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Homura could control most things that frustrated her in this new reality.
If there was something lacking in the space around her, she could conjure it up in an instant with barely a wave of her hand.
If one of those other former magical girls started to catch onto her and approach her too confidently, she could make them forget about it with a simple clap of her hands.
If Madoka ever got an inkling of her true state, Homura could suppress it with a single embrace.
The constant frustration that she couldn’t fully quash however, were those damned Kyubey.
They were technically under her control of course. They had no power to fight against her, and they were well aware of that. They were forced to do her bidding in this universe. They were nothing but mere dolls in her hands, and she could commit as much violence as she liked against them should any step out of line.
But there was a lack of finality to punishing them. She could rip apart their bodies piece by piece, only for the next replacement body to appear a minute afterwards. While it was cathartic to take out her deep hatred for this species by pummelling their bodies, it was never quite satisfactory knowing that she couldn’t actually get rid of any of them for good.
There were so many reasons to hate Kyubey.
Their permanent cat smiles fixed on their faces no matter its words, intonation or situation. The beady magenta eyes that stared straight ahead, right through the space of anybody standing in it. Their deceptively cute and innocent appearance specifically meant to target young girls. Their diabolical plan to harness the pain of an already vulnerable demographic of humans under a “the end justifies the means” bullshit excuse that made a mockery of the very phrase. Their complete refusal to even try to understand any reasoning based in feeling and empathy. They refused to even try to adapt their ways of thinking, positioning themselves as being too above it all to apply feelings to their rigid ideas of “logic”.
None of them compared to the Kyubey however, the individual one that had targeted Madoka specifically, the one Homura had come face-to-face with hundreds if not thousands of times. It looked the same as the rest of its species, but Homura knew exactly which one it was. She made sure to keep it within arm’s reach, so she could both keep an eye on it and make it suffer the most by her hands.
She could try to make it suffer, but with the way she knows that thing doesn’t feel, it wasn’t as hellish of a suffering Homura would have desired to inflict upon it. Any cries, whimpers, bruises or scrapes, Homura dismissed as mere crocodile tears. No matter how much its little white frame could quiver in a ball from her actions, it wasn’t enough until that little cat smile could be wiped off its face completely so that Homura would never see it again. It’s in the core nature of that species to manipulate others with its outwardly cute and harmless appearance, trying to appeal to human sensitivities and sympathies, and Homura was far beyond falling for that.
However, out of everything, the worst thing that Homura hated about Kyubey was that it could read her.
Homura had been forced to repeat many things every time she time looped. Mundane school classes upon first re-meeting Madoka. Showing up like clockwork on cue for occurrences she had long memorised. Clashing with any of the girls who stood in her way. Breaking her heart over and over seeing Madoka die or sacrificing herself once again.
But the most irritating thing she had to repeat? It was when Kyubey would catch onto what she was doing and who she was. Because then the questions and the observatory statements that followed would rub her in just the wrong way that it made her want to commit further violence against this thing. Sadly, she knew even back then that the effectiveness of that was minimal. At some point, the attacks she unleashed upon it every time loop had become less of a logical tactic, and more of a routine outlet.
Violence was often the only response she could muster up against some of Kyubey’s statements. And yet, it would still come back with more. The fact that it even had the gall to do so again, after knowing what Homura could inflict upon it, was proof to her that she hadn’t made it suffer enough. Even with the constant threat of retaliation that Homura’s very presence emanated. It was the lack of finality again. There were no true and lasting consequences to its provocation of her, so it had no reason to stop.
It came up to her to interrupt while she was watching Madoka. Homura was sitting on one of the hills in the park, observing Madoka with her family, the setting sun casting the scene in a warm orange. It was such a precious thing she was glad to have been able to give to Madoka once again. Madoka was playing with her little brother, lightly kicking a ball towards him as his still-developing coordination tried kicking it back to her. Madoka and her parents cheered for him as he got it back in Madoka’s general direction. It was a simple thing, but seeing Madoka smile and clap her hands in encouragement was one of those things that made Homura feel that it was worth doing all this for her.
“You think that you’re Madoka’s protector, don’t you?” Kyubey stated, cutting into Homura’s thoughts.
“I am her protector,” she answered. “She wouldn’t be able to have this happiness if it weren’t for me saving her from everything that can take it away.”
She honestly didn’t need to justify herself. Yet, she found herself more often engaging with Kyubey than not anyway. As much as she hated it, this Kyubey was the most consistent communication she got in this reality. If she didn’t speak to it, she wouldn’t have anyone else to really talk to freely.
