It’s just that this is closer to how I’d imagine a Nasu adaptation to be (yes, I know Urobuchi did the legwork) so quite frankly the idiosyncracies go with the territory. Introducing a cast of this size, especially considering the relationships and connections involved, was never going to be a painless exercise for the viewer, in any case.

I can’t help but admire Ufotable for putting a figurative sign up at the door reading, “this is how we roll. If you don’t like it, you can sod off.” Perhaps it’s my memories of Yamaguchi’s dumbed-down domestic comedy sapping the dramatic weight from the Fate/Stay Night TV episodes; perhaps it’s the way Fate/Zero’s artwork, Kajiura OST and demanding narrative remind me of Kara no Kyoukai (which had planted an image in my head of how the Nasuverse ought to be animated). Or maybe I just like to see TV writers being uncompromising and having faith in their audience.

The thing is, I expect Type Moon stories to be dark, heavy-going and challenging. Although they have a cult following their output in general is an acquired taste – to my mind, the Fate franchise is about as light and accessible as it gets (with the exception of Carnival Phantasm, obviously).

Caster’s introduction to Uryuu for instance was gruesome and chilling: we see the meeting of two sociopaths, and it’s quickly obvious that yes, both are batshit insane and yes, this is bad news for pretty much everyone concerned. As a foreshadowing of Heaven’s Feel, it’s inevitable that we are shown Sakura going through unimaginable suffering and Zouken as another manipulative sicko too.

I’m not saying that it’s all angst, mind…I think even I’d find it too much to handle if it was. Take Rin’s Adventure episode for instance: they might as well have called it The Rin Fanboys’ Shameless Filler Episode but for all that, I actually welcomed the brief diversion. Although certain aspects of what makes her older character awesome are absent (because she’s, y’know, a kid), she’s fundamentally the same likeable, outspoken badass and as filler episodes go it was a very bearable break from the main plotline.

Speaking of likeable, outspoken badassery, Rider is probably the the most significant character who stops the entire venture being bogged down. Sure, he’s amusing enough but his comic aspects never outshine his admirable ones. Simply put, the guy is the life and soul of the party.

Iskander was, in life, a remarkable and larger-than-life figure of great charisma. The way he’s portrayed here – a mixture of Brian Blessed and King Leonidas in the movie adaptation of 300 – is far more theatrical than the real life Alexander would have been but it makes a convincing case for why history looks so fondly on him. It’s also an absolute blast to watch.

Perhaps as a nod to his up-front, direct approach to problem-solving explified in the legend of the Gordian Knot, the eleventh episode’s meeting begins with Rider turning up unannounced at the Einzburn castle…not to fight exactly, but certainly to address important issues head on.

Wrapping sincere convictions and a shrewd ability to weigh up his opponent behind a veneer of comedic bluster is a hugely entertaining way to present a character like this; it also eases the progress of a very dry and dialogue-heavy segment of the story. As a matter of fact, I’ve got into the habit of pouring myself a beer every saturday evening for my weekly dose of Fate/Zero…and Rider clearly sees the advantages of a good drink too.

The Fate route of the original VN goes into a lot of depth about Saber’s background, motives, strengths and weaknesses; here, Rider’s criticisms of her methods and aims in the Grail war were scathing, but contained elements of truth nonetheless. Her wish is a noble one on one hand, but is an insult to the courage and hard work of her and those who stood by her during her lifetime on the other.

I can understand Rider’s disappointment. He turned up to talk to two people who may be the only ones in the world who see it has he does, he brought a barrel of the best drink he can find to break the ice…only to find one of them has a classier stash of booze and the other opponent he respected so much is driven by what is, in his eyes, a misguided ideal. Rider’s wish is more, well, human than hers but even back when I was reading the VN I couldn’t help but think, “seriously, Saber, you deserved better than this.”

From Rider’s point of view it doesn’t make her much of a worthy adversary for his own gargantuan ambitions, and from the viewer’s it’s frustrating because she’s letting herself down when you consider what she put herself through to become a legendary hero in the first place. Fundamentally, those qualities are what made her the legendary hero…there are plenty of good-but-not-great monarchs who never reach mythical status, after all.

Fate’s portrayal of Arturia is that of a tragic figure and a slave to her role while Iskander’s approach was to place the king before the country; I suspect the best leadership figure exists between the two extremes of selfless martyr and selfish tyrant, but Rider does make a good case for his own philosophy. Arturia was an incomplete leader in that sense, having the fighting skills and the dedication to do the right thing but falling short of becoming the inspirational focus of her idealogy during her own lifetime. Iskander may not have put his subjects’ interests first but he did understand how important a king’s public face is in the eyes of those who serve him.

In your dreams, pal

Gilgamesh is, in my opinion, relatively straightforward and therefore not as interesting as a character. His scheming is fun to follow but as a character he lacks Saber’s inner conflict and contradictions, and doesn’t have Rider’s infectious charm either (he was very adept at talking Kotomine round in episode 12 though). Since he serves nothing but his own agenda, he’s less like Kotomine and Tokiomi Tohsaka and doesn’t really have time for playing along with everyone else.

Overall Fate/Zero occupies a peculiar position in the Type Moon canon in that anyone who’s familiar with the F/S N story has a pretty good idea about where it’s going to end. Its main purpose then is filling in the gaps and bringing the narrative up to the present; the idea of making decisions and shaking off the shackles of what’s pre-decided formed a central theme in the original, so the looming sense of inevitability in Fate/Zero gives it a different spin that’s quite refreshing.

As with the pic at the top of the post, we already know that, sadly, This Will Not End Well

The issue of the deliberate pacing remains – it feels like it’s still warming up and will save the real shocks for the second half. To my shame, I’ll still find it in myself to forgive it for that. Since the thirteenth outing will be up on Nico Nico Douga when I’m back with the family, my weekly ‘Fate/Zero and beer’ routine will be interrupted and I might have an excuse to finish reading the translation of the novel instead. Fancy that.

On that note, apologies for the sporadic update schedule this year…I’ve not had the time or energy to throw into the community as much as I used to sadly, but if I don’t get the chance before the end of the month I’d like to thank my remaining readership for coming back and wish you all a Merry Christmas and epic 2012. As always, it’s been a pleasure.

Click for full size

An extreme example of the importance of context that I stumbled on is William Gibson’s Neuromancer. It’s an enjoyable enough cyberpunk novel but not as enjoyable for me as I expected: I’m finding it tedious in places but when I remind myself that it was written before any of that stuff related to the internet, VR and even the cyberpunk genre itself were commonplace, I admire it more. Not that it makes the book itself more fun, but it makes its limitations at least understandable.

