Yi tried to built a wall of fortitude , tried to block out the fight between Rider and Ruler, Ruler's words and the fear brought about by it all. The fear was soon replaced by a tang of frustration; her questions had been left unanswered because of the fight, not to mention the stupidity of fight itself. How were they supposed to work as a team when at least two members of it were intent on wrestling the referee? Berserker, on the other hand, gave a quiet chuckle. The whole antic reminded him of some of his, though, back then, he had been blinded by pride and had ended up imprisoned and crippled until he had chose to end it. Berserker did not want a repeat of that, and so he did not join in with the fighting. A decision that seemed to please his Master.
Still, despite the ruckus, the question rang in the air: "What say you, Masters of the Grail -- shall you accept your fate or be slain in cold blood?"
Fight or die? It wasn't much of a choice, but then again, Yi never chose to follow the path of Magecraft. It had been forced upon by two elderly people obsessed with past glories, if there were any. She had always wanted to make her grandparents happy, but most importantly, she wanted to make them proud of her. No, Yi desired approval, plain and simple. The few friends that she made over the years had always seen her as the responsible one who always declined the majority of invitations to parties and whatnot. Her grandparents saw her as a simply as a tool, as a cat's-paw. Yi didn't want to imagine what the other Magi or Berserker thought of her. But one thing was clear: she would fight, perhaps for the most petty of reasons, but she would fight.
Yi confirmed this with a simple word, "Yes." Berserker grunted a rough equivalent, echoing his Master. The giant was tempted to crack a few knuckles, but decided not to. Wouldn't want to ruin the ambiance
It wasn't the most convincing answer he had ever received. They certainly had the heart, somewhere deep down inside, yet their motivations were questionable. Surprisingly, Ruler was having more trouble becoming comfortable with the wishes of his fellow heroes than the Masters themselves. So many of his gather champions seemed to simply be content with making this war a means to sate their own thirst for battle. This was no more apparent than in Saber's amusement in his assault on her. She seemed pleased that she had been bested so easily, reveling in the challenge Ruler now presented. She had even been audacious enough to demand a rematch after the war was over. The disgust that was crawling underneath the Heroic Spirit's skin was distracting, yet he hid it well with a stoic visage.
His attention then turned towards the last of the Masters who had yet to respond. Machiko had retreated into her own doubt as she had witnessed the scene unfold around her. She had been rattled, unnerved to the point of paralysis much like the Heller boy. Her posture was closed off, her expression confused and her eyes wandering about with worry of what everyone else was thinking about her. The Servant could see the doubt, he could see the fear and it made him second guess his decisions in bringing these seven to the church. Had he been too rash in picking these individuals?
"And what say you, Machiko Tsukino?"
The girl then looked up at the massive Servant, the worry in her eyes reflecting her indecision. She seemed conflicted with his words, trying to mull them over and make her final decision. She was easily the most naive of the lot, idealistic to the point of hero worship. She was a woman who spent her entire life with her head in a fantasy of feudal heroes rescuing timid maidens. Now she found herself surrounded by those same mythical men and women, trying to find her place in this entire mess of a war. Her brow furrowed a little before she looked Ruler in the eyes, her doubt slowly disappearing from her gaze.
"I just learned about magic," she said with a sudden determination. "I can't just let it disappear. I haven't even gotten a chance to help anybody yet!"
Caster stood by his master's side, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder for support, yet she didn't seem to need it. Whatever quarrel she had been trying to resolve within her mind and soul had been steeled into an unbreakable resolve. She had a goal and was focused on achieving it. Her partner simply nodded in approval of his Master's words before adding in his own two cents.
"Aye. Too much good to do in this world and not enough means to do it. If we let the third magic be sealed away, that's just one less chance humanity has to save itself."
Ruler's expression was a stone mask but he could feel his heart swell a little at their little proclamation. It was comforting to know that his chosen had a moral compass in both Machiko and the Marks family. Their intentions were somewhat righteous, if conflicting, it seemed. Hopefully the others would find their ways towards the light he so desperately wanted to show them and make the correct decision by the end of all this.
"Very well, Masters. I believe that leaves one question remained unanswered, Yi Yu Yuen..."
[hr]
A lone figure had been waiting within the twilight shadows that evening. Its figure was obscured, veiled in the anonymity of darkness in the alleyway. Many hours had passed yet the figure had not moved, watching, waiting for its moment. There was no doubt that its machinations would come to fruition this evening, it was all a matter of time, as it always was. One hand firmly clasping a small pocket watch, it closed the lid as if satisfied with the information it had provided and stowed it away for future use.
Slowly the figure revealed itself to the world around him. He was a tall and slender gentleman who moved with the spirit of a young teenager yet the grace of an older gentleman. His striking blue eyes were focused upon the church before him, never letting his gaze stray to anything else. His slick blonde hair was completely covered with a posh fedora he adjusted absent mindedly. His long jacket was left flapping in the gentle breeze his steps created, unbuttoned on such a warm summer evening. A curious red armband was worn upon his right arm, embroidered with the insignia of the mage's association in the same colour. A silky black vest and white shirt were worn underneath, sparing no expense to achieve his immaculate appearance. A black tie was clipped to the shirt with a gold tie clip that displayed the familiar emblem of the Association upon it. His black trousers with matching belt and oxfords completed the upper class look to match his equally dignified manner.
Each step he took felt calculated, no energy being wasted with each footfall. It was as if he had walked this same path a thousand times before and become accustomed to every intricacy it presented. As he reached the middle of the street the man stopped dead in his tracks, a slight slouch in his posture that felt too correct to deem improper. His left hand was deep in his pants pockets while the right fiddled with the inside breast of his coat, searching for something. He eventually produced a small waxy stick that was coloured a deep blood red, looking at it with a smug satisfaction before continuing his work. The man took a knee and began to sketch a circle around him. Each stroke had been practiced at least ten thousand times over, to the point of knowing the motions that even under the greatest of duress his hands would never make a mistake. It was quick work and by the end he had a flawless magic circle ready for use.
There was no time for fanfare or admiration of his work. With a quick motion he stowed the strange writing implement back into his inner breast coat pocket and placed the now free hand onto the circle. A faint glow traced each line within his creation, cascading across the poorly lit street with its eerie glow. He whispered the chant, so softly that it could be debated if even he heard himself. Then from the sky came a thousand little flakes of light, like starts floating from the heavens onto the people below. It was almost as if it was snowing in Fuyuki, covering at least a few blocks from the epicenter of the commotion. The flakes slowly descended through the roofs below, melting instantly upon the residence of the neighbourhood and drifting them into the deepest sleep they had ever experienced. With the spell cast, the gentleman stood back up to his full height and looked behind him. Various shadows were beginning to appear from the obfuscation of the shadows. There were thirteen in all, anxiously awaiting his signal. With a casual shrug of his shoulders, then man outstretched his opened hand towards the church and a devious curl of his lips began to form into a smirk.
[hr]
"He certainly is chatty..."
"Mind your manners, Miles."
The deacon bit his tongue, quite literally, as he shut his mouth and continued to listen to the Heroic Spirit drone on at the behest of the grizzled priest. Ruler had been explaining, in great detail, the corruption that infected the Grail at this point. Miles could have sworn he had already talked for five minutes without pause and didn't look as though he would be stopping anytime soon. Even heroes had limits on how far their skills could stretch and for Miles it simply wasn't a topic of his concern. So he was unfortunately left to wait out the long winded warrior as he waxed rhetoric upon his chosen few.
Curiously, he didn't have to wait long before something caught his waning attention. A small sparkling fleck had begun floating casually down towards him. It looked like a snowflake caught in the sunlight as it drifted through the air down onto the tip of his nose. As the fleck of prana activated on contact, the deacon could already feel a wave of exhaustion wash over him. His eyelids felt heavy and his body began to go slack. His mind was screaming for him to wake up, that he wasn?t tired and that falling asleep here was the worst idea imaginable but his body refused to heed his warnings. Soon he would be enraptured in dreams he could never wake from voluntarily.
It was just the deacon's luck that the old priest was as watchful as a hawk for faults in the boy's conduct. He immediately felt the welcomed pain of a blow from the clergyman's cane shoot up his leg. Miles focused on that, forcing himself awake and erected what crude defenses against magecraft he had been taught by his mentor. His face contorted as he tried to focus on the rising burning, holding it there instead of letting it fade. Matthias didn't seemed pleased at all by his subordinate's conduct and made it very clear to him by smacking his other leg with a blindingly quick strike.
"Stop making faces and pay attention," he hissed, his stare never once leaving Ruler's person.
"Father Matthias, I think-" he stammered, not even worried about controlling the volume of his voice.
The hulking spirit behind the lectern quickly shifted his eyes towards the pair for a moment, furrowing his brow in frustration as he continued. Father Matthias was more than aggravated at this point. He didn't even feel like giving the boy a swift blow to the shins anymore, which was his default response for most situations. He was beyond simply chastising the the deacon for his ineloquent ways and now was legitimately upset. He looked over at the boy for but a second to get his point across, his face full of grim tidings of things to come if his apprentice continued.
"No, Miles, you don't," the priest interrupted. "Now hush!"
"But Father-"
The aged priest swiftly turned on his apprentice, seething with rage as his face flushed red. It was obvious that the man didn't deal well with insubordination and that he was especially not keen on Miles thinking he could question his judgement. The boy was quaking from the pain he was trying to hold onto, the strain of focusing on his meager barrier and the fear that the wrath of his superior was putting into him. Yet he stood his ground, putting his arms up in defense in case he would be struck down here and now.
"I have told you twice, Miles and I will not tell you another time after this. Now please. Be.....quiet?"
It was then that the rest of the sleep inducing snowfall leaked through the high church ceiling. Everyone began to look up, the little girl slowly inching her way towards her protector in fear of what would happen next. Matthias was speechless, unsure of what to think. The entire grounds had been both sanctified by the Church and had a magical barrier erected by the Tohsaka family back during the reconstruction of Fuyuki chapel. They had tapped into a power flowing far beneath the earth, a leyline of unlimited magical potential, to ensure the magical fortifications would be beyond even the true magic in the Age of the Gods. Yet now there were twinkling stars of prana floating down from the sky and through the church's protective measures.
As the first flake into Matthias' open hand, he could feel the magical energy try to grip him. It was a simple spell to put any unaware individual into a deep, almost catatonic sleep. His defenses, however, were prepared and most likely amongst the best even compared to most Servants. The flake simply dissolved against his own barrier, the energy visibly rippling outwards as its power dispersed. It was a tremendously powerful spell, even when dampened by the church safeguards, yet the prana felt very familiar somehow. Suddenly the priest went ghostly white, the realization hitting him like a tonne of bricks. There was only one source that could possibly have penetrated their defenses so easily and it was the same source that those defenses drew upon.
"The leylines-!"
They were the last two words Father Matthias would ever say.
At the exact moment a barrage of powerful magecraft thundered into existence, all targeted towards the church. The barriers were fried in seconds, the sheer volume of attacks effectively blowing them out from needing so much energy to repel them. A hail of ice shards and thunder bolts rained from the sky, shredding the ceiling into mere flinters. Fire poured its way through doors and windows, the entire church seemingly engulfed by a raging inferno all at once. Explosions were going off from every direction, bullets flying every which way as they ricocheted upon connecting with the furniture and fixtures. Massive orbs of void energy were absorbing and obliterating everything within their path and what looked to be Gandr Shot were being flung every which way like a machine gun spread. The entire building had become a war zone in a matter of moments as their unknown assailants poured everything onto them.
Matthias had already forced a protective shield to keep himself safe from the brunt of the attack coming from the entrance, muttering the incantation over and over to keep the powering flowing and his concentration at its peak. Yet for all his prowess, it was completely shattered with a single piece of shot. The bullet sunk deep into his abdomen, knocking him backwards as his barrier came apart into shards that resembled glass before they dispersed into nothingness. His grunt of pain was an oddity, the man having never shown true discomfort in all the time anyone had known him. Yet here he was, almost doubled over while futily trying to stop the bleeding just long enough to keep his apprentice protected. His efforts were swiftly halted as a massive shard of ice hailed down onto the man, striking him through the back of his neck and out through his throat, lodging itself snugly in a death strike.