“You know that’s self-assigned, right?” Kyubey said. “She could very well have made decisions about her own destiny if you didn’t interfere. A destiny that contains so much more than this.”
Yes, Madoka could have, which was why she needed Homura’s protection. Madoka didn’t know what she needed protection from when making her decisions. Only Homura could do that for her.
“Why would someone go through all this effort?” Kyubey continued. “It makes no sense to me. There is very little benefit all this trouble goes to, if any.”
“Because I love her,” Homura said. “Because love means you do things for the other person whether or not you get any benefit in return. It doesn’t need to be logical. Love isn’t supposed to be.”
“You humans always speak of love, but you have such bizarrely different categories you all call the same thing. Attachment, infatuation, obsession, worship, desire. Are you sure the love you speak of isn’t just a fixation on the idea of her, as humans of your age are so commonly apt to do so?”
“Your kind wouldn’t understand. You’re incapable. You don’t know what it’s like to have a best friend.”
“Do you?”
It was a two-word sentence, but it was enough to make Homura see red.
“Your attachment to Madoka came from latching onto the first human you met with good feelings. Why would she be your best friend and yet, you don’t have such feelings towards Mami, who you met in the same circumstances, and who you’ve known for the same amount of time?”
“Mami is not the same. She doesn’t care for me. She never did. Not like Madoka.”
“Did she not rescue and protect you just as much when you met?”
“She did not. She protects only as far as her holier-than-thou moral code will make her seem like a hero and make herself feel good, but it’s an act. She’ll turn the gun around to those around her the moment she faces inconvenience.”
Homura had been made to look down the barrel of Mami’s guns herself too many times to accept some bullshit of her being just as deserving of Homura’s love as Madoka. Mami had never cared about her as a person like Madoka had. Mami only liked protégés to make herself feel more important.
Selflessness to Mami was performative. Whereas Madoka embodied it.
If Mami truly cared about being selfless, then why hadn’t she erased herself to disappear into the universe instead.
In fact, Mami was probably to blame in the first place. Filling Madoka’s head with ideas of grand gestures, but only Madoka would actually take them seriously and carry them out, while Mami was a coward when it came down to it.
Mami was full of shit.
“It appears you’re willing to view Mami in the most bad-faith light possible, while not applying the same standards to Madoka. That doesn’t make sense to me. You’re changing the rules to match your personal feelings as you see fit.”
“I’m only giving out the judgements as deserved!” Homura insisted. “In fact, I’ve been more than generous with Mami. I’ve given her a good life here, and she now has that little girl to brainwash to her liking!”
“What about Madoka? Do you really think she’s a perfect, flawless being?”
“Of course she is!”
“As far as I’m aware, flaws are a key component of the human species. Quite frankly, it’s part of what makes your kind so fascinating.”
“Even if humans have them, she doesn’t! Not to me! That’s what love is! Her flaws aren’t flaws at all, but only more parts of her that make her as perfect as she is!”
“Love…” Kyubey pondered. “You keep pushing your definition of it. It’s such an illogical concept. We haven’t even begun to understand it, especially with the inconsistent manner you humans define and apply it. It makes it near impossible to ever approach as a study. Not to mention your case in particular, considering it has the power to take over the universe. If only my kind had an understanding of this concept, we could have produced and harnessed it ourselves.”
“I already told you, you couldn’t possibly understand. And not just your kind. Mine either. Nobody on heaven, earth, or hell could understand what it is that I feel.”
Homura's love gave her power. It gave her drive. It gave her the will to keep going, keep living, for the sake of another. Without love, she would be aimless. She rewrote the universe for Madoka because her love made her capable of doing anything. In fact, if she could destroy every inch of this universe and everything, and everyone, that made it up, all for Madoka’s sake, she would. She didn’t, because she believed that would make Madoka sad. Because love meant that such a thing as the other’s smile could be enough of a guide to one’s actions.
Kyubey was quiet, not immediately having a rebuttal to Homura’s declaration.
“You want to know Madoka’s so-called flaws?” Homura continued. “Here they are: she doesn’t allow herself to lean into her own desires, she cares too much about what those around her do, she underestimates herself, she doesn’t see herself as someone precious, and she’s all too willing to just throw herself away! She’s so selfless and caring that she doesn’t give herself a moment to apply it to herself! And there is nobody else like that!”
Kyubey was simply watching Homura as she spoke, those eyes fixated on her as if studying her once again.
“It’s because of this that I have to do everything for her. Even if it means interfering with her natural inclinations. It’s all for her, and for her own good, because lord knows, I know, she won’t do anything for her own benefit.”