Yukikaze is a pretty old novel in its genre too (the same age as Neuromancer, coincidentally). It also deals with issues concerning A.I. and the interface between humans and machines…again back in the mid 80s before such things were regular themes in either scientific research or science fiction. It too was ahead of its time, but time doesn’t stand still.

In some ways then the real world has caught up with the technology of Yukikaze, which takes the futuristic edge off things like fly-by-wire control systems, on-board computers and the general performance of the planes depicted in the novel. On the flipside, it’s a little easier to visualise how they would look and behave IRL because there are now some pretty cool pieces of hardware in service today that aren’t far from Kambayashi’s vision.

There’s also an element of the ‘knights of the sky’ ideal that’s lasted right from WWI to the present day in perpetuating the notion that fighter pilots are a breed apart. Kambayashi has married that mystique of the elite magnificent men in their flying machines and added a SF twist by giving the machine a mind of its own. To its credit, that element of the novel still holds quite a lot of its magic.

The portrayal of Yukikaze is full of tantalising contradictions: a poetic name painted on the fusalage in stylised calligraphy that was nevertheless chosen at random and borrowed from a WWII warship; a machine designed for death and destruction, yet Kambiyashi’s prose paints it as awe-inspiring and beautiful with a mind and will of its own. As a military hardware geek, I consider it to be beautiful in its own way, at any rate.

One curious thing about Yukikaze’s A.I. is that it’s hard to work out what, if anything, it’s really thinking. Similarly, the novel doesn’t even answer the question about whether the JAM are more interested in the planes than the people piloting them; introducing the idea of the aliens being more interested in our tech than us as a species is neat in itself and only adds to the cool, detached ambiguity of everything that’s going on.

The story demands a hero of few words; the fact that this character trait is pivotal to the story doesn’t make the reading or viewing experience more fun however. For what it’s worth, I don’t think Fukai’s humanity is ever in danger of being lost altogether because the devotion and care he would have otherwise lavished on the humans in his life are directed at his plane. I suppose he’s an aeronautical dori-kei, to steal the term from Eve no Jikan.

Such things as Fukai’s feelings towards his plane and the people around him come across better in print because in the cinematic or animated format everything has to be either spoken outwardly or implied with imagery as opposed to internal monologues (see what I mean by ‘glaringly obvious’?). A hero who rarely speaks would either require infodump-style exposition or text overlays, which may not sit well with the target audience of a production that sells itself on air-to-air combat with aliens.

That’s not to say that Kambayashi can’t write a good action scene; hell, the combat in Yukikaze leaves the likes of Tom Clancy standing. One of my favourite scenes is when the flight envelope protection limiter switches off and the plane does a missile launch maneuvre backwards that makes Fukai black out and takes the JAM by surprise – it’s true edge-of-your-seat stuff and the OAV captures that sort of moment very well.

I guess the crux of this post is that some of these aspects work better in print than on screen, and vice-versa. Yukikaze the OAV is a companion to the novel – if I were to rewatch it I’d probably enjoy it more than I did the first time around. It’s not however a replacement for the novel: the combat looks awesome but there’s a lot more going on at a thematic and characterisation level that the OAV either leaves out or is unable to address. Long story short, if you want to see Yukikaze dance in the skies of Faery, buy the DVDs. For everything else, read the novel. Or just read the novel because it’s an excellent and thought-provoking read.

Which leads me to Unlimited Blade Works. Like the OAV of Yukikaze it’s a shortened retelling of a story that was originally comprised mostly of words rather than moving pictures, which at least partly explains why certain things didn’t come over as well as they did in their original format. If I observed it correctly, the writers wisely opted to use CGs from the VN in the movie so if I were to recommend the UBW movie purely on the combat and the general approach to animating the characters on a feature film budget, I would. So I do.

Even so, UBW suffers the same problem as the much-maligned Tsukihime anime; that is, there’s too much quality content squeezed into too little time. Simply put, the film was too short. There, I said it. There’s no escaping the cold hard fact that the editing was choppy and the plot jumped uncertainly from scene to scene rather than progressing smoothly. The opening scenes, bringing the story up to the point where the plot diverges between the Fate and UBW route, feels like a last episode recap. Which, appropriately enough, is I think what it is.

I asked myself who would bother with this movie unless they had played the VN or at the very least watched the TV show. I haven’t had chance to check for interviews with cast and crew, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was deliberately aimed at people who were already familiar with the franchise. Half of the viewers in its theatrical run probably knew exactly what would happen…but just wanted to see it animated.

As far as I can tell the movie doesn’t do or say anything the VN didn’t, but if it’s merely an act of animating Takeuchi’s artwork and Nasu’s strings of text, is that actually a flaw? The jerky editing is something I think the movie should be criticised for, but failing to stray from the source material is a perfectly acceptable aim.

That said, if cinema tickets and DVDs of the two-hour cinematic adaptations of Paradox Spiral and Murder Speculation Part 2 can sell like hot cakes on a cold day, I don’t know what the excuse was to keep the running time to a mere ninety minutes here. If the Industry is having trouble finding audiences outside the ‘safe’ minority of existing fans, surely it’s disadvantageous to exclude casual viewers with such an insular narrative approach?

What I will say in this film’s defence is that it only needs to place emphasis on the aspects that work better in the animated format to avoid failing altogether. But yeah, it could’ve done more than that without betraying its source material, even when doing the tricky transition from prose to cinema. Part of me is wishing that Heaven’s Feel is left well alone after all now.

If it makes you feel any better (it certainly did for me), the sequel to Yukikaze will be out sometime next year. Yay.

After all, it’s effectively fourteen years in the making so what’s a couple of months’ delay in the grand scheme of things? This is for me the ‘missing link’ that fills out a large part of the background that I’ve wondered about for so long; it’ll go right back to early lives of the Aozaki sisters, specifically concentrating on Aoko. She’s so far been given little coverage in the Type Moon works: she made an appearance during the opening scenes of Tsukihime but apart from that, we fans know precious little about her.

I’m having to do a bit of speculation here: we already know there was a serious falling-out between Aoko and Touko at some point, with the end result of the former inheriting the family’s name and the latter ending up studying in London. It’ll be interesting to see if this is also the time when Aoko upsets her sister by stealing those glasses for Shiki Tohno too, because that would tie up another loose end that’s been dangling in front of our noses for the longest time.