"FATHER!!!"
The young deacon watched in horror as his master was so easily struck down, crying out in pain at the sudden loss. His body went into a dead sprint, uncontrollably trying to close the gap between him and his beloved teacher. Not three steps in, Miles was bound to a similar fate. One of the massive orbs of null energy swept across his right side, eating up the majority of his right arm and just clipped his heart. The young man's eyes went wide and blank with shock as his life was instantly taken from him. His body went stiff and fell to the floor, twitching in large spasms as if to mimic gasps for air. A pool of blood quickly spurted out from the perfectly sliced body, leaking down the wooden dais and onto the stone floor below. Their grave would be the church falling into flinters and burning around them. The building was completely alight and collapsing in upon itself as the spells finally ceased in some sick display of mercy.
[hr]
The suited ring leader of the magi outside had given the single to stop. The circle he had constructed was now nothing more than ash being blown away in the wind, used up in their bombardment of the property. There was little point in continuing anyway, knowing that either the occupants had been killed or they had been powerful enough to survive and would need to be hunted down individually. Despite this train of thought, the man was pleased with how well his formalcraft had performed. The church was a dilapidated inferno, held up by sheer luck of not having hit every support beam. Even then, the left side had already collapsed upon it self, sagging the rest of the building towards it. He motioned to his colleagues to advance and twelve of the thirteen shadows sped off into the night to advance upon the structure.
The last one slowly came out of the shadows, revealing himself to be a Servant of the Grail War by dress alone. The spirit was slightly shorter than his master, though having a slightly wider frame honed through rigorous training and war. His face was well defined, poignantly accentuated with well groomed and pointed facial hair. A set of sharp golden eyes were firmly affixed upon the suited man, fierce and determined and jaded to the point of lacking compassion. His hair was kept back in a small pony tail that looked as if it would come down to his shoulders otherwise. His armour looked far more suited to the area, a complete set of lamellar armour using black plates and purple lace, stylistically sporting wide shoulder guards to ameliorate the handicap of lacking a shield. He wore a large cloak attached to the armour, royal purple in colour to match with the lace with a crimson red lining. Upon the center of each side was his families crest, embroidered in the colour of the opposite side. His only true weapon was a single katana kept in an ornately decorated purple sheath with gold trimming, hung strangely like a straight sword or more European blade to keep it from catching on his cloak. Upon the back of his waist he also kept a matching tanto for ceremonial reasons.
As the Servant finally reached his Master's side, he looked upon the devastation they had wrought with dead eyes, as if he had seen atrocities committed far greater than this.
"The first stone has been cast," he said, his accent thick and almost dead pan. "It seems black has played the first move this time."
"So..." his Master replied, his own Germanic accent not quite smoothed out of his voice. "It's time to play the game, is it? Very well..."
The Master casually began to make his way towards the inferno that had been Fuyuki chapel, his Servant in step with him the entire way. If he had been truthful with himself, the entire prospect of ending the war this early was exhilarating. He wanted nothing more than to drive his opponents to their knees with his superiority. Now it was just a matter of finding out who he would crush beneath his heel first.
Daria stood beside Rider, leaning slightly against him, looking ready to doze off as Ruler continued chanting his rhetoric. The verbal paperwork flowed into one ear and out the other as she lightly snored. Rider chafed under her touch, cautiously eyeing both her and the tattooed man, praying that he would not notice her lack of attention.
For his part Alexander stood tall and straight enough to make up for anyone else's deficiency in posture. Archer felt himself shrink just by being near such an imposing figure, but he puffed his chest out nonetheless. The kind word of his Master had been just enough to bring out that sliver of pride that even the lowliest Heroic Spirit held, and he used it to pass for an honest soldier.
Then flakes began to drift down from above. Like snow, they descended upon the myriad souls gathered in the church. Daria noticed them first, her eyes lighting up like a child's as one dissolved upon her cheek. All she felt was a rush of cold through her system as she absorbed the prana into her body. A tiny gasp caught Enkidu's attention, and he saw her staring down another flake. Her tongue extended, she sought to catch it. A flare lit in his eyes, and he hissed, "Daria, don't--"
Too late. The little white flake landed on her tongue, and she gobbled it down. Rider gaped in silent horror as she pursed her lips, puffing out her cheeks as she gauged the quality. "Hmm, tastes kinda sweet. But not like snow..." she smacked her lips and wondered, "What is this?"
And like a sack full of bricks Daria dropped, her eyes drooping shut as Rider kneeled, catching her in his arms. "Daria!"
He began to shake her, but all he got was an exhausted groan. She whispered to herself like in a dream. "What is it Daddy?.. I'm not supposed to wake up at night..."
"Come on, you idiot," demanded her Servant. "This is no time for stupid jokes!" And then a snowflake hit his skull. For a brief second, even he felt the need to close his eyes and lie down. Instinct took over and he put his body over Daria so no more would touch her as he cast a wary eye above.
What kind of spell is this?
At about the same time, several flakes hit the top of Alexander's head at once, being among the tallest in the room. His eyes fluttered as he felt a sudden wave of exhaustion, but a shake of his head knocked it away. "What in the world--"
"Prana," Archer informed him, feeling his body seize up as more and more passed down through the ceiling. "It's all prana. Some kind of spell."
"What?" asked his Master, craning his neck to watch more fall down. "But we're in a church! A focal point of the city's leylines! This place should be immune to magecraft!"
Archer looked to the door. "Then that means..."
A trifecta. From above came powerful hail and bolts of lightning arcing down. Like a machine gun, Gandr Shot bolts blasted down doors and shattered windows. Terrible fire burned everything. Rider watched every attack come down, and closed his eyes. He needed no aria for it, but he was ashamed to have used his first Noble Phantasm before he had even seen the face of his foes.
Golden portals opened from all sides of his body, and long lengths of chain coiled out. In an instant they wrapped around columns, walls, and pews, and instantly retracted. Entire portions of structure came back with them, and fell upon the Masters of White. When Daria snapped to consciousness, everything was being torn apart. She tried to stand, screaming curses, but immediately felt Rider's hand shoved her down and behind him and the wall he'd made.
"What the hell--"
"Shut up and stay behind me!"
The wall was holding, but Rider had no idea how long his construction would hold against an attack of this magnitude. And if it fell, all the Masters behind him could be eradicated.
...
Archer was frozen in place, his whole body shaking. The bombing had stopped. He would've been destroyed, but for the quick thinking of Alexander, who placed them both behind Rider's barrier. Only a fragment of it remained, scorched and flaming, but it had withheld the bombing. Trembling, the Servant rose to his feet alongside his Master. "W-who did that?"
"What are ya, dense?" asked the Master to his side. Daria was staring outside the door, brow furrowed, and a deeply unsettling smile on her face. She was already dancing on the tips of her toes, fists clenched as her blood began pumping. "The other Masters are here. And they're lookin' for a fight." She spontaneously collided her fists together, and began walking for the door. "Come on! Let's get a look at these guys before they're just grease stains on my fists." Rider followed after her, whispering warnings.
"Do you want to get killed?! Don't just walk out into the open!"
Alexander crossed his arms and huffed. "Insolent brat. She'll die going out there alone." He instantly followed her. Archer was taken aback and asked, "What the hell are you doing?!"
Alexander looked back with a scowl on his face. "These Masters have defiled the sanctity of the War by attacking neutral ground, and killing a mediator of the conflict. Even if the girl's eagerness is uncalled for, she's right. They must perish for this." He turned around and continued walking, leaving his Servant to rub his temples.
"Oh jeez... all of you are idiots." He broke into a trot, following the others outside.
Everyone gave answers, and everyone else fell silent again as the Ruler rambled on. And on.... and on. Honestly the whole speech could put Yuri to sleep, if he let it. The knowledge of the grail was passed on to him by his family; if he was meant to be here he'd do it right after all. The priest and his boy gave a most welcome reprieve, and allowed Yuri to look around again.
He had taken the leftmost position of the group, and his... partner had taken a seat next to him. She seemed to be paying some small amount of attention to the droning, but that might've just been feigned.
The yelling took a curious end, seemed the deacon had found something and he agreed. Sparkling specks of prana, a spell of some sort, floated lazily from the roof like slow rain, or snow... He recognized the spell as his touched his cheek bone, the suffocating net of sleep quickly descending on him. Yuri quickly drew his sword, his unarmored hand pressed against it's razor sharp edge.
The blood flow started immediately, though his heart maintained it's steady, uniform, and alien beat as he went about his work.
Badump. Some of the blood fell to the ground, and splashed the ground in an arc as he raised his arm to the ceiling. His muttering was quiet but frantic, as he recited the Aria.
Badump. The crimson of his blood mixed with the greenish blue water he seemed to create, swirling above his head in a calm and pink whirlpool. Neptune's Aegis spread out quickly, covering the dozy assassin's head. She fought it as best she could, drawing her blood red dagger and looking for a potential attacker.
Badump. "What the-!" Yuri focused on his spell, but both heard the panicked priest yell.
Badump.
"The leylines-!"
The spells tore through the church too quickly for Yuri to make another shield, a Gandr bounced off his armor and threw the man onto the ground. Luckily, the Servant's reaction time was faster, reversing the grip of her dagger and splaying the red liquid onto the ground, quickly rising up and taking form, all struck by magic.
Rider tearing the place apart helped little either, but it allowed Yuri to drop his Aegis as the bloody water vanished. The spell was enhanced, he'd have to remember that little bit later, when he strolled out of this wreckage with the head of the one's responsible tied onto it.
Yet the two could see the Deacon through the walls of chain.
"FATHER!!!"
The boy was ripped apart almost immediately, sprinting into a Gandr. Cassius turned away in disgust and revulsion, and Yuri grunted with exertion as he picked himself up to his feet, and began walking towards the exit of the flaming building, behind the master Daria.
"Come on, Cassius." He commanded, drawing his bloodied sword completely, letting the orange give him a near demonic appearance. His face remained dead, except a small spark of excitement behind his cloudy eyes. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fist hard enough to draw blood.
"Right. Mars have mercy, for we will not." The assassin said, dashing next to Yuri with inhuman speed, reciting an old saying she'd heard, leading her men to victory when she still worked for Pompey. That reminded her to recast her Phantasm, bolstering their ranks with blood golems. Yuri could feel a slight burning in his blood, but said nothing.
Clay's eyes started to glaze over as Ruler droned on. He was quite familiar with the nature of the Grail's corruption - he'd spent the better part of ten years researching it, after all - but he couldn't begrudge the others for wanting to listen, nor Ruler for giving this speech. They needed to know - how dangerous the Grail was. How it would twist and corrupt and destroy, given the chance. How you couldn't reason, game, or outsmart it.
How it needed to be destroyed.
In any case, he leaned back, letting Ruler continue. Having a traitor on the team because they thought they could use the Grail for their own ends would be... problematic.
Lancer, for his part, stopped pestering Diana(much to her relief) and resumed pacing about his Master. He didn't care much for Ruler's monologue - that was for Clay to keep track of. His duty was to keep his Master from ending up on the wrong side of a Servant's blade, and so that's what he would focus on.
Drip.
Lancer bristled as a peculiar sensation rushed through his arm. Looking to the offending spot revealed what appeared to be a shimmering snowflake, resting on his fur. Curious how it hadn't melted yet... wait. Were there any windows open? Was it even snowing outside? Lancer gave a confused glance to his surroundings, and a bolt of alarm shot through is body when he found no offenders. Something here wasn't right. "Uh... Clay?" He tapped on his Master's shoulder with his tail, a his eyes still darting about the old church
Clay was roused from his stupor with a small jolt, looking to Lancer with an annoyed expression. "What now, Lancer? I'm not in the mood for your..." Clay trailed off as he saw what appeared to be snowflakes begin to fall in earnest around him. But these were not ordinary - Clay could definitely feel they were infused with prana.
Drip.
One landed on his arm, and a numbing sensation washed over it. In the corner of his eye, he saw his sister slouch over and fall to her knees, her eyes starting to close.
'Oh SHIT.'