“Are you satisfied?”
“What?”
“Are you satisfied right now, Homura Akemi?”
The ultimate goal of anyone would be to have taken out that deep urge to scream and move reality with their own hands, tear the fabric of the universe apart and bend it to their own will. To free themselves and those they care about from the suffering that comes as a package deal to mere existence. To be able to refuse the concept of acceptance as a grieving component of tragedy, to deny being touched by grief and tragedy in the first place.
She did what people could only dream of. She had gone even further. She had harnessed her love to move mountains on a cosmic level.
She had resurrected what had essentially died.
Brought back what had been worse than death.
But that didn’t answer Kyubey’s question, did it?
Was she satisfied?
What did satisfaction mean? Happiness? Contentment? Solace in having achieved her goals?
Whatever it was… Homura felt none of these things.
She refused to give Kyubey the satisfaction in answering its question, however.
At the lack of an answer, Kyubey pushed with a different question.
“Does it give you a sense of importance? You succeed in protecting Madoka… then what is left for you?”
“Shut up…”
“Strip away the self-important protector role, the so-called love that revolves around one other person and that person alone, and what is left? What is left that makes up Homura Akemi?”
“Shut up shut up shut up…”
“I’m making a genuine inquiry. I don’t even think you know yourself. Your whole being is at this point constructed around this idea of Madoka Kaname. This narrative you’ve forcibly played out of you being her sole protector. These have become the core factors that make your identity. At least in your mind, regardless of the reality, or whichever one you manufacture. You criticise Mami so harshly, but are you really so different? Without this… who are you, Homura Akemi?”
“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT UP!” she screamed through gritted teeth. It had been so long since she’d even heard the sound of her own voice at this volume. In one swift movement she made her hand into a fist.
In that same moment, Kyubey’s body spurted apart.
Homura didn’t even stay to look. There was no point, there would be another body to replace it soon enough. She turned away from the remnants of the body not in disgust, but in disregard, her fist remaining closed tightly and shaking.
She ran.
She ran through the park, past the hills, past the stunned onlookers who had no clue.
Her surroundings warped and blurred as she ran. It was indistinguishable as to whether that was due to Homura’s own vision, or the instability of this universe. Those little Clara Dolls of Homulilly danced in the corners of her peripherals, following her… or were they chasing her?
She didn’t know where she was running towards. Just that it was away. But anywhere within this universe was still a prison of her own creation. Even if she reached the very edge of it, she wouldn’t truly be free from it all.
Was she really different from any witch?
She stopped running once she was alone. It wasn’t nearly as away as she desired, but she’d take being away from any other immediate conscious presence as an inferior substitute for now. She could see the city at a distance, the sun having dipped behind most of the buildings by now, the sky in twilight. What percentage of that population within that city were real at this point, and how many were just puppets of hers?
Tears started to fall down Homura’s face. She hadn’t cried in this new universe until now. She didn’t even know she still had it in her to do so. She let her knees give out beneath her as she collapsed. It was only once she was on the ground that she recognised she had run to the flower field, the white daisies crushed beneath her. If it were up to her, she would rest here. Sink into the flowers, let the stems and roots crawl through her body, let her body decompose and become part of the dirt beneath, perhaps it could be of some use if it could help the growth of more flowers. That was if her shell of a body had anything left worth any nutritional value to the flowers and wouldn’t just poison them. She was thinking too highly of herself; she would just become a weed to infest these flowers.
“Homura-chan?”
That sweet voice pulled her back.
“Madoka…” Homura gasped, looking up. “How did you-”
Madoka was standing above her, a few hesitant steps away, looking at her with concern.
“I saw you running past before and… you looked so upset, so I followed you here… I couldn’t leave you like that…”
Of course she couldn’t. Because she was Madoka. Her heart empathised with everyone, and she couldn’t let anyone go in pain, even someone as sickening as Homura herself.
But who’s to say Homura hadn’t forcibly compelled Madoka to follow her. It was within her power to do exactly that, and she wouldn’t put it past her selfish subconsciousness to do so.
“Homura-chan,” Madoka crouched down beside Homura and learned forward, putting a hand on Homura’s shoulder. “Let me help you, is there anything I can do for you to do that?”
“I just want…”
Madoka was looking at her with such gentle eyes, waiting for whatever Homura was going to say next. The way Madoka’s pink eyes gazed upon Homura was so different from Kyubey’s. Kyubey would look at her pointedly, as a test subject, ready to record information from the next thing Homura said. Madoka looked at her like she was still human. She wasn’t waiting for Homura’s next words with anticipation but was waiting just for Homura’s own sake.