What I’m particularly looking forward to is seeing how the two Aozakis differ in terms of personality, and how this dynamic affects whatever the story intends to tell us. Touko has always struck me as the shrewd, businesslike and practical sort but the beginning of Tsukihime presents Aoko as more caring and sentimental; I suspect they’re quite different in character if not appearance, and sibling rivalry will inevitably rear its head. This is also a story of their formative years, i.e. before they are fully trained as mages, so it’ll be pretty unpredictable but hopefully quite fun into the bargain.

Interestingly, the artwork is drawn by Hirokazu Koyama rather than Takashi Takeuchi. The promo graphics I’ve seen so far look great though, so if Nasu’s writing is up to its usual standard I reckon we shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Besides, Koyama has been a key member of the group for many years so it’s fair to say he’s experienced enough for the task.

TM’s success so far has I think now given them (or their financial backers) the confidence to not make an ero game. Quite frankly I welcome this; partly because the H-scenes in Tsukhime and F/S N were by and large gratuitous, but also because it’ll make the marketing foreign language editions easier…should anyone be kind or courageous enough to consider it. If the Rakkyo movies proved anything it’s the fact that enticing fans in with gratuitous sauce isn’t necessary when the storyline, artwork and characterisation are strong enough to hold their own.

Although it doesn’t feature explicit sexual content, the writing is still unlikely to be geared towards a young and/or squeamish audience. Nasu has never pulled punches in giving the fans an unflinching experience of the world in his head, which often ventures into dark territory and views events from unusual perspectives. The combination of non-linear narratives, moral questioning and the liberal use of supernatural violence has proved to be a winning formula so far so I’d be surprised if the familiar themes and concepts aren’t present here too.

I know it’s extremely unlikely but I’d love to see a 100% legal English-translated edition of this. It has the potential to win over new fans by introducing the nasuverse without the association with the eroge genre, it will throw the reader into the timeline near the very beginning and hopefully, for existing fans, the storyline may even make us see the stories and characters we already know and love in a slightly different light.

And judging by the weather lately, winter doesn’t feel all that far away, does it?

I can watch some stuff, such as The Place Promised…, Laputa and Paprika over and over; I’ve watched others once but they’ve sat gathering dust ever since. There are one or two purchases that I actually regretted, despite the titles themselves being very good. Actually, they were…too good for their own good.

I saw The Sixth Sense on TV years ago and Shutter Island recently at the cinema so, since the appeal of mystery-style stories relies so much on the twist endings, I can’t see the point of watching them again. For most other things it’s about the journey not the destination, so there’s usually enough enjoyment to be had even when I know what happens.

There are some titles that I consider to be brilliant but ironically I’ve only watched once. It requires a bit of hurried explanation when recommending them to other people with “you have to see this! What? Hell no, I’d never sit through that again.” The wartime ones are the worst for this: I borrowed a copy of Apocalypse Now off a friend but would never get my own copy.

It really is a fantastic film though: it’s well acted, has stunning cinematography and right from the throb of helicopters blending in with that haunting song by The Doors it’s one of those memorable must-watch classics (yes, go see it if you haven’t already). Similarly, no self-respecting movie fan should go without watching Grave of the Fireflies. Again, it gets pretty much everything right: the artwork is fantastic, the direction fluid and the story deeply moving.

The fact that the story is deeply moving is its greatest strength, but it’s also a problem. Simply put, Grave of the Fireflies is too devastating to watch again and again. It’s an emotional tactical strike that unflinchingly hits you with the true horrors of twentieth-century warfare and its messages, quite rightly, will stay with you forever. I watched to the end in awe at a story well told, then asked myself “why would I want to put myself through this again?”

Saikano is another masterpiece of character drama and commentary on the nature of modern warfare (the artwork is a bit off at times, but that’s Gonzo for you). The characters are flawed yet engaging, the drama convincing and assuming you take the mecha musume-style element allegorically rather than literally, it’s one of the most affecting pieces of animated television of recent years. Again I was floored by it but only once, because I felt that one viewing told me all it wanted to say.

The strange thing is, I usually appreciate dark stories. Cyberpunk is often dystopian, Satoshi Kon’s humour is black as pitch and Kinoko Nasu puts his characters through bouts of pitiless suffering that make me wince. How are Apocalypse Now, Grave of the Fireflies and Saikano different from, say, Nausicaä and its post-apocalyptic setting or Nasu’s gothic-tinged supernatural thriller Kara no Kyoukai?

To quote the ever-eloquent Ursula le Guin, light is the left hand of darkness: the most rewarding stories for me are often dark ones that, at some point, offer hope. It’s probably not a spoiler to say the protagonists of Grave of the Fireflies do not survive since it’s pointed out in the first few minutes and Saikano has the whole of humanity self-destruct. As parables for the loss and utter waste of war I can’t fault them, but do I need to be told twice when it’s stated so clearly and effectively?

I can rewatch Kara no Kyoukai despite the death and suffering of people who quite often don’t deserve what comes their way mainly because the central character goes through self-discovery and redemption during the course of the series. Even though some characters meet their ends in undeserving fashion this journey feels satisfying because of the resolution; it’s about the sacrifices made and lessons learned. The villains are either punished or released from their inner turmoil, which gives their downfalls significance.

Similarly Nausicaä is possibly Miyazaki’s most downbeat movie thematically apart from Mononoke Hime but again, there’s a promise of new life growing out of the ashes of the old in both cases. This is where the divergence happens for me: all I take away from the Saikanos is a clear message of waste and innocence lost. I’m not denying that their messages deserve to be heard but I don’t need to be made to feel miserable to get the point.

It’s obvious that War Sucks: innocent people suffer and die for nothing when the same objectives could be achieved through peaceful means. Being told just this on its own doesn’t offer much else to the table, no matter how pretty the artwork or how convincing the characters are.

Futatsu no Kurumi, a.k.a. Two Walnuts, is another historical wartime drama; this time a twelve-year old goes back in time and experiences the horrors of the 1945 firebombing of Tokyo first-hand.

It’s not a great movie. The artwork’s simplistic, the animation looks cheap and the direction is clumsy in that the CRY HERE moments feel manipulative on the part of the writers. In fairness it’s probably intended to be an educational film for today’s kids who won’t know a thing about what wartime Japan was like for youngsters of their age but that’s the point: it’s intended to be educational (I learned a thing or two about the Japanese WW2 home front from this too). Crucially the protagonist takes something away from her harrowing experiences: she learns from the events and is changed by them.