Without a second thought, Clay jammed his thumb into his palm and loosed a low whisper. "Suffio." At his bidding, a searing pain shot through his hand, clearing away the numbing sensation with all haste. Though he could smell the familiar scent of burning flesh, that wasn't what caught his attention - it was the rising tide of prana in the room. Under his feet, a surge of magical energy rush, as though there were...
"The leylines-!"
The world seemed to slow to a crawl. Clay knew this magecraft. Hell, he'd used one of them before. And that made his next move all the more imperative. He had so little time, they were so nearly done, no time to stop them, no time to counter... In one instant sliver of time, Clay and Lancer's eyes met. And in that moment, despite all their arguing, their clashing personalities... they knew what to do. In sync, as it were.
Time sped back to its normal pace, and without missing a beat Clay and Lancer went to work. Clay dove over his now-prone sister, laying the groundwork of a spell as he moved. "Let the heat spread as an inferno..." Touching Diana, he felt a draining sensation as he transferred a portion of one of his wards. Lancer, meanwhile, flicked his wrist and summoned a massive staff, black as coal and clasped with gold on either end. He took a position near his Master and braced himself.
In the next instant, all hell broke loose. A torrent of flames poured forth from the windows, followed by a torrent of ice and electricity. Shards of glass and stone burst forth, threatening to tear though anything in their path. Clay kept his head low, expecting to hear the sound of bullets whiz past his head... but instead heard a strange clatter. Chancing a brief look, he saw Lancer moving as a blur, his staff darting to and fro about his prone Master - deflecting each projectile in turn.
The torrent ended almost as soon as it started, with the hail of magic coming to a conclusion. However, the church was still consumed by a roaring inferno, threatening to make it collapse at any moment. Normally, that would be a problem. Most magi would be finished right then and there, burnt alive.
But Clay wasn't most magi, was he?
As the creeping flames touched his skin, they were immediately consumed by an unearthly red flare, moving to wreath nearly the entirety of his being. They didn't burn his flesh - in fact, a pleasant, controlled warmth enveloped his body, warding off the heat around him. Diana did the same thing in turn, still prone and very much unconscious. 'I need to get her out of here. Lancer could do that with ease, but separating now would be ill-advised. Only one thing to do...' Motioning to stand, he pointed a finger at the now-dipiliated door. A carpet of roaring flames lay in his path, but with his wards it was of little concern - to himself, at least. The others would need some help. "I am the warden of all embers. By my will, be still." A path opened up in the churning fire, neatly allowing for movement between the chapel's center and the Church's exit. He quickly slung Diana over his shoulder and made a motion for the exit. "Everyone at once! We can't fight them one at a time."
"Very well, Masters. I believe that leaves one question remained unanswered, Yi Yu Yuen..."
Matt, having been cowed into silence by all the verbal abuse being heaped upon him, simply stood in place, dully listening to Ruler's speech. He didn't bother to take notes or make eye-contact with the Servant; even if he did, odds were that all he'd do was incur the orator's wrath. Again. Instead, the magus simply occupied himself by staring at the chapel's floor, tracing nonsensical patterns in the floorboards. Needless to say, it was from a productive activity, but it provided him with a disconnect, a way to separate himself from the terror and stress of his situation.
...Holy Grail must be attained by... the opposing faction, denoted by their... cardinal points..."
Bits and pieces of Ruler's speech still managed to break through Matt's thoughts, attempting to yank him back to reality. The boy responded by staring at the floor twice as hard. The church was rapidly becoming the one place in the world he didn't want to be, and if he could only escape it by becoming lost in his own imagination, then that's exactly what he would do.
So, naturally, he didn't notice at all as prana began to gather in the area around the church.
No, he was far too occupied with drawing a maze from one end of the central aisle to the other, one that could only navigated by travelling along the places the floorboards connected. It was a simple enough premise, but it had a delightfully complex solution; if one made a wrong turn at any of a number of intersections, they'd soon find themselves running off into the pews. Matt had arbitrarily decided that that constituted a "loss", and was trying to divine which course would-
"Hey."
A slight bump on his shoulder jolted the young magus from his daydream. Panicking slightly, Matt jerked his head towards Saber, struggling to keep his visage in a neutral position. He needn't have bothered, however; his Servant wasn't bothering to look his way. Her attention was focused on the ceiling overhead. "Check that out," she muttered, just loud enough that only he could hear her.
Obediently, Matt looked upwards. Then, he blinked a few times in surprise.
Snow didn't typically fall through rooftops. Especially not rooftops that had been layered with wards and defenses even more powerful than those that protected the family manor. So, the simple fact that a magical snow was indeed falling through this rooftop had a number of unpleasant implications. After all, Matt thought, chances were this wasn't just Ruler's attempt at making the mood a little more lighthearted.
Magecraft of this level could only have sinister intentions.
Intentions that he planned to subvert as best he could. Briefly, the magus spared a glance towards Saber, but he quickly decided that she could take care of herself. Her Magic Resistance was already incredibly powerful, and she was prepared to resist this particular spell on top of that. He was sure that she'd be absolutely fine.
It was himself that he needed to worry about. Erecting a defense against the snowfall with mere seconds of preparation time was beyond him. And even if he had time to get ready, it was still doubtful that his countermeasures would be capable of stopping the effects of such a powerful mystery. So, there was really only one thing he could do. He needed to stir up his own prana.
'333 parts.'
Inhaling and closing his eyes, Matt began to concentrate. He could see it in his mind's eye: A clockwork assembly, one comprised of countless cogs, shafts, and screws. Hundreds of interlocking bits of metal, each and every shred of iron in its perfect position. Though it was currently still, it wouldn't take much to kick the set-up into motion. All he had to do was wind up the spring a bit.
'Switch, flip. Turn.'
Matt flicked his Switch, sending a light current of prana coursing through his Circuits. Immediately, he could feel the pain building in his chest, as something like a band of iron began to tighten around his rib cage. But with so weak a current, the pain was easily manageable; even if he didn't have his assembly, he'd easily be able to handle it. Still, it was better safe than sorry.
In his head, the clockwork machine began to creak to life, its interlocking bits spurring each other into motion. And as Matt concentrated on the imaginary assembly, the iron band around his chest began to fade away, dissipating until only the barest traces of its presence remained. The sensation couldn't be called pain now; even saying it was a discomfort was pushing the limit.
Leaving a part of his mind to keep the contraption spinning, the magus opened his eyes just as the first flakes of snow fell onto his arm. For a fraction of an instant, he felt exhaustion flow into his limb, threatening to send him into a deep, unbreakable slumber. Then the sensation was gone, swept away by the energy flowing through his body. Clicking his tongue in satisfaction, Matt decided that he didn't need to worry about the snow anymore. Now he could turn his attention to figuring out where exactly the mystery had originated.
As it turned out, it was a good thing he had freed up his focus.
"The leylines-!"
All hell was about to break loose.
Matt wasn't sure what exactly had knocked him off his feet. It could have been one of the explosions that tore through the walls and windows. It could have been one of the lightning bolts, striking just close enough that its shockwave struck him. Maybe it was a Gandr Shot that had just grazed him. Whatever it was, it had sent him sprawling to his back, into a pile of ash and ember that had been a pew mere seconds earlier. Stunned, and with lungs full of dust and smoke, the young man could only lay there, struggling to get himself upright again.
The assembly in his head sputtered and jumped. In conjunction, the band around his torso suddenly tightened, putting a painful pressure on his ribs and lungs. No, he had to keep it spinning; he wouldn't be able to handle the-
CRRRRRRK
Disinterestedly, Matt looked up at the ceiling. One of the beams, positioned directly above him, was apparently breaking loose of its foundations. If he didn't move soon, it would fall directly on top of him. And considering the size of the thing, it would probably crush his chest like it was made of paper. He had to move, he thought, as he dizzily tried to brace his limbs against the hot ground. He had to keep it spinning, had to move, keep it
CRAK
The beam, however, wasn't interested in waiting for Matt to get his shit together. As flames danced over its surface, the massive hunk of wood fell free and hurtled towards the ground. The boy could only lay there and watch as his doom hurtled closer and closer. There was no possible way he could get clear in time.
Then, suddenly, he found his view cut off.
"You know," Saber said as she lifted a single hand upwards, catching and bringing the burning beam to a halt in midair, "you're not exactly making the best of impressions right now. Seriously, get moving, would ya?"
Matt stared up in a mixture of shock and awe, his Switch turning off as his Servant stared back at him with an obnoxious grin. Was... Was she enjoying this?
He watched as Saber, with a single grunt, tossed the beam halfway across the church, into a thankfully unoccupied area. He watched as she reached down, grabbed him by the neck of his jacket, and yanked him to his feet. He watched as she cocked her head, listening to the shouts and cries of the church's other occupants.
He watched as her lips split in a terrifying smile, her teeth looking for all the world like a mouthful of fangs, and winced as he felt her sheer, unadulterated bloodlust wash over him. "C'mon," she said, an almost terrifying amount of cheeriness in her voice, "let's get going! I'll be able to keep a better eye on you if you're nearby."
Matt watched as she moved away, finally able to wade her way through the rubble now that the chaos had finally begun to subside. He watched as she made her way towards the church's ruined entrance, moving closer and closer to whoever it was that had unleashed that ferocious assault upon them. He watched her as she charged towards death, destruction, and slaughter.
And he felt his feet began to move after her.
It was like Saber had said, he feverishly tried to tell himself. The closer he was to her, the better she'd be able to protect him, right? It was in her interest to keep him alive, so he had to follow her instructions, right? There was nothing else he could do, no other way out. He had to trust her. Trust her to guide him through this.
Matt thought he heard himself chuckling madly as he clambered over the desecrated scenery, stumbling after his Servant. Because honestly, what else could he possibly do?
"Very well, Masters. I believe that leaves one question remained unanswered, Yi Yu Yuen..."
As Ruler began, Yi gave a grateful nod to the Heroic Spirit. She listened intently to Ruler's speech, and reflected on his words, 'Ah, then the whole matter of my wish is meaningless; even if I just survive, it will be granted. Besides, a corrupted Grail would probably make a mess of it.' Berserker shifted slightly and looked at the ceiling in his boredom, and just waited for the whole speech to be over. He sighed, lamenting the fact that his Master was the one who asked the question. Well, he mostly blamed Ruler for being overly verbose, but this was a war! Unless Berserker had got something wrong, that meant fighting, not listening to a history lesson. At least the pretty flakes falling from the sky were something nice to look at... The sound of a smack soon brought those thoughts to end, though. Berserker glanced at the source, just a scolded priest...
Yi glared at Berserker's little smile, only to look back at the pair of priests. 'Snowflakes?' Was that why her Servant had been staring at the ceiling the whole time? She made a mental note to scold Berserker for not telling her. After all, as the disarray turned into pandemonium, there was no time for such things. Flames quickly followed the flakes, Yi flung herself to the floor while Berserker tried to shield her from the chaos. He felt his Master's head dig into his chest, and stepped away, giving her some space. Yi forced herself up, albeit with some difficulty. To her, voices seemed be muffled somehow - she could hardly make out what the other were saying, let alone her Servant's questions of concern. Why was she feeling so drowsy? Why wasn't she trying to get out of there? Those questions buzzed around her like flies, however, her hearing was far too dull to make them out.
In her stupor, she glazed over her hand, spotting a flake stuck behind her index finger and middle finger. 'This... is what's causing it... right?' Yi cursed herself for being so careless, and tried to pierce the veil of drowsiness with pain. Nevertheless, a simple bite on the lip wouldn't do. Her arm outstretched, Yi started to mutter a few words, but Berserker grabbed her by the shoulder before she could even finish the first sentence. "Don't be stupid!" He chided. The look on his face was one of utter seriousness. Yi nodded, he was right - it was not the time to unleash the big guns. The Magus blamed her languid state on that somewhat rash decision and moved on to another plan. Something less risky, perhaps. What about a mantra said in times of need?
"On... jiterashi itara... jibaratano sowaka.
On ishanaya... intaraya... sowaka.
On jiterashi itara... jibaratano sowaka.
On... hayabaishiramantaya... sowaka.
On nomaku... sanmanda basaradan... kan.
On aganaya... in maya sowaka...
On irotahi... chanoga... jiba... tai... sowaka.
On... chirichi iba... rotaya sowaka.
On... a... ra... ba... sha... no... sowaka."
