gone to the toilets they usually go to. But... that's speculation. I could be wrong.

Uh... Correct me if I'm wrong or missed anything. I'm not sure I'm functioning at my full concentration..."

She gave this... exasperated look. She was so tired still. Despite sleeping, this whole situation was exhausting. She doubted she was the only one though.

Alice wants the anger back. It hurt less than this, but now she felt cold and she pulled Aelois’ jacket tighter around her.

She wants to be the Alice that would have tackled Noriko to the ground and take out her anger, but she has defused.

All that is left is the simple satisfaction of Aelois slapping Noriko. The moment feels more personal than any injury Alice could have done, and Noriko has a greater punishment coming.

The Devil’s smile promises worse to come, and Alice while vengeful isn’t cruel enough to wish it on Noriko. But she isn’t kind enough to give her a better end.

And then the anger is back. It burns brighter than Alice would have thought, but she is calm enough not to do something completely stupid.

She does march up to Lucian though, and with her boot she stomps with all of her weight on his foot.

She clutches Aelois’ jacket, and glares at him.