I like dark and angsty stories; not because of the darkness alone but because bigger lows have more relevance when next to some highs – it’s about contrast. A piece of music that uses dynamic changes, i.e. alternating very loud and very quiet passages, moves me more than pieces that are either loud or quiet all the way through. Narratives, either in a film or in written word for that matter, work the same way.

The issue is complicated by many other factors of course, such as whether the visuals and music are easy on the eyes and ears or how how well you relate to the characters. When I see them lost, uncertain or in pain I can sit through it if I feel confident that, even if things don’t turn out well in the end, their experiences will at least mean something. There’s more to storytelling than merely making you laugh, cry or perch yourself on the edge of your seat: I prefer the characters and the viewers to walk away with something they didn’t have at the beginning, even if much was lost along the way.

Not many of the scenes were brightly-lit enough to give decent screencaps

I believe it’s unfair to judge the Kara no Kyoukai adaptations against the other Type Moon productions when its source material pre-dates them all, but the fact remains that in terms of storytelling, presentation and character dynamics it’s a classic in the making. I’m not using that term lightly either: I’m choosing my words carefully here, even though I’m using so bloody many.

It’s just as well that there will be an epilogue chapter since there are a few nagging feelings in the back of my mind that all begin with, “Yes, but what about…?” and won’t settle until I see them resolved. How did Mikiya survive a supposedly lethal dose of drugs (unless the Bloodchip he’d had earlier gave him the resistance already)? Who was the nameless woman on the street with such detailed knowledge of the criminal underworld? Where was Touko planning on going when discussing it with Azaka? Who was the girl briefly mentioned in the final scene who could see into the future?

Animation and soundtrack quality alone can’t make a masterpiece but they do create an immersive experience that draws the viewer in; vital when the setting and subject matter are so far removed from our relatively safe, comfortable society. Yuki Kajiura’s contribution can’t be ignored here: the haunting and textured score achieves far more than you’d expect from a pianist, three pretty girls and a high-spec reverb unit; Seventh Heaven is a beautifully fitting end but the opening sequence and BGM meld perfectly with Ufotable’s vivid, grungey imagery.

What a haunting intro sequence it was

The script is an acquired taste I think. Nasu often comes over as obtuse and melodramatic like a Robert Smith or Billy Corgan song lyric with his introspection and gothic-inspired contrast of angst and sentimentality. This series is dialogue-heavy but you really need to pay attention because every line is important in understanding the overall narrative; again, it’s an aspect that you’ll either love or hate but then the whole production is one that you either surrender yourself to or ignore completely with little choice of the middle ground.

My rewatch was essential in that it cemented themes and ideas that the previous outings built on and allowed me to bring the tangled plot threads together, especially since the shuffled chronology gives such a sense of disorientation. The outwardly odd concept of a person being able to only murder once in a lifetime, for instance, makes more sense alongside Mikiya’s monologue in the fourth film that describes how the murderer is both victim and assailant: I took it to mean they no longer value others’ lives so kill their own humanity along with their victim.

I think this is why Mikiya is so desparate to believe in Shiki’s innocence. He alone appreciates her softer side; it’s returning to his dilemma in the second movie when he decides to have faith in her and keep his image of her intact when the evidence is inconclusive. The gripping thriller aspect then stems from that question of how she is involved in the serial killings (paying close attention to the second film with the benefit of hindsight pretty much proved her innocence to me), but she is portrayed as having a grip on her humanity that is constantly tenuous.

I loved the attention to detail in portraying the changes between their flashback and present-day selves – she really does *look* younger here

The recurring description of her conflict is that of the gentle and almost ordinary girl versus the cold-blooded killer, the product of the Ryougi bloodline (be it taught or inherant…the root cause isn’t clear). This isn’t divided along the line between the male and female personas either: she continued to feel the urge to kill after her male personality disappeared, after all. I get the impression that he sacrificed himself to allow Mikiya to take his place as the soulmate and companion to the Shiki who remained.

At this stage the usual course is to bring about the dere-dere breakdown; the best that we can usually hope for from that familiar device is a naturally-paced progression. Here, the complexity of Shiki’s character makes the tsundere archetype seem lazy and simplistic in comparison: she has an unconventional kind of grace and beauty but personality-wise she’s wholly unpredictable and her character development feels more…mature? Which does of course make the resolution all the more cathartic and satisfying.

Mikiya was always the moral anchor – the one to offer a kindly smile, accept the bizarre without prejudice, show compassion but also demonstrate righteous indignation on behalf of the viewer at those who prey on the innocent. He was also the source of Shiki’s redemption and sacrifices much to that end…the typical spineless Anime Male Lead? Hardly. His mantra was to bear Shiki’s sins in her place – a statement typical of Nasu’s idosyncratic turns of phrase, but interpreted by me as a demonstration to compromise and find middle ground outside of both his world and hers.

I’m guessing his life was ordinary up until that night on the snowy hillside. After this he dropped out of college, fell out with his parents, worked for a sorceress and found himself crossing a number of strange and dangerous people…yet he was devoted to Shiki throughout: the one who visited her hospital room every week, the one who kept her company before and after and the one who did his utmost to keep the hope of her innocence alive. By the time he faced Shirazumi he was a bad-ass hero but did so without being gar, macho or even entirely fearless.

Ultimately Shirazumi was a reflection not of what she was, but what she could’ve become. He didn’t have anyone’s helping hand to hold him back from the brink, nor the inner strength Shiki had that allowed her to grasp that hand and save herself. He gave in completely to the destructive impulse and willingly cast aside his humanity; next to the other antagonists we’d seen so far he was the most menacing, least sympathetic and ultimately most frightening (sadly the most cartoonish…that CGI saliva was a bit overdone). If a murderer is both victim and assailant then that applies to Asagami and Fujyou, two humans who killed other humans but were also victims; Shirazumi was just a nutcase who took lives; the homicidal maniac.

As I rewatched I noticed something obvious that ironically never clicked before: Shiki always referred to herself as a natural-born killer so I assumed she was proficient at it. As a destroyer of inamimate objects and creatures that were dead to begin with, it was a natural assumption but she never actually killed another human until the fifth movie – the opportunity presented itself on a number of occasions but the fact that she never went through with it until that point says a lot about how her perspective on the matter shifted.

Shirazumi’s death felt like she acted on the human motives of revenge and love rather than a subconscious urge. I’d like to think the true trigger for Shirazumi’s murder was out of love and self-defence, at least: she was avenging her loved one’s death rather than giving in to that murderous impulse that she had tried so hard to suppress. Mikiya didn’t agree with her decision afterwards but his acceptance and understanding are what matters.