As she said those words, the familiar - yet painful - sensitization of prana flowing through her Circuit gripped her senses. With that Berserker seemed to return to his usual self with a remark of, "Took ya long enough." Nevertheless, he didn't care for his Master's slowness or the strange words she had spoken and immediately dragged her out of the ruined cathedral, along the path Clay was so kind to leave. After that, Master and Servant took up their usual stances outside Fuyuki Church, though Yi was clearly shaken by the event. Her bun had been messed by the chaos and she was fumbling through it in order to find that all-important hairpin. Yi breathed a sigh of relief as her hand brushed past it. Without further ado, she pulled the hairpin out and began to tidy her hair up. Berserker could only look on with a questioning glance at his Master's actions, or rather, lack of action.
"Is there really time for that?" He inquired. But Yi simply ignored that question.
Machiko was terrified. Everything had spun out of control so quickly. One minute she had been intently listening to Ruler?s history lesson, most likely the only person who was interested in it, and the next the church was being assault with salvos of magecraft powerful enough to be considered true magic. At the behest of her Servant she was now crouched low to the ground, pressing her head down into her knees to try and keep it as low as possible. She hadn?t looked up in minutes yet the attack continued, unrelenting in its goal to level the entire structure.
Caster, on the other hand, was performing admirably under the circumstances he had been dealt. The attack had been sudden and there was little time to erect a proper defense. He had used his magecraft to form a cyclone column of wind around the pair to deflect the spells being hurled into their vicinity but its construction was rushed, constantly in flux and needing attention to balance the prana that it was made of. No sooner had his cyclone been finalized than the magical shielding of Father Matthias had proven to be a false security. The Servant looked frustrated, unsure if the priest had simply been a poor magus or that the attacks were that severe. As he contemplated these questions, another piece of shot flew past his own wind wall and found itself purchase on his kimono?s wide shoulder before veering off into a support pillar. Staring in disbelief at a gaping hole within his cyclone barrier, he came to the conclusion that he needed to be wary of the physical projectiles that would most assuredly continue to assault them and placed his hand upon his grip of the top-most blade on his left side.
Proving himself quick on the draw, Caster made brilliantly clean cuts through every piece of debris that threatened to wear down his magical shielding. His attacks were focused purely on the bullets and shrapnel flying through the air, his hunch proving to be correct as other elemental projectiles were deflected harmlessly off the sweeping wind. It was an impressive sight to behold, Caster being far more agile and precise with a blade than most other Heroic Spirits that would qualify for the position. As the attacks subsided, all that remained was a Servant and his Master, both surrounded by a raging inferno that threatened to consume the church and anything within.
The other Masters and their warriors were already rushing to the front entrance of the building when Caster knelt down to check on his own charge. She was clearly frightened, unused to the dangers of combat and had been so focused in keeping herself out of sight that she hadn?t noticed that their opponents had ceased their assault. Placing a comforting hand on the girl?s shoulder, the swordsmith gently shook to give his Master an indication of the coast being clear.
?The attack is done, Master,? he said as calmly as possible. ?We need to get moving.?
The teenage girl looked up, her eyes bloodshot and puffy from a bout of uncontrolled sobs. Her glasses had been skewed to her left and her hair frazzled from her hands pressing down with such force. She was a mess and the girl knew it, trying to straighten herself out before Caster got a good look at her. The spirit could only smile on the inside, both worried for the girl?s mental state and safety but impressed with her willingness to keep enough nerve to not turn tail and flee. The girl only gave a nod before raising herself on shaky legs and searched her surroundings for a way out.
?Our allies went out front,? Caster remarked, pointing towards the passage their associates had created that was now slowly closing off as more flames replaced the previously extinguished ones.
?Then we?ll go around the side,? The young Master said matter-of-factly.
?I don?t think I understand?? Caster replied, raising a questioning eyebrow at the girl?s choice to leave the safety of her team.
?And I don?t think I have time to ex-? Machiko began to say before being momentarily subdued by a coughing fit.
The Servant frowned at his own oversight. While he was a spirit that could forego certain necessities while alive, he had taken this advantage for granted when it came to his Master. She was still limited to all the trappings of being a mortal and keeping her in a burning building with thick, black smoke was not conducive to her continuing to be his Master. Drawing the same katana he had used to form his last mystery, the swordsmith made a single slash to form a gust of wind that parted the flames and made a path for their escape. The spirit quickly grabbed a hold of his charge by the arm and guided her towards the opened window, hoping to get her some fresh air before unconsciousness overtook her. To the young woman?s credit, she suffered through the burning in her lungs and the dizziness from a lack of air. By the time she reached the window she was barely holding herself together, struggling to get her leg over the sill. But she did and in the most unceremoniously way possible she tumbled onto the well kept lawn below.
Caster appeared a few moments later, bleeding back into reality from the head downwards in a shimmer of prana. As soon as his body had fully manifested itself he knelt down beside his Master to help attend to her condition. The girl was still coughing, trying to suck in deep breaths to rid her body of that toxic smoke. Machiko slowly struggled to get her footing, already feeling warn and fatigued from her narrow escape. Yet she needed to keep her wits about her, knowing that her entire strategy had been to flush out any of her opponents that had remained in flanking positions around the sides. Her Servant was already looking to her for direction, keeping lose and on alert as he awaited the explanation of the girl?s plan.
?So why?d we split up again?? he asked, the bluntness of a soldier coming through.
Machiko would never need to explain her tactics to her Servant. With her mouth half opened in preparation to start, the girl felt a throbbing pulse coming from her command seals. Before she could figure out how to control the sensation it flared into burning warmth, the seal glowing bright and compelling her towards a large tree amongst a few dotted across the grounds. Out from the shadows came the silhouette of a woman, just enough moonlight shining on her to see a profile of her snow white face.
?I should have known better than to be able to hide from a Master,? she said, her lips curling upwards ever so slightly. ?I suppose that confrontation is now inevitable. What a shame..."
Their opponent slowly walked out from behind the tree to reveal herself as a smartly dressed business woman. Her face was thin and unlined despite her age, exhibiting a mature beauty that could rival those much younger than her. Her deep setted eyes of sea green stared back through cat eye frames with a sparkle of intrigued instilled in them. Her brow was unusually raised with a pique of interest at the unfolding events, normally straight and uncaring towards whatever she was beholding. A small but long, upturned nose shied away from her petite pink mouth, now curled in a devilish smirk that begged for the pair opposite her to approach. Her voluptuous body was an even more enticing invitation, though conservatively hidden away by a chique grey business suit and skirt with a snow white blouse underneath. Her long legs strode in large steps, one in front of the other, like a spider stalking its prey. She came to a stop once her entire figure was revealed, facing the pairing with one hand upon her hip and the other unconsciously adjusting her glasses before snapping her fingers.
Much like Caster had before, two figures began to trickle into existence as a trail of glistening prana bled out and flittered into the wind. The first was a petite and elven thing, a disheveled dutch braid whipping in the breeze her summoning had created. Her fair skin was a stark contrast to the shadows of the night, her face having a baby-like innocence still about it. Her wide, toothy grin and bright sea green eyes betrayed her face, looking far more sinister than what she would first suggest. What bear minimum of clothing she chose to adorn was a white tube top with black trim, a pair of cut-off Daisy Dukes and black biker boots adorn with various metallic pins depicting skulls and crossed bones. In her delicate hand she draped over her shoulder a black biker?s jacket, bare of any symbol to identify her.
The second was another girl standing about a head taller than the last, sandy hair being left straight and loose. She looked far more athletic than her counter-part, her musculature showing as she came into being in a fighting pose. The pattern of sea green eyes continued with her, her thick red lips grinning from ear to ear in anticipation. Her features were unusually tiny, small ears studded with earrings all along their sides, hidden behind curtains of hair and a child-like nose that wrinkled when she focused. Her style was quite similar to her partner?s, wearing a black, deep cut v-neck sweater. The sleeves were far too long for her arms, coming out beyond her hands to which she had purposefully cut holes to allow her thumbs out through them. Skinny blue jeans were held up by a thick black belt, with a pair of Chucks to match her oversized belt covering her feet.
?They?re it?? the brunette remarked, lowering her guard at the sight of Caster and Machiko ?Where?d the others go??
?Pffff, probably ran with their tails between their legs,? the blonde answered. ?Guess we only get the stragglers.?
As the two newly summoned combatants bantered between each other, Caster and his Master could only look on in both confusion and worry as the three casually aired their opinions of the pair. They were certainly a chatty pair, but what else would you expect from a pair of teenage girls? The only problem the old man had was the topic at hand: how incompetent they believed him and his Master to be. Despite the fire building inside his chest, the Servant kept a cool exterior and once again slowly wrapped his fingers around his primary blade. These petulant children were beginning to annoy him with their antics and he figured putting them in their place would do them some good.
Machiko was having other difficulties beyond her trying to keep her nerves in check. A swirl of letters began to form around the heads of the trio of villains, unscrambling themselves into short words before wavering off into the alphabet storm that had formed. The experience was overwhelming her senses, a dull throbbing beginning to pulse in her temples. As she began to focus her mind it started to piece together the information being presented. It was information on the Servants in front of her! Everything she had collected about the Caster class and then some was appearing before her as her enemies bickered amongst themselves. Identifying information, parameter ranks and a distinct lack of a basic skill set were all facts that the girl would bury away in the back of her mind for later use. The truly disturbing fact, however, was that all three women had the exact same parameters and skills. They were all Caster!
?I think we?re in trouble Caster?? Machiko whispered to her Servant. ?All three of them are the Caster servant class.?
?Hmmmm,? the aged swordsmith mused, keeping his voice low. ?Makes sense considering their prana is flowing in unison. All three seem to be sharing the same source. But that just means they?ll all be weaker by comparison.?
?I wouldn?t be so sure, Caster? Their parameters are all equal, and??
The girl trailed off before looking away from her protector, not wanting to say the obvious. The man simply nodded, his eyes shifting back to staring down his opponents.
?I see.? His tone was a low grumble, angered by the fact that a third of a Heroic Spirit?s power could surpass his own.
?Please don?t be-?
?Don?t worry Master,? he chuckled, ?no offense taken. Just wish I wasn?t so useless compared to those kids. Then again, maybe that?ll be motivation enough to kick their asses even harder!?
The old smith had purposefully raised his voice to grab the attention of the two girls and had gotten it in spades. If looks could kill the glares that both the brunette and the blonde had given Caster would have made graveyards of nations. The blonde quickly outstretched her hand, a brilliant silver blade coming forth from the ether. She caught it with practiced ease, taking stance with the weapon leading her. The brunette brought her boxing guard back up again, clapping her hands together and rubbing her palms vigourously. Muttering a few words under her breath, the friction created began to spark until her hands caught fire, though strangely enough the flames didn?t seem to hurt her. Now the two were ready to accept Caster?s challenge full force.
?Whatcha say, geezer?? the blonde woman shouted back. ?Y?know it ain?t nice to insult a lady like that!?
?I?ll keep that in mind for when I see some!? the swordsmith returned, smirking as his opponent began to physically shake with rage.
Caster
STR: E
END: D
AGI: E
MAN: EX
LUK: B
NPH: A+
Summon Familiar- Caster is able to summon a Saber familiar to aide her in combat. Though not as strong as a true Servant, the Heroic Spirit is still a very formidable fighter comparable to any of the non-knight class Servants in parameters. She also retains her Noble Phantasms, though again, they are inferior compared to if she was summoned by a proper Master. Rank A+
[hr]
Daria was already in a full-tilt sprint towards the main entrance before anyone else had even thought about charging head long into battle. The promise of a good tussle was always enough to get the girl?s blood to a boil and her focus squared solely on how many fisticuff neophytes she could crush beneath her boot. Her Servant was already rushing to keep on her coattails, whispering to her to woe of such a brash and foolish move. Yet somehow, despite all of the Babylonian?s experience with subtle suggestion away from hasty decisions, his Master continued to sprint towards the finish line.
But something was wrong?