“I just… I wish none of this had even happened in the first place. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of it.”
Madoka didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. Homura could see she was trying, trying to be strong and composed, but her eyes were wavering as she tried to hold back tears that were threatening to arise.
Homura had tried to protect Madoka from having to feel this exact way. But because of Homura’s very existence, she was just making it even worse.
“Ah… this is really the hell where I’ve been damned…”
“Homura-chan...” Madoka’s voice trembled. “You’re… you’re scaring me… You’re not thinking of harming yourself are you?”
Homura almost scoffed. It was much too late to worry about whether she’d tried. Many times over. Sometimes out of boredom, other times because she probably deserved it in that moment. Let herself drop off cliffsides to see what would happen when her side smacked into the ground below. Turning a gun on her own head, to see if this current form of hers would spurt out blood in the same way as it had when she’d done it before.
“I don’t think there’s much more I can do on that front,” she said. “I’ve already hurt myself as much as possible.”
Even if Homura could end her own existence, Madoka’s incorporeal form was just barely being held in her clutches somewhere out there. Homura was the last line between Madoka returning back to what she was before, this time with no hope but to be stuck in her godlike form for the rest of eternity The refusal to let that happen was enough to remind Homura that she would have to stick around regardless.
“How much easier it would have been in another life…”
She had a dream. It was simple. Untouched by any of the horror of magic that Kyubey had brought into their lives that had ruined them beyond repair.
A dream of an ordinary transfer student, and her classmates who take her in. Regular classmates, not magical ones, just regular girls who reached out to her because they were kind and open to new friendships.
In their spare time, they sit at one of their houses, eating cakes, drinking tea, talking about the mundane topics of girls their age. Their studies, their hobbies, the people they like, their adolescent troubles which are so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
They get to continue growing up together. They graduate high school and follow the paths of the dreams they have for themselves. Meet other people, grow, learn about themselves, form new relationships, or even maybe… deepen the ones with each other.
Where would she be with Madoka if they had been offered such a reality?
Would Madoka’s family like her? Homura had seen them so many times, and occasionally interacted with them briefly in one timeline or universe or another, and those had been nice. But what about properly meeting them, by Madoka’s side. How would she have been introduced? Would Tatsuya have liked her? Homura wasn’t familiar with how to act with young children, but maybe she would have been a natural. Could he have viewed her as a big sister? What about Madoka’s mother? The smart businesswoman she was, Homura probably could have learned so much from her and received life advice that she didn’t have due to the lack of a mother of her own.
Homura could try to manifest this dream, recreate it in whatever universe she wanted, But that would already ruin it.
She just wanted it untainted. She just wanted it without having to even ask for it. Natural.
Everything had been re-written, mistakes erased and then erased over the top again, too many times. Like a paper that had been smudged and rubbed and creased and ripped apart beyond the contents on the surface ever being salvageable. Even if one were to draw over it again, try to paint the picture over the top of the disaster, the tears were unavoidable. The fact that it had long being ruined could not be covered up. It had needed to be perfect from the beginning, when it was clean, and to have made no mistakes from the first attempt. There was no other slate.
Why them?
Why her?
Why?
“Homura-chan…” Madoka’s hand brushed her cheek, wiping at the tear streaks that were there.
At Madoka’s touch, Homura chased after her for more. She followed the path of her fingers, hand, arms to fall into her in an embrace.
She thought back to that crucial moment of her first wish.
The power to go back and protect Madoka. That’s what it had been.
Homura cursed her old, foolish self.
After all this time, she hadn’t ever started to think about regret. She had gone way too far down this road to even consider it for a moment. To admit she regretted her initial action would be to throw away everything she had done since then. It would be to question the very foundation of the principles that her driven her to this point.
But in thinking about it now, what had been her intention back then?
Why hadn’t Homura just wished for the dream that she had played out in her head? Cut out all of the efforts and pain and everything in-between, just asked for the desired reality handed to her? The clean slate then and there, at the one opportunity she had for it.
She knew why.
It was because she wanted to hold herself as the protector of Madoka like a badge of pride, to try to make something of herself. That pitiful girl who had nothing to offer, who had been nothing but an inconvenience and a burden to others. If Homura couldn’t be worth anything else, or make anything of herself, then her chosen alternative was to focus all of herself onto that whom she most cared about. If not living for herself, then for Madoka. If she let go of Madoka, then why would she still be living at all?
Homura let herself sob. She cried as if she were still the pitiful and pathetic little girl she had once been.
The girl that, despite all the power she had gained, she still was.