The fact remains though that ‘Shiki the human being’ won over ‘Shiki the killer’ at that point, and even after this I think she walked away with her humanity intact. That uncomfortable scene in which she was bound and helpless was also one in which she grasped the value of life at last: the fourth film showed her First Breath After Coma, as it were, but this was the final stage in her realisation of that Boundary of the title and its significance.

I believe it refers to how Shiki teetered on the knife-edge between the warmth and companionship found in life and the meaningless nothing-ness of oblivion, and how she decided on the former. Her dere-dere breakdown (an understatement, I know) is that of coming to terms with her contradictions and what she loses during the course of the story; Ray had the benefit of reading a translation of the original novel which apparently gives a slightly shifted emphasis at the end. The subtitle of ‘Garden of Sinners’ on the other hand perhaps serves to remind us how subjective morality can be to the outside observer.

I won’t go as far as saying the film plays down the importance of what Shiki lost but perhaps because I’m a sentimental old fool deep down I was happy to accept a peaceful hopeful atmosphere at the end. The stylised sakura blooms, such a contrast to the grim and claustrophobic alleyways and abandoned buildings that formed the backdrop to most of the film, were the welcome relief. Excessively so? What I really wanted was to see Shiki and Mikiya together and happy which is what I got, so can hardly complain now. But then, I still don’t know how the novel handled it.

What am I left with after the dust has settled and I’m no longer waiting for another instalment (alleged epilogue aside)? A few minor doubts about how the final act played out and one or two open ends that fortunately don’t hinder things as much as those of Oblivion Recorder did, for a start. I can’t judge this purely on its own though: even if it were genuinely disappointing it the series was outstanding overall.

The mystery-thriller aspect is brought round full circle with a masterful triple-bluff – that of “Did she/didn’t she?” revealing itself to be more of “Did she/didn’t she/she would’ve done if True Love hadn’t prevailed.” I must admit that the romantic drama aspect meshed very well with this, taking an unlikely pairing and finishing with that pairing feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

Disarmed me with a smile

There’s also an avenue which left me a little frustrated: Yumizuka was another fascinating character who, in my opinion at least, is crying out for a side-story of her own. Whether the rumoured re-release of Tsukihime will resolve that I don’t know; it certainly continued to give a ‘one rewrite away from brilliance’ feeling because the emotional clout of the story was stretched too thin: after all those replays I found myself wondering if I was able to care about all of them enough. Forgive me then if this post very much about Akiha.

Hisui is, I suppose, deliberately written in as quiet and reserved but I don’t really have much to say about her; my e-PostIt notes from that time don’t help much, either. Like Ciel’s route Hisui’s was more rewarding on the exposition front than the characterisation one but I guess she’s so intrinsically linked to Kohaku that the two blurred together in my head a bit (I rectified a similar mistake I made in the previous post so I hope it’s now factually accurate). Kohaku’s route is a lot darker and tragic, which makes the contrast of her cheerful personality all the more hard-hitting but still takes second place here.

A rare moment of lulz in the Tohno household

Yumizuka could, after a merging of the Hisui and Kohaku routes and a relegation of Ciel into supporting character, make a fully-fledged story thread on her own: there’s this wonderful dilemma of what to do with a close friend who has been turned into a vampire. I recall a similar situation in the BBC series Being Human in which a character is faced with the choice of killing someone he knows when she is turned; after taking pity on her and ending her life, the vampire’s flatmate looks aghast. “I thought you were going to save her life!” he yells. To which the vampire replies, “I did.” There’s a veritable moral goldmine there I think.

At the end of it all though, Akiha was THE heroine of the Far Side of Tsukihime for me. That aura of hers is hard to explain: perhaps it’s the image of her as the Childhood Friend, waiting patiently for years and enduring who knows what until her soulmate returns to her; or it’s the fact that, on a non-romantic level, she shows Shiki the sisterly loyalty, knowing full well that his origins lie in a rival family. I can see where the groundwork for Heaven’s Feel in Fate/Stay Night came from in that the whole basis for the characters’ relationship uses false appearances in a very similar, and similarly effective, way.

Why are they more alluring when classically trained?

My fanboying respect for Akiha’s character was in no small part due to my recent viewing of the sixth instalment of Kara no Kyoukai: if the premise of Sakura Matou’s story was inspired by Akiha’s, the blueprint for Akiha’s own personality lies with Azaka Kokutou. Aside from the similarities in character design between the respective couples, both girls share a similar ability in manipulating heat; Akiha can use her hair as a weapon while Azaka honed a skill of ignition through what I’m guessing is her own magic circuit. There’s also the issue of…well, whatever the female equivalent of a siscon is called. Fortunately in Akiha’s case it’s not really an inappropriate attraction since it turns out they’re related by adoption rather than by blood so once I re-adjusted my view on their relationship accordingly, I couldn’t not respect her.

I’ve taken on the subject of the tsundere archetype a number of times but feel I’m able to justify my personal favourites with genuine reasons. For Akiha then it’s all down to her making a conscious effort to hide her affections and keep Shiki out of harm’s way; the sense of love held at arm’s length is what makes their dynamic so compelling and makes the moments where she fusses and worries over him all the more endearing.

Interestingly the difference in ending to her route depended on a decision concerning Shiki’s self-sacrifice for Akiha’s sake; personally I preferred the True Ending. Not just because I’m old-fashioned in those romantic gesture things, but also because it suited Akiha’s dignified persona better to have her survive unscathed and waiting for Shiki’s return. The image of a zombie-fied Akiha does a personality of her calibre a disservice I think.

“Squee!” moments in the Nasuverse seem to hit me when the woman is holding a deadly weapon. A coincidence, honest

Even without the decision that leads to her route’s True ending Akiha lost her brother not once, but twice. That I think is the real insult to injury and why I felt so sorry for her: in addition she finds herself as the heir to the household and carries all the responsibility that the role requires. She throws herself into it wholeheartedly but taking a step back it’s actually a combination of family duty coupled with a desire to keep her adoptive brother safe and prevent him being tainted by the Tohno curse that has affected her and the ‘true’ Shiki. Akiha sacrifices so much and puts so much pressure on herself, but not for her own ends.