She had easily covered a distance far greater than what she remembered the distance to the front door being. Maybe she had run three times as much, yet they were still nearly the same distance away as before. All of her allies had disappeared into the backdrop she had attempted to escape, so tiny that she wasn?t even sure if they were still there. Both Master and Servant tried to push through the logic barrier as to why this felt so odd, that reality had changed on them and that they were being tricked. Their memories were becoming hazy, whether as a direct result of the effort or resistance they couldn?t be sure. Then a voice, one belonging to a young man, broke through the entirety of the atrium. It filled the hall in a hallowed manner, like God speaking to His children.
?Foolish girl; why doth thou protest our reign!??
The next thing Daria felt was the cold flesh of another human being smashing into her jaw with such force that she was sent hurtling to the ground. Stranger still was the hard stone floor beneath her, feeling soft and stringy and not anything like what she was looking at. As the facts began to sink in, the illusion that had been presented slowly faded from view and the overzealous pugilist was now somewhere outside on the well kept grounds, backlit by the pyre that had been the church. The girl was beginning to get frustrated with all this beguile and guerilla warfare, grinding her knuckles into the ground before slamming his fist into it.
?Fuck sakes, do any of you have the balls to show your face!??
As if by her command, a figure began to slowly appear from the haze of the inferno. The light coming from the fire cast a shadow over the figure, an intimidating silhouette taking its time to step towards the young woman. As the man slowly came into view his shaggy, soot and sweat stained, golden locks came down over his eyes, their gaze half hidden yet filled with frightening intensity with no iris visible. His grin stretched wide, showing every single tooth in a monstrous manner. The most worrying visual, at least for a magus, was the manner of his dress. A well kept black cassock and white collar were the most tell tale features of his outfit, the silver cross hanging around his neck and large sword sung across his back only further proof -- an Executor of the Church had joined the war. Yet for all the ideas that a cold blooded magus killer could conjure, they paled in comparison to his laugh. As the man advanced his sadistic cackling never ceased, thoroughly enjoying the suffering he and his allies had created thus far. There was nothing better to a kill a monster with than another monster, after all.
?You have called for me and I, Executor Kyle Solus, have descended from upon high,? he called out, finally stopping just a few strides away from Daria. ?What sayeth thou now, foolish girl??
[hr]
He could smell blood. That coppery liquid scent wafted in the air as his prey swiftly ran past them for the third time. Those idiots had been fooled into thinking they were rushing towards the freedom of the main entrance. In reality, they had been running a maze of lies right into a trap. Both he and his Servant had been staying hidden within some brush at the corner of the grounds, lying in wait for the moment he could take his target?s life and revel in the small victory in being one step closer to his goal. He had been informer by their supposed leader that the mystery would eventually fade but his patience had been worn thin with the wait, a rare occasion with him being a trained killer and shadow operative for the Matou clan. He was a magus hunter, trained in the various arts of waiting out his prey to take advantage of the limited opportunities he was afforded on any mission. This order was far more important than a mere pay cheque, it was the first step of many to finding the only thing he needed: his brother.
His attention was piqued as his two targets began to slow their run, looking around at their surroundings in confusion. It was time to strike. As the guise faded and their foes searched in wonder as to what was transpiring, the hunters grasped at their opportunity. Literal blurs to the human eye, both Master and Servant began to attack Yuri in unison, flanking the magus at every opportunity. It would have been a clean kill if not for the constructs manifested from that sweet, delicious lifeblood the assassin desired to see spilling across the lawn. Their attack was relentless, however, striking from one angle and then another, continuously assaulting the magus in an attempt to overwhelm their opponents. After the targets had finally regained their composure the team of killers put some distance between themselves and their foes. For all their effort they had only picked away at the defenses their enemy Servant had erected, the blood golems having been torn asunder and left as sanguineous puddles.
The Master of the pair was a short and wiry individual. His face was covered in scar tissue, marring an otherwise handsome young face with the ravages of his occupation. Luckily the majority of his face was obscured by his plentiful wavy blue hair. His expression was an untelling neutral, eyes looking dead behind their current focus with nothing behind them but a mysterious drive onwards and a level mouth, unyielding to any expression or tic that could betray a single thought or weakness. A black bodyglove covered the young man?s body in tandem with a suit of light tactical body armour. His weapons of choice were a set of punching daggers, attached to small, rounded blockers for defense and strapped to his wrists to keep his hands completely free for use. His stance was low to the ground, his right leg outstretched with his left bent for balance, one hand flat against the ground with the other poised for a defensive strike.
His Servant stood beside him, equally stoic and mysterious in nature. The figure was cloaked head to toe in a black cloak. The Heroic Spirit reflected the build of its Master, looking thin as it stood perfectly straight. What little could be seen were a few stands of blonde hair, short and spiky in a well kept fashion over the left side of his face. His mouth was thin and curled into a slight smirk, his nose tiny for a man?s. His features made him seem child-like or fey, a figure that never seemed to age or had an air of permanent innocence. What little that had been revealed when the Servant was attacking had been a black tunic and matching slacks, leather strap sandals worn dark through age and a small obsidian shiv that was almost enveloped in the man?s grip.
?Yuri Makiri,? the blue haired assassin stated in a monotone voice, his eastern block accent thick and familiar. ?You must be eliminated. You are an obstruction. You may not interfere with our reunion. Brother would not approve.?
The Servant slowly nodded in agreement, as if those words carried a heavy weight to them.
?Brother would not approve,? they repeated in unison.
Assassin
STR: C
END: D
AGI: A
MAN: B
LUK: B
NPH: B-
Presence Concealment- Though never formally trained, Assassin is a natural lurker of the shadows. This affinity to staying unseen has granted him the exceptional ability to move unseen to even some of the most perceptive individuals. Rank B+
[hr]
She could feel his warmth. His soul, his prana, his essence, his origin; whatever label the magi wanted to give it, she could feel his and it was terrifying. A blazing inferno encapsulated within the body of a human being, leashed and controlled by the sole effort of a single individual. She could barely make him out amongst the raging conflagration the ruined church had become, his heat mingling and masking itself amongst those surrounding the magus. If it weren?t for the intensity Clay?s own fire burned at, he would have been lost to her.
The quiet and contemplative Master had chosen to keep herself hidden despite the illusion that plagued her adversary. She didn?t trust her newly acquired allies and the guarantee that the mystery would keep hold of their designated opponents was less than comforting for the woman. As such, she and her Servant had posted themselves in a thin tree line that was planted at the edge of the grounds before the wrought iron fence that enclosed it. As they observed they targets, it seemed as though her distrust was either misplaced or her assumptions about her opponent?s competency were unfounded. They had been observing the pair for roughly five minutes, pacing around in circles, Master leading and the ever faithful Servant on his coattails. The woman sighed, unsure if she was more frustrated with the incompetency on display or her own presumption being grossly incorrect.
?Idiot?? she thought to herself, unconsciously biting her lower lip. ?Stop being stubborn.?
?Should we not attack, Master?? her Servant asked, his deep voice hypnotically soothing in tone.
The woman turned her head to look the ancient warrior straight in the face. It was hard and chiseled, the soft curves of boyhood long gone from his face. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown that blended so well with his pupils that they simply looked jet black. His nose was large, nostrils flaring with each deep breath he took in and a large mouth with thin lips, permanently affixed into a scowl. In place of hair his scalp was covered in tattoos of strange symbols, almost as if a complete story had been scrawled onto it in some ancient and dead language. Earrings and bands of all sorts and been pierced through his ears and eyebrows, flaunting the riches he had acquired in his past life. More so to this point was his solid gold armour, thick plates with broad shoulders coming into a more narrow and form fitting chest plate. the only other clothing Lancer afforded was a solid black shendyt with gold trimmings, preferring to be barefooted for a more sure step. Along his arms and legs were various bangles and bracelets, inlaid with beautiful opaque gemstones in varying patterns such as turquoise, lapis, carnelian and even jade. If it weren't for the cover of the foliage around them he would surely be sticking out like a shining beacon for all the decadence he adorned himself in.
"No," the woman stated coolly, not a trace of her apprehension bleeding into her voice. "Let them run themselves ragged. I haven't any interest in chasing them about."
Lancer
STR: C
END: B
AGI: B
MAN: B
LUK: C
NPH: B
Battle Continuation- Lancer is able to fight even when struck with a fatal blow. His desire to live is so strong that he can overcome any mortal means to kill him and even most Conceptual Weapons will prove futile. At this rank, even time is meaningless and he no longer ages so long as he feeds upon two human souls a day. Rank A+
[hr]
Farouk knew all. He knew that the girl and her brute would be drawn in by the illusions woven by his cohorts. He knew every move she would make upon her exit of the ruined cathedral and followed in her wake to ensure the falsehoods being fed to her mind were accurate. He knew every step she was going to take before she took it and led her astray, into a sectioned off portion of the grounds solely meant for their introductions. Preoccupied with vacating the building as quickly as possible and trying to fiddle with an heirloom hairpin, she had failed to even see the consistent fallacies with the illusion before stopping dead in front of the iron fence at the edge of the grounds. Now trapped, the pudgy magus simply snapped his fingers and the guise was shattered itself to reveal the reality of the situation.
The portly Farouk was a jovial looking man, much less menacing than his counterparts on the surface. His plump, round face was stuck in a permanent goofy grin, his cheeks very prominent as a result. His eyes were sunk back into his face, though seemed to be as dark as obsidian. His bulky and flat nose sported a hefty amount of facial hair just below it, a full coal black mustache and beard resting comfortably over his neckline. If the man had any hair, it was covered by his more lavish and prestigious crimson agal and black thawb. Of course, the rest of his lavish thaub followed suit, covering his more than shapely figure, being just a tad too short because of his sizable stomach. Over top he adorned a very plush crimson red bisht, lined with black to match the garments underneath. His fingers and thumbs each had a separate ring on them, set with various precious stones from rubies to sapphires and emeralds to display what wealth his lineage had accumulated. On his feet were a pair of designer sandals, completing the elegant yet archaic display of extravagance.
From the ether came the magus' partner, a Berserker to match the one standing across from Farouk. The Heroic Spirit was a fair size smaller than the Berserker of White, his Master standing almost equal to him in height. His body, however, looked just as powerful, sinewy muscle rippling with every movement like a predator ready to pounce. His eyes were feral, always darting about before coming to lock back with the giant's standing across from him. With each breath there was an audible snarl that emanated from his bared teeth, elongated canines glistening menacingly in the moonlight. His graying black hair was slicked back out of his face, groomed haphazardly to keep it serviceable with a receding hairline beginning to become a problem. His bare chest more than made up for the lack of hair on his head, bunches of curls covering his entire chest and his forearms almost a full toupee in and of themselves. The only article of clothing the man dared to adorn to ensure decency was a pair of frayed slacks of a tan or khaki colour. Around his waist was a massive belt, easily covering his waist all the way up to his navel. Unsurprisingly, the man had eschewed the use of footwear, his toes happily sinking themselves into the soil below as if trying to purchase a grip.
"Ah ha~!" the portly magus exclaimed in delight, drumming his fingers together. "My dear Miss Yu Yuen, how are you of the doings, yes?" His smile began to show his teeth as he spoke, surprisingly crooked and yellow for a man of his apparent wealth. "Farouk is, how you are saying, a man of many business, yes? I am not here for fighting, only the businesses, yes? That is why Farouk offering fair trade for your unconditional and completing surrender, yes yes? I am man of many things, so maybe Farouk and you make deal, yes? What is it you are the wanting and maybe Farouk arranging for that to be happening, yes? Farouk has many, many things and is knowing many more than having, yes?"
His eyes looked at the young girl, hopeful of getting a positive reaction to his offer. It was true that he was no man of war, unlike many of the other competitors of this battle but it was a good bet that neither was the young lady before him. If he could perhaps persuade her onto a battlefield he was much more familiar with, that of barter and trade, than there was a good chance he would be able to come out the victor without a scratch on himself. Besides, if she decided to become hostile, there was always the plethora of volatile unguents, serums and concoctions nestling themselves beneath his baggy clothing.
"So what is pretty little thing saying to having agreements, yes?"
