— game start. (summoning: izanami)
Transporting most people into another plane before they could notice was by no means a mean feat. Illegal, yes, but not difficult.
Joshua, however, was not most people.
It was unnerving, to be in the most hidden and secured corner of your city only to find yourself standing in the middle of a desolated and barren park that is decidedly not Shibuya. In this town was a suppressing and uncomfortable aura, pressing down on ever fibre of his being, like a watchful eye exists to track down your every move.
What was worse, however, was what came next - a stream of information suddenly appearing into his mind, thoughts that weren't his suddenly appearing as if they were always been there. Joshua knew what this was: Imprinting, or at least a more complex form of it. Someone decided to give him a mental guidebook about wars and wishes and warriors. Master, they called him, but he was no ruler of this event. Their intentions were clear: make him fight for this Grail, or die trying.
Very well then, he decided. He will play by the rules of this game. But soon they will regret on even thinking for a second that he would actually be their pawn.
(They say that the queen serves the king, sitting gloriously on his porcelain throne. That is a lie - the queen is unfettered, uncontrolled, and the king lets him do what she wants in hopes that she will never go against him. The king after all, while important, is also very fragile.)
By now the ritual has been completed. What would most people believe to be a grafitti tag is actually a sigil, designed to fullfill only the bare requirements of this process. Drawing it brings out memories better left forgotten, and thus the young boy made sure to finish it quickly. It was his prana that would take the brunt of this summoning, anyway. Only one factor remains, and the process will be complete.
Joshua raised his vibe as high as the city would allow it. The area seemed like it was vibrating with sound, likes an orchestra being tuned. As the sigil begins to glow and cackle, a clear voice rang in the air:
May your grace shine bright in the battlefield,
May your arts come best when in need.
Let your thunder rain down on lies you've been led,
And put claim upon the fates of the dead.
Here is a herald of judgement!
With trumpets we shall hearken their doom.
From the sea of souls I command you —
The sounds reach fortissimo, and a pillar of light comes crashing down.
"Come forth, and heed my call."