Just for future reference in case any of you are making more cross-franchise connections, I really appreciated the little background details that tied in with Kara no Kyoukai. The Nanaya family are in fact one of several that include the houses of Ryougi and Fujyou, the latter cropping up in the first movie as the antagonist. The mage who is able to help Shiki with the old Stringy Vision is of course none other than Aoko Aozaki, sister of Touko; I’d love to experience the Mahoutsukai no Yoru story between those two.

What pleasantly surprised me though was that this relative levity and the shift in character focus offered so much to enjoy on their own. Azaka has always been a bit, well, overprotective of her elder brother but this is where she is given the opportunity to explain why as best she can. The mystery thriller side of things is still present, of course, but it’s more character- rather than plot-driven. With a some FIRE to spice it up a bit.

I thought the the storyline could’ve been handled a bit better, however. The inexperience of the director may be the cause here because it didn’t progress as fluidly or realise the potential of the themes as fully as they might have been; I’ll wait for that eagerly-awaited English language translation of the original novel, allegedy reaching the shelves sometime this autumn, before judging that aspect too harshly though (more info on this from Ray over at Anime Diet). Complexity and maturity aren’t the name of the game here anyway: after the heavy-going fifth instalment it’s probably a good thing that we’re treated to a shorter piece that’s more ‘fun’ and easier to digest.

Broadly speaking, each successive chapter of the Kara no Kyoukai story alternates between a challenging, plot-driven narrative and a more sedate one that deals with the personalities and motives. It’s a good way to keep the viewers on their toes and prevents the tone falling into a rut but in practice it means that as a general rule of thumb the odd-numbered movies are of the psychological headfuck variety while the even-numbered ones, such as Boukyaku Rokuon, act as interludes and bring us up to speed on the character development.

That said, there are some great moments of supernatural combat as well as those that continue to build up my impression of Shiki’s fascinating personality. The final battle that Azaka waged in particular looked and sounded wonderful – rounded off with an axe kick to a giant flower. Really. It’s all in the details as always: the sizzle of embers and splashes of water, nuances in body language and detail of animation that lesser production teams would either choose to or be forced to ignore.

Fundamentally this is Azaka’s story and as such fills in the gaps that explain the peculiar relationships she shares with Mikiya and Shiki. As a supporting character you might question how important she really is but quite honestly I found her time on screen to be too entertaining to care. The dynamic between her and Shiki had me grinning like the fanboy that I am but the viewpoint that Nasu’s storytelling takes is especially appropriate here. That is to say, it takes a morally neutral stance in letting people who are very strange by the standards and conventions of society state their feelings without condemning them or making excuses on their behalf; which is particularly important when the character in question has an onii-chan complex that governs many of her actions.

Rather than trying to force the viewer into accepting Azaka’s misplaced affections by making you sit through scenes that would make many viewers feel uncomfortable, the film instead depicts how her emotions have influenced her life in a more general sense (which inevitably leads to moments where she butts heads with Shiki to hilarious effect). It’s impossible to completely bring the average viewer round to the same way of thinking as a character who is markedly abnormal but it does at least allow you to see where she’s coming from.

Behind the verbal sparring and moments of straightforward action-orientated entertainment there’s still the mass of subtexts that leave you thinking afterwards, which is why I find Kara no Kyoukai to be such a success on multiple levels. This isn’t the best demonstration of that in the series so far, sadly, but once the true nature of the events is in the light of day it becomes clear how it’s all trying to make some statements about the importance of, and problems associated with, human memory.

Shiki and Azaka are both trying to recover memories they had lost while in contrast the Fairy Incident was the result of memories born from misunderstandings and motivated by the mistaken idea that erasing them will somehow set things right. I’ll be a smartass at this point and say I thought something was wrong with that teacher right from when, for a split second during one scene, his eyes were shown as unnaturally bloodshot. Anyway. I didn’t think Ouji’s character was particularly well-explained either but there was just enough to allow me to grasp how she had taken things on herself and how this caused events to take an even more serious turn for the worse.

As wonderfully entertaining as Flaming Imouto Rage proved to be in the end, the God’s Word thing was still a neat ability and made the showdowns more interesting; it’s a shame that Kurogiri probably won’t turn up in the last film because the writers could have had a lot more fun with his character. The subtleties of his dialogue left me a bit stumped but again the issue of memories that refuse to truly go away causes Shiki as much trouble as it does for Azaka. It leads me to suspect we haven’t seen the back of Araya either, which makes me wonder if he is indeed the final adversary to be faced before the story draws to a close.

So yeah, unless the novel miraculously turns up in the meantime I reckon this will be all we have to satisfy ourselves for a while yet. A few minor things could’ve been done better but when we have a character as lively as Azaka and when the action set-pieces are so wonderfully married to a stellar soundtrack, I can’t bring myself to complain too much. I noticed a brief Fujino Asagami appearance in school too. Good to know the poor lass is doing okay!

I also see what they did in using Fairytale as the theme song; obvious allusions to the story aside (like they did with Sprinter in part five), it has a wonderful restful and dreamlike feel, appropriately like a melancholic childhood memory. Wonderful stuff.

Be honest now. would YOU live there?!

The editing and scene compositions, in addition to the tense atmospherics and poetic dialogue that have already made the series memorable for me, are particularly outstanding. I don’t want to over-emphasise a certain point I made a while back but even next to the previous four this one comes across as particularly cinematic and sophisticated. It takes longer to set out its intentions and see them through, throws out more intertwining story threads and also has a brazen desire to play mind games with the viewer on a scale that Satoshi Kon would be proud of.

The spiral motif crops up a lot here: there’s certainly something compelling, hypnotic and dizzying about it at the best of times (Junji Ito did after all make a whole horror story about the things) but Mujun Rasen uses it as a metaphor in several different ways and explores more avenues that tie in with what we’ve seen from the story to date. The most obvious one is disorientation: this instalment is particularly fond of sleight of hand, deception and showing things from unusual angles to give differing perspectives and get its messages across.

The dychotomy of Shiki’s personality is likened to the symbol of yin and yang, the graphical representation of which being itself somewhat like a spiral; the confusion in the building in which many of this episode’s events take place is also caused by a mechanism that uses spirals to exploit the ease by which we can be fooled and manipulated. The mechanics involved are pretty clever actually – it reminds me of the Jonathan Creek TV show in the way that an elegantly simple illusion can leave almost everyone baffled, even when it’s not using anything magical or otherwise supernatural.

The moments where we’ve seen Araya going about his shady business were all in aid of the events in this film: unless he crops up later on I reckon this is the culmination of many of the incidents that have previously occured. The story arcs involving Kirie and Fujino were apparently intended to put Shiki into a certain position at a certain time of his choosing; it paints Araya as the calculating type who tries to control people like chess pieces to reach his goal…a scary bastard indeed.

