Supernatural Warfare Adept is a "magical girls go to war" collection of short stories. It's largely inspired by Izetta: the Last Witch, Saga of Tanya the Evil, and Puella Magi Madoka Magica, but also includes shades of Gunslinger Girl and Full Metal Alchemist in terms of tone and some themes. The stories follow will multiple magical girls on multiple sides of a world war.

What this site considers a single story will actually be an anthology, so if the chapter count looks intimidating, fear not: after at most five chapters, each under two thousand words, that particular story will end, giving you a chance to decide if it's worth continuing.

The stories are subject to change as I feel I need to change certain events or lines of dialogue. This may cause continuity errors, and for that you have my deepest apologies, along with a commitment to document in a foreword what was changed in prior chapters and an endnote on the changed chapter as well.

While this is a 'common world' series with multiple protagonists, it's not a role-playing story. Specifically, I regret that I am not open to reader-created characters. I love discussing both fiction in general and my stories both published and planned, and will gladly entertain potential plot arcs and improvements on existing scenes.

Finally, even though this work itself is not a role-play, I am happy to let anyone use the setting or the characters, either in their own writing (i.e. fanfic), or in an RPG forum. Please note this is not the same as placing the entire work into public domain. I wish to retain copyright on characters, settings, and other entities named with proper nouns.

Fimaya: Civilian

Chapter One: Friends

The clock sounded. Fimaya groaned and sat up in her bed. The bell continued to chime, melodic, steady, and loud. Unsteadily, she wobbled over to her desk, one still covered with books, writing implements and ink-stained papers from last night's efforts. Her hands held the ornate timepiece to one squinting, groggy eye. Rich, stained hardwood was lacquered to such a gloss it reflected her scowl.

The wheels at the back showed eight zeroes, as it did every morning. She worked a lever to advance the first wheel to show a 1, then turned a knob. She worked the lever again so the second wheel showed a 9, and repeated the motions until the eight wheels showed the date: 1920-03-21.

Her father was a clocksmith, and this was his gift before being recalled for military service. Fimaya's tired grimace melted into a bittersweet smile at that memory, then soured again when she remembered her frantic attempts to quell its chimes the first time it sounded.

"All right, Poppa. I'm awake." She yawned, then set about folding her bedding, tidying her desk, and readying herself for lower school.

Like her father, Fimaya Delkasact's orange tresses were unruly. Unlike her father, she kept them unshorn for the longed-for day when she would finally outgrow her reed-thin body. She stopped midway through buttoning her white uniform blouse to ponder her camisole, and the utter pointlessness of it all. There was nothing to cover, nothing to shape.

It wasn't fair!

Satrona and Bleffie, her friends since infant-school, already crossed the threshold into womanhood. They claimed not to notice the lower school (and upper school!) boys' hungry glances, but Fimaya did. Cordyn Kreistapid, he of flaxen hair and sapphire eyes, was not one of the boys obviously leering at her friends, but with her eyes closed, Fimaya could see him slowly consuming her with his eyes over lunchtime.

If she ever grew out of this lanky body, that is!


"Hi, Fimi!"

"Hi, Satrona." Fimaya hid her envy as her friend jogged up to catch her. Adolescence was generous to Satrona Zeichtasdt, and her undergarments did not sufficiently contain those gifts, especially when she ran.

Fimaya's ego once again conceded as to why the other girl attracted so much attention. Even dressed as they were in modest, calf-height navy skirts, alabaster blouses, and navy blazers, Satrona's profile was at once unmistakable and noteworthy.

As Satrona gulped air, Fimaya asked, "Did you get the Ocata assignment done?" She asked more to fill the pause than out of any interest, as her flat tone conveyed.

The blond girl didn't note that. She brushed aside a slightly damp lock of wavy golden tresses behind her ear. With enthusiasm battling breathlessness, she replied, "Al … qote, el qoti … il qoto? Yeah. You?"

"Hua-huai. Mostly. Good enough. Dortchon's Gate War report took all weekend."

"Hua-hua-ey, you mean. Half-and-half, right? Hua-huai means half... ocean?"

Fimaya gave her friend's arm a light swat. "Show off. Hooey, phooey. It's not like we're ever going to need to read Queen Kelma's Quest again, either in Old Ocata or Natshunese."

Satrona's eyelids lowered as she held up her index finger and effected an upper-class drone, "A cultured lady should be well-schooled in our magnificent history."

Fimaya rolled her eyes and sighed. Satrona's impression of Mz. Kelvtchad was unmistakable, and infectious. She continued the lecture. "Next, the importance of ... the music!" Fimaya finished the sentence with an overly-dramatic sweep of her arms, another of Mz. Kelvtchad's idiosyncrasies.

"We ladies are the keepers of the sacred songs, passed..." Satrona couldn't keep her composure either and joined Fimaya in giggling.

"Satz! Fim! Wait up!"

As one they turned to see Bleffroda Vust Tacfontao narrowly avoid a horse-carriage in her haste to join the duo.