Berserker
STR: C
END: C
AGI: D
MAN: D
LUK: C
NPH: B+
Mad Enhancement- Berserker becomes a slave to his bestial urges and becomes no more sentient than a raging predator. Rank B
[hr]
He despised all of this trickery. Something about it just didn't sit well with the young man. Archer had tried to convince him otherwise, that subterfuge and deceit were just another part of the game but even she wasn't able to convince him. He had chosen her for her versatility, her superiority in any situation possible, yet all she and the rest of his near-sighted allies wanted to do was toy with their adversaries instead of getting the job done. Why couldn't they just eliminate their threats and be done with this God forsaken war? It was abhorrent enough that he was forced to work with the others, he didn't need it to last any longer than was necessary. The young boy sighed to himself, scuffing his wingtip shoes on the ground to kick up a small cloud of dust.
"What's wrong, love?" a feminine voice cooed from afar.
The boy turned to see his ungrateful Servant slowly materializing out of the ether in front of his eyes, trying to exude her usual sexual appeal in vain. She was quite the attractive woman, there was no doubt about that. Her face was a cute heart-shape, freckles dotting her full cheeks. Her eyes were as bright as emeralds, glistening in the moonlight with a cheeky and daring edge to them. Full and pouty lips were upturned into an equally seductive smirk, as if to beckon any man to approach. Shock red hair framed her face in curls, going down past her shoulders and kept organised by a black bandanna covering the top of her head. Below a stark black period long coat was a low cut off-white blouse, displaying her ample bosom for further enticement. Across it was a large black belt with various pistols nestled snuggling underneath it for easy access. Without the interior of the coat were all sorts of nasty surprises from simple iron ball grenades to flintlocks to throwing daggers and even a saber strapped to her side, just in case. Form fitting black slacks protected her legs with knee high leather boots with a one inch fold adorned her feet, hiding a pair of boot knives between the two. Someone like her simply wasn't his type and he simply turned away in disgust as she playfully cocked her head in confusion to his foul mood.
"Awww, poor baby," she whined, wrapping her arms around her Master's chest as she approached him from behind. "We could just disappear if that's what you want. No one would have to know, tee hee!"
"No, thank you," the boy grumbled out a reply, rolling his eyes at the futile offer.
It was then that he heard what he had been expecting this entire time. A heavy set of footsteps was hastily converging towards them, coming straight from the pyre that had been the church before they arrived. Finally his designated target was arriving and he'd get the chance to end this entire mistake. The boy quickly took his stance, anxious for this fight to get started.
As Alexander and Archer bounded out from the ruins of the hallowed temple, their first unfettered vision would be of a white haired lad standing out in plain view. His face was soft but held a cold expression, his skin was white as snow could be. Red eyes were camouflaged behind a pair of rose tinted sunglasses with thick white frames, studded with rhinestones, resting themselves upon a flat nose and tiny rounded ears. Atop his head was a black cap, flopping forwards to rest upon the peek slightly. A black leather biker jacket was similarly studded with rhinestones, the words "Beat It" emblazoned on the back in sparkling glory. Underneath the jacket was a white wife beater with pink suspenders and a pink tie, sloppily but purposefully tied in a half windsor. Black denim pants that looked fairly worn and a pair of dancing shoes finished off the outfit that had been so painstakingly put together. The oddest thing about him, however, was his chosen posture, his legs standing perfectly straight before leaning his torso back. Even stranger still was having his left hand framing his eye with forefinger and thumb, his right bent at the elbow but pointing towards Alexander as if to challenge him.
"Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up?" the boy teased, shifting his gaze towards his partner who had taken up a flanking position, one hand on her hip and her stance leaning upon that same leg. "Guess this big hunk of man thinks he can take us on? I'd like to see him try. So com'on, whatcha waitin' for? Let's dance!"
Archer
STR: D
END: C
AGI: A
MAN: B
LUK: A
NPH: C+
Independent Action- Archer is an unadulterated spirit, having made her mark in the world by following only her own rules. She disregarded the enforcement of any ruling body through force of arms and tactful negotiation, going so far as to free an entire nation. She is completely uncontrollable save for Command Spells and can persist in this world indefinitely should she use no other ability. Rank EX
Seductive Charm- A seductress like no other, Archer can use her wiles to turn those hostile towards her into willing allies. She must be visible for the initial charm to take effect but once the curse has been placed she cam trigger the curse with a simple command. The strength of the charm is dependent upon the target's sexual orientation, though complete invulnerability is near impossible. Rank A
[hr]
As if all according to plan, the only two to escape the burning building through the front entrance had been Matt and Saber. Everyone else had been dispersed and were now occupied with the rest of his team at various points along the grounds of the edifice they had just leveled. As the visions of their allies running off before them faded, the only sight that was left to greet them was that of the stranger in the long coat and his Saber Servant. As they exited the building, the man already looked preoccupied with his watch, looking at it intently as if scanning for some sort of imperfection within rather than those caused without.
"You're late..." the man sighed in a nonchalant manner, discarding the thought as easily as it had come to him.
He then snapped the watch shut with a loud snap and carefully placed it back within his inner breast pocket. After dealing with the treasured instrument he slowly turned towards his true interest, Matthew Heller. His eyes were sharp and tore away at his very being with an intent to bore down into the many flaws that were invariably hidden deep within the boy's soul. For a moment it seemed as if he would kill him with just a stare. Yet then the man's eyes softened, as if satisfied that whatever impurities he had been searching for were never there to begin with. He took a single step forwards, bowing slightly as he tipped his hat to the pair in front of him.
"Good evening Matthew, Saber," he cooed in the most polite of tones before straightening himself and donning his hat with a clever twirl by a flick of his wrist. "A lovely evening for a stroll, isn't it? I do hope my compatriots and I didn't startle you and your friends. It would be such a shame if someone had been put off by or little visit. My name is Twenty-One."
The man then straightened the cuff of his undershirt before extending it in greeting to the far off boy next to his battle maiden.
Saber
STR: B+++
END: B
AGI: B
MAN: B++
LUK: B
NPH: A
Magic Resist- Saber was born in a period where the only sorcery to have existed was his own. He is not adept at defending against spells compared to other Heroic Spirits of his class and can only cancel magecraft of three verse aria or less. Rank B
As another sprint towards the chapel door turned up fruitless, Clay took a moment to pause. His ward still had quite a bit of time left, even with a portion of its power transferred to his sister, but it wouldn't last forever. He needed to act quickly, or the chapel's inferno would consume him too. As he mused, he felt Lancer's tail poke at his shoulder, a tenative voice rising from behind him.
"Uh... Clay? You do know we're going in cir.."
"Yes, Lancer, I'm well aware we're going in circles. At present, I have little choice in the matter." Clay furrowed his brow in frustration - illusion mysteries were not his specialty. He only had one recourse to break this spell, and it wasn't going to be pleasant. "Lancer. Hold Diana for a moment, would you? I'm about to do something quite rash." Lancer's face lit up in surprise at his Master's order, but he grinned and obliged, slinging Diana over his broad shoulders. "About time you took that stick out of your ass. So, what'll it be? Please tell me you're gonna blow this entire place sky-high."
"Oh, if only." Clay turned to the Chapel's front and extended his hand upwards. With a snap, a pale green flame lept into his hands, and with a flick he tossed it forward. "This illusion distorts my perception of space. To you, that flame appears to be several meters in front of me, but to myself it's right at my feet. Using this as a reference point is the only way I can prove it wrong, and thus break the spell. Unfortunately, it will resist any effort to do so."
"So, how are you supposed to do that, then?" Lancer's grin dropped. He was getting the feeling his Master had something a lot less fun in mind than what he had initially expected...
"Why, by overpowering it, of course." Clay quipped back, raising his arms to his side. "This is where the rash bit comes in."
Clay began chanting under his breath, a whispered Latin number that even Lancer was having trouble hearing over the roaring flames around him. He picked out bits and pieces here and there, like 'Heat', 'fold', and 'consume', but it seemed largely incoherent gibberish. That is, until Clay repeated it thrice...
As the final chant finished, the inferno about them lept into action. Their roiling forms darted straight into Clay's outstretched palms, and with a practiced flourish Clay brought his hands together. A ball of flame coalesced between them, shimmering with a bright light and an intense heat. Even through his wards, Clay could feel the heat begin to take its toll on his flesh - an indication it was ready. He leveled his eyes to what he perceived to be the distance, focusing on seeing his marker where his eyes laid. Sure enough, he felt a pressure in the back of his mind - feedback from the illusion trying to keep itself from being disproven. Clay then opened his mouth and shoved the shining orb inside, with a pleasantly surprised Lancer watching on.
All at once, Clay released the ball's energy directly into his body. A surge of prana coursed through him, nearly knocking him to his feet, but he held fast - his ward would protect him from the worst of this. Even as a burning pain worked its way through his limbs, he held firm, keeping his gaze leveled towards the distance. Sure enough, in the distance he saw a green light flicker in and out of view, the illusion starting to falter. Taking in one deep breath, Clay focused his energy inwards, focusing it into his mind. A searing mote of pain shot through his head, but all at once his vision flickered, and the flame at his feet was now several meters in the distance, exactly where he'd placed the center of his field of view.
With a turn to the side, Clay turned his attention to one of the few windows left unbroken by the initial assault on the Chapel, and released his held breath. A jet of white-hot flames shot from his mouth as he discharged the remainder of the stored prana, shattering it with no effort. The flames petered out soon afterwards, leaving a trail of steam and smoke pouring from Clay's mouth before it finally ceased entirely.
As the last of the prana ebbed from his body, Clay stumbled backwards, reeling from the shock. Though his ward had prevented the worst of the damage, the pain was still disorienting. After a second to focus his thoughts, Clay turned to an astonished Lancer, who was clapping with a giddy smile. "Ooh! Do another trick!"
"Another time, perhaps. I might even have an unwilling assistant for it, if we hurry." Lancer's grin widened. It was finally time to get this show on the road! Grabbing his Master by the collar, he lept through the window Clay opened and onto the green surrounding the Church. Much of it was also starting to catch fire, but a few strides out into the open got the three out of the frying pan. Lancer placed Diana on a bench out of the fire's reach, and rushed to get his Master to relative safety.
Relative, of course, because Lancer's eye caught a flash of gold in the distance. Placing his Master back on his feet, Lancer turned to face the shrouded figures. "Hey, there! Feel like taking your balls out of your purse, pal? Or should I come over there and take 'em out for you?"
"Now, Lancer. There's no need to be rude." Clay brushed himself off, soot coating nearly every square inch of his coat. He turned his attention towards the area Lancer gestured towards... and then froze in place. A powerful sensation of cold washed over his mind. He half-expected his breath to fog up in her presence. '...That has to be one of the most powerful ice affinities I've ever felt. Perhaps THE most powerful. It seems the Association didn't scrape the bottom of the barrel for this competition...' He righted himself fully, his face falling into a frown. "I take it you were the one to cast the elemental portion of that display."
With a snap of his fingers, a mote of flame appeared in his palm. He let it dart about his outstretched fingers, letting his counterpoint have a full view of it. "While showy, I am still rather alive. On top of that, your fire magecraft... well... the only way to put it is that it was quite lacking. Without the leylines and that formalcraft granting stability, it would have blown up in your face." He withdrew a cigarette from his coat pocket, miraculously still serviceable despite the inferno he had been subjected to, if a bit singed. He dipped it into the mote, lighting it on fire and placing it between his teeth. "An outcome I would not mourn. You just made a huge mistake, you know. I don't mind threats and ambushes against myself - comes with the territory of being a Master. But you just put my sister in danger." His frown deepened, a cold glare leveled in the enemy Master's direction.
"In most circumstances, I would be willing to parley." Lancer gripped his staff and broadened his grin. If his admittedly sparse knowledge of his Master was right, he knew what was coming next.
"But now? You die." The flame's movement quickened further, becoming a blur. Its light intensified, shining brightly enough to dazzle at a distance. At that signal, Lancer bolted forward with a howl, moving with a speed unbecoming of his enormous frame. In the same instant, a single line of Latin issued from Clay's mouth. "From the seed, come forth. Consume. Destroy." The mote stopped in place, flaring to consume his body wholly. A raging torrent of flames wreathed his form, twisting itself into seven distinct shapes - long, snakelike things each the size of a man that tapered out to an indistinct head. The flames about the magus then lowered, revealing his hands having caught alight and bearing a scowl. "From the depths of Tatarus - behold the Seven-headed Hydra."