Tomoe Enjou takes centre stage as the emotional foil to Shiki’s tsunderisms but sadly at Mikiya’s expense…with the exception of the hilarious flying book incident thanks to his sister Azaka. Tomoe’s appearance in the bigger picture, as brief as it was, is nevertheless memorable (not just because he’s a spitting image of F/S N‘s Shirou!) and additionally highlighted another facet of Shiki’s fascinating psyche. The dynamic between them was a nice change of pace: seeing her spend time with someone other than Mikiya meant she behaved slightly differently and spoke of issues that wouldn’t have been discussed otherwise.

The quality of the screenplay writing shines through here in that, after making up your mind about Tomoe’s parents, your opinion does a full 180 degrees; at least mine did. They’re not so much bad people as good people who made bad decisions I suppose, although Tomoe’s final moments lead me to disagree with Araya’s declaration that his origin is that of worthlessness.

It saddens me to think how rare it is these days to see a lead character who’s genuinely a break from the norm – even within the Nasuverse there isn’t anyone quite like Shiki. The tsundere aretype has been well-used over the years since the Kara no Kyoukai novels were first published but the wonderful thing about Shiki is that it’s a mere component part of a multi-layered personality coloured with family duties, inner conflict, a dual identity and a peculiar penchant for cold-blooded murder. It’s testament to how well-written she is as a character, really, that a stand-offish individual who has homicidal tendancies can be so damned appealing!

These occasions are the most unlikely “Squee~!” moments I’ve ever experienced

The moments where Shiki engages the Stringy Vision and takes out a corridor full of zombies never gets old it seems: I was grinning like an idiot just like I did during the first movie. The fact is, Ufotable have animated all this so beautifully which means it all moves along with fluidity and energy; even in the more unsettling moments the severed body parts are rendered with convincing anatomical detail. They certainly don’t pull their punches: there’s plenty more gore and mutiliation here, wowing you with the stunning visuals and shocking you with its brutality the next.

Given the amount of symbolism and exposition on offer, I think it’s actually important to have moments where the viewer can give his or her brain a rest and simply enjoy watching Shiki do her dance of death. Finding beauty and poetry in violence and destruction is no mean feat…a guilty pleasure perhaps but I’d be lying if I said it isn’t awesome.

Although Mikiya doesn’t get as much screen time as he has done in the past Touko is given plenty of attention, and not just in the sense that both antagonists of the piece are old acquaintances of hers either. Her supposed murder by Araya was particularly brutal, and Mikiya’s injuries at the hands of Alba were unflinchingly unpleasant too. It shows – to beautiful yet somewhat sickening effect – how messed-up Alba and Araya are but Touko comes across as being really switched-on and in control.

If there’s one thing that didn’t really work it’s Cornelius Alba: to be honest his character didn’t sit right with me at all. The madness and eccentricity at least were marvellous; I’d put money on him being British by birth, not just because he, Touko and Araya studied in London, but the fact that the best stereotypical Gentlemanly Mad Villains in cinema always seem to be British…it’s one area we still excel at I guess. Unfortunately his appearance looked like something copied out of a J K Rowling novel, so all the way through I was wishing he’d step back into the Harry Potter universe where he belonged and be replaced with someone more menacing instead.

Don’t ya know, PEOPLE DIE WHEN THEY’RE KILLED LOL, etc., etc.

With the exception of this one thing, the film works wonderfully as a whole for me. The scene cuts flow with an audacity and maturity missing from even its live-action counterparts; the montage segments that depict the routine of Tomoe’s time spent with Shiki save time for jumping back and forth to build up that tension and disorientation when things get more eventful. The symbolism and subtexts reward repeat viewings too, not least because the time frames are revisited and little bits of foreshadowing catch your attention the second time around. The only question I have now is, how can the last two possibly match this?

I’m beginning to see why Shiki Ryougi is one of Takeuchi’s most loved creations. She isn’t a character who exudes the typical bishoujo femininity: she’s sullen and introverted, flattens her bust down with bandages and wears a leather jacket incongruously over her kimono, and is the opposite of clumsy…oh yeah, she also goes on the occasional homicidal rampage. Despite all this making her the anti-moe she has legions of loyal fans. And I’m one of them.

This movie is, more than any so far, all about Shiki. Mikiya takes a bit of a back seat (I think know what the Singing in the Rain segment was trying to do from a cinematography standpoint, but the Engrish didn’t really work for me); despite his pivotal role thematically it’s pretty much all about Shiki’s accident that gave her the Stringy Vision™ and its aftermath. The mind-bending nature of that plot point is depicted to excellent effect: the Tsukihime VN shows it like this and as for the anime adaptation…I can’t recall, sorry. The overwhelming, so-beautiful-it-hurts quality of the Mystic Eyes is lovingly rendered here though, to the point where I too felt a bit uncomfortable looking at a bunch of flowers or Shiki’s view of the supporting characters with those maddening lines all over the place.

Most of the movie is set in a hospital and with extensive personal experience of such environments (not often at night, mercifully) I can say the background artists have done their homework: I even noticed they included little details like medical instruments and the bottles of disinfectant hand gel hanging outside the wards. A hospital in the dead of night is indeed creepy and this film really conveys that: the deserted corridors and empty rooms are as unsettling as hearing Vincent Price reading you a bedtime story. Ufotable also deliver on the music…oh, the music. Heavenly (listening to the OST as I type). It’s the best end theme so far, although Kalafina keep setting the bar high every time.

What’s most interesting is the idea that Shiki loses part of herself, to paraphrase the dialogue used. I’m guessing it’s that ‘other’ personality of hers that falls away during her coma, and inevitably leaves a sense of loss behind. What results is a feeling of not wanting to live but being afraid to die – culminating in her discovery of a new sense of purpose when she hacks her hair into her trademark tomboyish but more practical bob and slices a zombie to pieces. Even the dead die when they’re killed, it would seem.

The sight of a post-op Shiki lying unconscious on the operating table, Mikiya attending the graduation ceremony without her then Shiki trying to put her own eyes out in a deserted recovery room sent shivers down my spine. In a physical sense she was examined and patched up with literally surgical precision but the fact that she’s comatose then temporarily blinded and isolated in an empty, soulless-looking room with Mikiya, arguably the one who cares about her most, waiting patiently outside for her recovery spoke volumes without words. Shiki is utterly alone and at the mercy of her supernatural demons, no matter what those around her do for her.