Still giggling, Fimaya gave half-hearted wave. Where Satrona was ample of bosom, Bleffie's compact, solid body wasn't softened by maturity, merely sculpted. Her calves filled out while her ankles remained taut and wiry. Her thighs lengthened greatly, and her hips spread slightly. Her torso curved inward in the right places and outwards in the right places, but never to excess. Her neck narrowed, and her turquoise eyes seemed to glow above sharp, angled cheekbones. Her face was framed by midnight black tresses that lingered to the small of her back.

She wore a skirt and blouse as Fimaya and Satrona, and with her uniform jacket neatly draped over her arm, she was the very image of an Old Master's masterwork, so much so that she might as well have been a Hechtich statue come alive.

Fimaya hunched over slightly, instinctively, when she imagined their trio. Satrona, with her ample balcony, often attracted the bolder admirers, while Bleffie collected polite, reserved nods of appreciation.

And Fimaya was mistaken for a boy just a fortnight ago...

Oblivious to her slender friend's unease, Bleffie grinned. "Let me guess. Mz. Kelvtchad?"

"Yes. Fimi just did ... The Music!" Satrona's arms flung wide. "We, the sacred keepers of... I mean, keepers of the sacred... pig bath!"

Bleffie gave a few polite half-laughs. "She's right, you know. We pass on the songs from generation to generation. My mother sang to me the same songs my grams sang to her, and her mammy sang to grams."

Fimi cocked a smile, a genuine one. "So? They're just silly songs. Why did that duck fall into the river? I mean, a duck? Fall into a river? They swim, right?"

As they walked three abreast on the pave-stone roadway, Bleffie said softly, "They're our songs, though. Dachtlantica mothers wouldn't sing them."

Satrona gave a very unlady-like guffaw. "No, they probably sing their babies to sleep with songs about demons and swords and rivers clotted with bodies!"

Bleffroda continued as if Satrona hadn't interrupted. "Nor Oberdhierian mothers. These are our songs. If we don't sing them, who will?"

Satrona gave Fimaya a conspiratorial glance. "If the world lost a song about a duckling that couldn't swim, what's the loss? Or, gasp, our holy dominion over the hearth-fire?" Again, she mimicked Ms. Kelvtchad's over-enthusiasm in gesture and tone, blowing a kiss to a passing horse-cab.

The driver gave a whistle and a wag of his eyebrow back.

Fimaya noted how even he rested his gaze on Satrona a heartbeat before looking away. At her chest, specifically. She shook her head to clear it. "Yeah, dominion. It's just another way of saying, 'kitchen slave.'"

Bleffie shook her head. "My pah and Elbredt know how to fix dinner. It's not like they'll starve without us."

Satrona grimaced. "Well, Kalyad would. But he's only three, so I'll forgive him." She gave a quick smile, then the frown resumed. "It's not fair that I have to take care of him, though. I don't think they gave that much homework in lower school back when my mom was our age."

Fimaya lightly tapped the weathered metal plaque that announced Sant Motcha Lower School. "Well, time for me to talk about The Gate War for," she pantomimed brushing her jacket's sleeve toward her elbow to squint at a non-existent timepiece, "ten mins, no more, no less."


"... and all nations now are ever-vigilant for these gates to the Other Side, and destroy them whenever they find one."

Instructor Dortchon nodded once, stiffly. "Sufficient, Mz. Delkasact. Sit." The upturned ends of his waxed moustache bounced, but his slicked chestnut chair stayed as one.

"Thank you, M. Dortchon, sir." Fimaya took her seat in the front row.

Ignoring her response, the short, proper man strode up to the lectern. "What was notable about The Gate War, class? Besides Mz. Delkasact."

Fimaya let her hand sag back to her lap.


She quelled the urge to look behind her. She knew already what she would see: score-and-odd girls her age, all dressed in white blouses, green jackets, and black plaid skirts. All of them with blank looks on their faces, and their hands folded in their laps.

"All right. Mz. Delkasact?"

Fimaya swallowed. "It was against beasts the likes of which we never saw before."

Instructor Dortchon sighed and rolled his eyes. "Of course it was against otherworldly creatures, Mz. Delkasact. Did you expect Datlantians to march through a gate to the Other Side? Anyone else? I will keep you all in here for lunch if you don't answer."

"First use of machine gun..." "Poison gas?" "Azure..." "Aeroplanes?"

"Yes!" Dortchon pointed toward the rear corner. "I heard it from over there."


"NO! Azure! Azure Spear! Who said that?"

"Uh, I did?" The same girl who said "Aeroplane," unsteadily raised her hand only to chin-height, as if she was giving a weak wave.

"Azure Spear. She was notable. Tell us about her, Mz. Torloque."

In her faintly accented Natshunese, Kilusanan Torloque half-recited, "Azure Spear was the first combat witch, ah... Supernatural Warfare Adept." Kilusanan wilted under the instructor's glare and hastily corrected herself. "She could heal, fly, and strike the beasts from the Other Side with her Azure Spear. She was essential to the victory at Passen's Gate. Uh, continue?"

Dortchon shook his head. "Seeing as my Recent History class seems a touch under informed regarding the Supernatural Warfare Adepts, I would like everyone to have a ten-page paper about said Adepts ready for me by week's end."

The lunchtime bells were barely audible over the massed groans.