With a flick of his hands, the pillars of flame bounded forward towards the Master and Servant.
Adrenaline in the veins made time seem faster, mind and body both, yet despite he couldn't shake that their growing confusion. Running, and running, and running in circles, the Master noticed first but remained silent, a delusion of course. His hand beginning to dry must've been what tipped him off that not all was as it seemed. He put his hand in front of his servants, bidding her stop or slow down. The two barely had time to look around, before the sound of blade ripping through their defense filled their ears, though their eyes saw nothing but blurs.
Cassius quickly dropped into a combat stance, crouched with the blade reverse gripped, behind her back for a wide slice with her other hand in front, to grab their weapon arm. She felt the strain lifting as the golems fell, moving them ever so slightly in an attempt to have them live. No luck, their puddles barely splashed onto the ground when Yuri realized their dizzying attack involved two.
The cloaked figure reminded Cassius of Brutus, to the point where she could not tell if it was her brother or not at first. Though his style was certainly different, and she'd never known him to be anything too fast. The blonde hair and weapon also betrayed parts of his identity, though they were still far too vague. Still, Cassius couldn't help but be somewhat glad. No matter how fast he was, he was an Assassin in the open. Easy to one such as her, with training and gear. Her suit disappeared into the air, revealing her ornate armor.
Yuri kept his eyes on the man, however, who had dropped into a combat stance himself. Armored, shorter ranged weapon. Range wouldn't matter if he kept moving like he did, however. He'd have to find a way to blind him, sand or throwing blood into his eyes. It might give him enough time to stab his servant, if Cassius could engage long enough...
"Yuri Makiri, you must be eliminated. You are an obstruction. You may not interfere with our reunion. Brother would not approve."
The two glanced at each other, seeing if the other had managed to make sense of that. Both came up empty, though at least Yuri learned of his accent, likely where he was born and raised. A hint towards the servant? He'd have to check that, if they made it out of this.
"Brother would not approve."
"Then peace is out of the question?" Cassius asked, innocently, smirking at her competition. Her eyes glowed slightly as she begun to spin her web, Yuri slowly slinking to the side as she made herself a spectacle "Even for your team's Saber? You wretches, cowards and traitors both!"
Yuri had made himself his air stairs, muttering something unintelligible, like all night. In truth, it was a small prayer, but allowing his competition to believe he needed an aria was always smart. He climbed up, clenching his fist to draw more blood. One chance at an attack, then the two would strike.
The Master of Rider had hit the ground in a heap, the aggressor cheerfully emerging from the flame and smoke and stepping into the churchyard. The black sky was tinted red by flames, framing the holy man in hellfire. Daria was crouched on the floor, still recovering from the latest head trauma when the priest appeared. She recognized his clothing. An Executor of the church? Bro warned me about these creeps... and the others are all gone, too. Divide and conquer tactics; I guess that means this guy's been picked special to fight against me. Poor bastard.
He spoke. "You have called for me and I, Executor Kyle Solus, have descended from upon high. What sayeth thou now, foolish girl?
Daria pressed on the ground, and pushed herself up. The stench of war was leaking in. Smoke, and burning flesh. Still hunched over, her tongue lapped up the blood dripping down her face. She glanced up at the holy man, and mimicked his grin. "I 'sayeth'... you talk funny."
She straightened her back, and brought herself up to her full height. Not enough to match Solus. She twisted, and felt a wave of pleasure as her spine cracked. Her arms and her neck followed in short order, limbering her body up for a fight. As she bent down, perched on one leg as the other stretched out to her left, she said, "Y'know, I'm glad you're here, Kyle. See, all night I've been stuck up in a stuffy church with a bunch of people I barely know. An' everyone keeps telling me... 'Stop fighting, Daria! Stop trying to pick fights with your team, it's disrespectful!'" She demonstrated her point by using her hand as a puppet, mocking the voices of her critics. Her smile grew just a little larger, a little stranger, as her eyes fixated on him, scanning him up and down.
"But you?" Her face looked almost innocent wen she said, "You blew up a church, Kyle. I don't think anyone will mind if I rough you up a bit!"
She bounced back to her feet, rapidly stamping on the ground, unable to contain her glee; she also noted the firmness of the sod. Good dirt for fighting on. Those were the kind of questions you sought answers to by instinct when you were raised by certain kinds of people.
"Ooh, I can't wait anymore! I'm so fuckin'... pent up! C'mon, let's fight!" She extended her fists and crouched down just a little, waiting to charge.
"Daria, wait."
With a frustrated sigh, her eyes slipped to the right, and caught Rider beside her. "What is it?"
"Haven't you noticed anything strange?" asked her Servant, standing cross-armed and observing the burning church. He spoke in a low whisper that didn't carry to the priest through the white noise of crackling fire. "That Master is the only one here. His Servant's still hidden. This could be a trap."
Daria hissed back, "You thought I didn't notice? Of course it's a trap! Look, I'm just here to fight the Masters. All the crazy superhero Servant stuff, that's your job."
"You're being negligent."
"I'm being a Master. My job is to fight other Masters. Your job is to fight Servants. So just... I dunno, watch my back."
"Daria, your job is to supply me with pra--"
"'Nuff chitchat, it's fight time!"
Daria slashed the air with her arm, cutting off any more protests from her Servant. Her knuckles tightened until they were snow white, and her grin was so wide now it was ready to grow right off of her face. Her eyes rapidly scanned his body, looking for an optimum way to approach. Got it!
After a brief moment's pause she rushed to the left, slyly zipping open a pocket on her jacket as she moved, until she was at the 2:00 position from her opponent's view. She roared as she closed the gap, telegraphing a massive punch, leaning into it with all her might... and missing his body by nearly a foot. She lurched straight past the Executor, wide open from her blunder.
But in her pocket, the lining quietly coalesced, and a small orb or liquidized metal streamed out to fly along the arc of her fist and plow into the other Master's body.
Alexander clenched his fists. Archer quietly sidled away from his Master, sensing that, for the first time he'd seen, the magus was acknowledging his duties. His brilliant, tiny eyes bored into the other man, so odd in his dress, his mannerisms.
There is something odd about this man... yet familiar. What's the connection?
Mustang sauntered forward, gently pushing Archer back when he tried to follow. "Remember our arrangement," he whispered. Paris wasn't insane enough to protest, and did as he was told, letting his Master walk the rest of the lonely march on his own. Alexander stared down both the Master and the Servant, his eyes glancing toward her for a moment. Words formed above her. She was an Archer, like his own. And she was... "My word..."
She was very beautiful. Alexander bit down on his tongue, hard. He caught the metallic taste of blood as he forced his gaze back to the other Master. He pointed an accusatory finger and demanded to know. "You possess the Servant Archer, stranger. Does that make you responsible for what has happened to this church, and the clergy within?" He received no proper response. The young man only chose to mock his elder.
""Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up?" the boy teased, shifting his gaze towards his partner who had taken up a flanking position, one hand on her hip and her stance leaning upon that same leg. "Guess this big hunk of man thinks he can take us on? I'd like to see him try. So com'on, whatcha waitin' for? Let's dance!"
"Hrm... petulant child!"
Alexander glared at the young man from beneath his brow, an aura of pure killing intent overwhelming the surrounding air. "You haven't the slightest idea whom you are speaking to, am I correct?"
"HRM! HO!" In grand, sweeping motions his tremendous arms swung into the air, his mighty biceps flexing for all to see.
"I! Am!"
[HEADING=2]"ALEXANDER JEAN LUC VALJEAN MUSTANG!"[/HEADING]
Two mighty stomps rocked the ground as his legs spread to find purchase against the dirt, far too weak to hold his mighty frame. Craters formed around his heels.
[HEADING=2]"AVERAGE ONE!"[/HEADING]
A distinct sound. The sound of tightening muscles, wound up like wires... ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
[HEADING=2]"AND SUPERVISOR OF CLERMONT-FERRAND! AND YOU WISH TO 'DANCE' WITH ME?!"[/HEADING]
His hot blood began to overflow, and the air itself grew in temperature to match his fury... No. Wait. Blood doesn't actually do that. Was it... actually getting hotter?
[HEADING=2]"Oh-ho, VERY WELL MY GOOD CHUM! IF IT IS A DANCE YOU WANT..."[/HEADING]
He flexed again, his muscles gearing up for some grand motion. It was like watching a loaded cannon with the fuse burning away. You weren't sure when, precisely, it would go off. But it was going to be loud, it was going to be explosive, and something was going to get destroyed. And that heat! There's no mistaking it! It was actually getting hotter somehow! But... how?
[HEADING=2]*KR-THOOM*[/HEADING]
It all happened so quickly. It was as one brilliant, beautiful movement. Alexander swung his arms down, crossing them before his chest and flexing his entire torso. It was too much strain. A cascade of fabric shot through the air. His shirt wasn't able to contain the pressure, and exploded. His brilliant, shirtless body was illuminated from behind, as the ground itself split apart. A bright geyser of magma erupted into the air behind him as posed. Pose after pose, he displayed his fabulous body from every angle, displaying the sheer magnitude of his manhood that could not be shared by words, but image alone. He spoke only four, thunderous words to encapsulate this intimidating, incomparable display of power.
[HEADING=2]"THEN LET US DANCE!!!"[/HEADING]
...
Archer watched from afar, tears in his eyes. "This is it then. He's really, truly lost his mind..."
...
Alexander began to glow. Backed by the burning church, the cooling lava, and the night sky his entire body began to glow in brilliant, blue colors such that he was less a human and closer to the Seraphim. He could not tell these poor children of men to fear not, for they had awakened his wrath, and his fires would be brought upon them. His right arm flexed. "HRM!" In a single, powerful motion he thrust it forward, and the ground beneath him answered his plea. "TECTONIC BURST!" The dirt was scattered as pillars of rock thrust forward from beneath the earth's surface, stalagmites aimed to pierce his foes from below.
"I am a Master of the Holy Grail War, and the Servant Archer alike! Come forth, brat, and SHOW ME HOW YOU DANCE!"
The smoke-choked rubble blurred past Saber as she sprinted forward, neatly threading her way through the impromptu obstacle course of debris. Skirting the patch of red-hot embers with millimeters to spare, neatly leaping over the splintered remains of a pew, ducking beneath and around a collapsed support beam, the Servant steadily advanced through the now shockingly silent chaos. Aside from the crackling of flames, the creaking of the desecrated church, and the labored pants of her Master as he steadily fell farther and farther behind, she couldn't hear anything. No battle cries, no clashing blades, no explosions or chanting or ominous organ music. Nothing.
It was wrong.
The attackers had caught them off guard, had had no compunctions about burning a church, sanctioned neutral ground, and its caretakers to the ground, and clearly had all kinds of skill when it came to Magecraft. Had they kept pouring the spells down, they could have reduced the entire building, and the entire faction, to little more than a few centimeters of dust. But they hadn't. They had stopped the assault, without killing any of the Servants or Masters, at least as far as Saber could tell. Why?
She didn't like it. Her instincts were screaming at her, telling her that it was a trap, that there had to be a reason the attackers hadn't seen fit to finish the job. The ideal course of action would be to figure out why, and to try and plan a suitable countermeasure.
But if the groaning of the still-burning, almost skeletal structure was any indication, she didn't have time for the ideal course of action. What she had time for was to head out, find the enemy, and hit them until they retreated, stopped moving, or killed her. Preferably the second.
As she sprinted, Saber noted the locations of her allies. Or ally, rather; the only other person she could hear, see, or smell was her Master, still floundering in his attempts to keep up with her. The other members of Team White were nowhere to be seen. Tch, not that it mattered too much. The front doors (or door, rather. Only one of the great wooden slabs still clung precariously to its hinges; its twin had vanished somewhere) were straight ahead of her, and beyond them lay the outside.
Grunting, the Servant put on one last burst of speed, slid through the doorway, her hand resting on her blade's hilt, and-
"You're late..."
-stared in mild shock and surprise at the nonplussed, almost bored figure standing before her.
He wasn't a Servant. That much she could tell instantly. And it only took her a few milliseconds to make her next guess: Fancy clothes, a strong yet subtle grace, a matching armband and tie clip, his strange, hard expression. The man was here for a reason. Most likely to kill her and her Master. He had predicted where they would exit, and had come here to face them head on when he could've easily targeted them from the shadows. ...He thought that he could beat her, didn't he?