I’m getting the feeling that this story is more character-driven than the arcane jargon and rivetting action scenes suggest: as jaw-dropping as it was to see a newly-revived Shiki battle a zombie the underlying message seems to be on the character dynamics and the philosophies that govern them. It’s dialogue-heavy yet simultaneously reliant on imagery that conveys ideas that mere words cannot: the conversations demand your full attention to understand why the characters think and feel the way they do yet the animation and set-pieces carry the story at points without anyone saying a damn thing.

Speaking of people saying stuff, I thought Touko was portrayed really well here. That swaggering confidence of a mage she projects (think Fate/Stay Night‘s Rin, only grown up) neatly explained her capabilities and the limitations to her power and the voice-altering spell of hers was effectively conveyed by her VA. If Mikiya is the moral anchor of the story Touko is the source of advice and exposition: her role in Shiki’s (so-far temporary) salvation is as important in a practical sense as Mikiya’s is in an emotional one. How did Shiki’s other self disappear…and more importantly, why? At least some questions are left tantalisingly unanswered for now.

As a parting shot after the closing credits the film seems to be compensating for its short running-time by not only addressing an important moment in Shiki’s story, but also tying together a number of plot threads from the previous three films. A shady guy called Ayara Souren approaches each of the main characters of the first and third films (Kirie Fujyou and Fujino Asagami, respectively), which suggests that there’s an overall antagonist behind it all. The shuffled chronology works well I think in that you get this realisation hitting you in one shot: there’s a suspicious looking magus whose presence puts a lot of the story so far into perspective, and a lot of things begin to make a teeny bit of sense all at once. Neat.

Coming up: assuming the swine flu scare doesn’t derail everything, my impressions of the fifth movie, seen through the lens of in-flight alcoholic beverages and jet lag. Then I join the others in waiting for part #6…

My cup runneth over/like blood from a stone

Ciel’s part in the piece however is an example of the issue I had with Tsukihime‘s sprawling structure – perhaps the reason why it’s being given the re-release treatment sometime in the future is because the current version feels one re-write away from the level of quality that Fate/Stay Night spoiled me with. In my opinion Arcueid is a fantastic heroine for the story but Ciel was better suited to a prominent supporting role; the Arcueid part of the route had a much more convincing chemistry between the heroine and protagonist while the Ciel aspect was more rewarding in the exposition department.

Part of Saber’s appeal in Fate/Stay Night is that of a character who is stronger, faster and more intelligent than the protagonist she’s paired with; in the same way Arcueid has the enhanced physical and mental attributes of a centuries-old vampire princess and, like F/S N‘s main heroine, is effectively immortal. This makes for a character you can’t help but look up to but again there’s an added factor thrown into the mix: as in Saber’s case, circumstances dictate that this immortal heroine is dependent on the mere mortal male lead to fulfil her purpose, like the old favourite plot device of a female character who requires the quintessential promise of protection. Is there some sort of ‘immortality moe’…immoetality at work here?

There’s certainly a fascinating blend of fiery independence and cute vulnerability here, although it also falls back on the idea explored by Ann Rice in her Vampire Chronicles in posing the question, “What happens when vampires feel human emotions?” Granted, Arcueid was born a vampire so had no prior experience of life as a mortal to draw from but it’s always fascinating to see humanity and vampiric nature existing side-by-side in a personality such as hers.

Not quite human, but near enough

Similarly, what made Coppola’s adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula novel interesting for me was how his humanity – the tortured soul who still remembers his lost love throughout the centuries – was emphasised more than it was in the novel. Gary Oldman’s performance makes you feel for a character who, in the original text, was more of a heartless monster; similarly we’re shown here someone who is supposed to be a creature of folklore, but shows human qualities too. She was born for the sole purpose of killing other vampires – her own kind in many ways – but when ‘off duty’ she’s comically, and endearingly, human.

Another interesting issue is that of the imagery used in Tsukihime: that of the Moon especially. In the recent Epic Darker Than Black Rewatch Owen and Hige reminded me of a moment in that show in which someone describes moonlight as symbolic of atonement. Even if it’s merely an idea invented for that series as I suspect it is (googling for anecdotes to back this up yielded a lot about the Moon in Japanese cultural tradition but no hints on this particular one), it reminded me how so many characters in the Tsukihime story are trying to repent for something.

Both Arcueid and Ciel are victims of others’ obsession with immortality but feel that they should make amends for this. Ciel was plucked from an ordinary life by Roa to be transformed into a being who is neither normal nor one of the Immortal realm: not even the Church really know what to do with her, so she spends the time killing vampires (allowing the Church to keep its hands clean in the process) and using all manner of ESP-derived mind control to fabricate a normality among those she meets in which to live when she is not at work. Like Arcueid, Ciel struck me as a rather lonely character who had never really grown to be comfortable with who she was and as a result tried to justify her existence through an activity that became her raison d’être: killing monsters without a second thought or shred of remorse, and never making any long-term bonds with those around her.

So close, yet just out of reach…

Arcueid’s life, for want of a better word, was also ruined by Roa so her role of True Ancestor was governed by exacting revenge on him, caught in a cycle of elimination that never ends because he is an enemy she can never defeat. Rather than clinical elimination this fight is perpetuated by a personal motive; an effort that is ultimately futile but she does it anyway. I suspect she feels somehow responsible for her current situation, even though she was the victim of a deception. It’s a repetition that never ends.

Finally Shiki is also motivated by repentance: he kills Arcueid for reasons unknown (at least, unknown until you learn the background in the Far Side route, but more on that next time) and as a result he feels a moral obligation to help her. Killing her once made her vulnerable so he stays by her by way of apology and make amends for his ‘mistake’ until she recovers.

Nrvnsqr: true evil that denies the usage of vowels

What’s interesting here is that although these three individuals see themselves as in a position where they feel the need to let themselves suffer, they are victims of factors outside their control or field of knowledge. Ciel was chosen by Roa as a vessel without her consent; Arcueid was tricked by him to betray the True Ancestors to forward his own agenda; Shiki kills Arcueid unconsciously but makes a conscious decision to help her succeed in her mission, no matter how much danger it places him in.

A final point that wraps things up nicely if you’re a Nasuverse fanboy as I am is how it ties in with F/S N‘s terminology in terms of magic circuits, mages and so on. The two stories are not directly related plot- or character-wise but the recurrence of the jargon, not to mention familiarity in character types and themes addressed, makes it easier to get into, whichever NV you happen to play first.