Saber felt a small grin steal across her features. Smug little bastard.
The milliseconds slowly blended into half of a whole one, and Saber's eyes slid off of the well-dressed man and onto the figure standing slightly behind him and to his left. It took her even less time to make a guess at his identity. Her smile grew a little wider.
'Hello, Saber.'
[hr]
His lungs were burning. The physical exertion alone wouldn't have been enough to make him this short of breath, but when combined with the smoke and blazing hot air... Each inhalation dragged a razor blade down his esophagus, and each exhalation pulled it back up. It hurt. But there was nothing for it; he had to keep moving.
Choking, Matt struggled after Saber, keeping his eyes shut as much as he dared. If the smoke was doing this much damage to his lungs, how much would it hurt his eyes if he left them open? He had to get out here, before he passed from the fumes or before the building collapsed on him. If he stayed here, he was dead. If he went outside... In all honestly, he was still probably dead, but at least he could get out of the smoke.
Hacking thickly through his sleeve, the magus stumbled forward for what felt like a short eternity. Then, faintly, he heard the sound of metal screeching in protest from somewhere in front of him. Door hinges? Wait, the front door? He'd finally made it?
Despite the flares of pain it sent through his chest, Matt charged forward. If Saber had found the exit, then he just had to keep going a little more and...
He was out of the smoke. Past the foundations of the church, outside in the cool, crisp, almost divinely clear night air. Ripping his mouth and nose out of his sleeve, the young man gratefully gulped down sweet, sweet oxygen. He wasn't exactly sure when he fell to his hands and knees, simultaneously coughing a lung up and sucking air in, or when his smoke-stained eyes started blurring up; all he knew was that he could finally breathe again.
God, air tasted good. Why hadn't he ever noticed it before?
DIE
He froze. Despite his burning lungs, despite his quaking muscles, despite his tearing eyes, Matt froze. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be here.
If he stayed here, he was going to die.
If he moved, he was going to die.
Matt felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up of their own accord. He felt his body reflexively tighten up, muscles tensing for near-instantaneous movement, bladder clenching so that he didn't piss himself, lungs slowing until barely any oxygen flowed through his blood. His eyes, despite the lingering smoke that still stung them, darted around, searching for anything within his limited sight to focus on.
There. About two yards in front of him and three to his right. Saber's left heel. It wasn't moving. Well, it was, kind of; he could see the muscles in it flexing and unflexing, moving ever so slightly as she shifted her weight. But it was just sitting there, staying still. It wasn't advancing or retreating or stepping to the side or anything; it was just there, not moving. Why wouldn't it be moving? They were in danger, right, so she should be fighting. She had to move if she was going to fight, unless she knew some way to fight standing still. But that didn't make sense; she was a swordsman and a fist fighter. She had to move in order to fight. Well, maybe she knew some other techniques that the book and legends didn't talk about, like a move or style that she'd picked up on some adventure that no one had remembered to talk about. But what were the odds of that; she was a Heroic Spirit, wasn't she, an existence that fell just short of full on godhood. People had talked about her for centuries; she couldn't know any new techniques, that wasn't how things worked. So why wasn't she moving, why was she just standing there, what was she waiting for, was there a signal or a time limit or was she already dead or had she already won and why wasn't she moving or saying anything or-
/music
"Good evening Matthew, Saber."
Those four words were enough to break the spell. Suddenly, Matt could move, could breathe again. His muscles, strung tight as a wire, relaxed, and he almost fell forward as he indulged himself in two more deep, shaky breaths. Then, slowly pushing himself back into a mostly upright position, the magus stared dully forward, his eyes locking onto the speaker who'd been kind enough to break him out of his panic attack.
Immediately, the boy was struck by the differences between himself and the stranger. While his own clothes, nice and well-kept earlier in the evening, were wrinkled and stained with smoke and soot, the stranger's outfit was prim and perfect, each garment precisely pressed and arranged just so. While the stranger was fiddling with his hat, adjusting it even though it had already been perfectly perched atop his head, his own hair was in a horrifying state of disarray. Odds are he'd have to spend a good fifteen minutes trying to tame it back into some semblance of order. While his face was red and puffy, flushed from physical effort and stained by tears, the stranger's visage was set into a carefree, almost friendly expression, as though he was meeting a not-quite-friend on the street.
While the stranger held himself with the utmost confidence and strength, he was hunched forward and shivering in trepidation...
"A lovely evening for a stroll, isn't it? I do hope my compatriots and I didn't startle you and your friends. It would be such a shame if someone had been put off by or little visit. My name is Twenty-One."
The man, Twenty-One, extended his hand. Despite the distance between them, Matt was briefly overcome by the urge to hurry forward and shake the offered limb; surely doing anything less than that wouldn't be proper.
But no, he couldn't do that, could he? He'd make a fool of himself trying to stumble towards Twenty-One, and he'd only manage to stain his immaculate hand with dust and soot. No, no, it would be far more appropriate to simply hang back here, back where he belonged, and just nod back in reply. He didn't want to risk verbally introducing himself; even if he didn't burst into a fit of coughing, he'd just trip and stumble over his own words, as usual. And besides, there was no need for him to announce his name. Twenty-One already knew it, and-
...Twenty-One knew his name.
...Why would Twenty-One need to know his name?
For the first time since he'd looked up, Matt saw where Saber was looking. Following her gaze, he spotted the man standing besides Twenty-One, the one who carried himself with an overwhelming air of grace and power. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise again, and a series of letters and numerals flashed across the young magus' vision.
...Oh. Oh God.
[hr]
"A lovely evening for a stroll, isn't it? I do hope my compatriots and I didn't startle you and your friends. It would be such a shame if someone had been put off by or little visit. My name is Twenty-One."
Barely paying heed to her almost immobile Master (at least now he was standing upright), Saber nodded once in greeting to the enemy Master. "Twenty-One?" she called, unable to keep a slight hint of mirth out of her voice. "Do numbers pass for names these days? Jeez, times really have changed, haven't they?"
Slowly, methodically, Saber took a few steps forward, allowing her hand to slide off of her sword's hilt as she walked. "Well, it was certainly nice of you two to come all the way out here and say 'hi' to us," she continued, her tone light and full of friendly cheer. "Had I known you were coming, I would've brought out a trophy or two to brag about. But still, what's done is done, right? No sense in worrying about the past."
Coming to a stop halfway between the ruined church and Twenty-One, Saber stopped and held her ground. Her smile never wavered, not even for a second. "Now, it looks like you two did a pretty bad job of killing my Master and myself. Tell me, would you like to try again?"
For Yi, it wasn't just a matter of appearance, even the mundane matter of a bun had become a ritual of sorts for her.
After the attack, Yi needed to shift her focus from the fire and the flames. Chanting helped, that bit of Magecraft helped, but she didn't need Yi Yu Yuen the Magus at the moment. A businessman had set an offer on the table - a tempting one at that - and so, she required Miss Yuen the Businesswoman. To do anything else would be an insult to the man's offer. He chose not to fire the first shot, but instead decided to open negotiations, even if the deal was a little in his favour. Nevertheless, she appreciated the lull in violence, regardless of the circumstances. Victory was in easy reach for the other team and yet, here the Berserker of Black's Master was, offering Yi anything for her surrender. However, the growling beast next to him made her reassess the sincerity of the man.
He was a somewhat comic figure: overweight, covered in fanciful, but traditional clothing that wasn't exactly the best fit, not to mention the mustache and beard. With somewhat tight clothing and a sizable stomach, the Master of Berserker of Black somewhat resembled an overstuffed piece of dim sum: something which aimed to be elegant, yet hearty, but had overshot and ended up overindulgent. Like the chef had stuffed more than one bite-size portion of inside the little steamed bun. Almost a disappointment given his intimidating entrance. With one snap of his fingers, he had shown Yi her folly. He had shown the Magus she was trapped. Black had responded to White's passive opening move and was ready to capture some pieces. Would White be able to wiggle out of that?
No wonder she felt some relief when she heard those words of parley.
"My dear Miss Yu Yuen, how are you of the doings, yes?" He asked, making himself look even more comical with his garbled speech, "Farouk is, how you are saying, a man of many business, yes? I am not here for fighting, only the businesses, yes? That is why Farouk offering fair trade for your unconditional and completing surrender, yes yes? I am man of many things, so maybe Farouk and you make deal, yes? What is it you are the wanting and maybe Farouk arranging for that to be happening, yes? Farouk has many, many things and is knowing many more than having, yes?" The tirade of questions ended with, "So what is pretty little thing saying to having agreements, yes?"
Both Master and Servant noted the fact their Black counterparts knew Yi's name.
'So that's the answer to that question, huh?' Berserker thought as he looked over the two.
He allowed himself a smile, not only was Berserker of Black tad shorter but it appeared that he was under the effects of the Mad Enhancement as well. Maybe the Servant would get to claw at the hairy carpet on his chest and make a nice little toupée for the balding Berserker? On the other hand the prospect of a deal intrigued him more. Sure, Berserker had to admit the terms were a little harsh, however they could request anything, couldn't they? As long as it is seen as a 'fair trade'? There were so many options: a surrender for a surrender, coin, clothes, cloaks, women, wine... whatever. Although, as Berserker thought it through, the proposal seemed less and less appealing. Surrendering was no fun! Besides, the man hadn't said anything about their safety and didn't look particularly trustworthy...
Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, his Master showed no signs of hostility - maybe she wanted to go along with the farce? He growled as if imitating the smaller of the Berserkers. He was ready to protect from a foolishness. A deal with the enemy, what was she thinking? To tell the truth, she was just weighing up her options. Yi glanced at the wolf-like Berserker of Black and letters bounced around her vision. Her confidence grew. 'A shock-and-awe approach and Farouk's proposal suggest a desire for an easy victory through coercion, perhaps because they doubt their ability to win the War through honest means?' Yi reflected. It was an interesting line of thought, but one could only get so far with assumptions.
The initial confidence was tempered by doubt and by pain as the effects of the Kuji-in chant became apparent. Yi took a deep breath. What she needed was information and there was a potential source standing right in front of her. It might have been impolite to answer a question with a question, but Yi did it anyway.
"I see that you have laid your terms on the table, Mr. Farouk." Miss Yuen replied, "But are they open to discussion?"
Lancer?s Master could hardly believe her eyes. She knew that her counterpart was to be considered impulsive, maybe even a little rash at times, but his actions seemed more suicidal at this point than anything. Without a second thought he had swallowed his own magecraft and started a pain driven barrier against the illusion mystery her employer had constructed. Even further still, it had been brought into existence by their Caster, considered to be the best in her field not only by modern standards, but even amongst the heroes and villains inscribed upon the throne of heroes. Compounded by the fact that they had had near limitless amounts of prana to expend from the leylines and it was a wonder how the duelist thought he could overcome the craft. Small steps seemed to be lost on the man.
As her opponent began to spasm in pain, she could feel her fingers unconsciously rubbing against her thumb, itching to end this. She could see it in his eyes, that gleam of superiority and focus that meant results had been seen but it was insane to think, knowing what she knew, that anything but suffering could be reaped from the exercise. Her fingers felt unusually hot and raw, knowing that just a single snap would release him from his prison. She couldn?t let it end like this. That man would rather burn himself alive than be proven insufficient or incorrect.
Snap!
The sound rang out into the quiet night. She hadn?t realized that the only sound around them had been the hypnotic crackling of the bonfire the church had become. As the illusion broke, the Lancer of White immediately shifted its (was it a he or a she?) focus towards her own Servant.
Hey, there! Feel like taking your balls out of your purse, pal? Or should I come over there and take ?em out for you??
Lancer reacted almost immediately, his frown turning into a scowl as his blood began to boil. His master simply placed a calm hand across his chest to halt any advance he would attempt, expecting the gesture to be sufficient. The spirit was immediately calmed, heeding his master?s unsaid order with complete obedience. Regardless of what disposition the pair had towards each other, it was certainly clear that the woman had complete control over her spirit.
?Now Lancer, there?s no need to rude. I take it you were the one to cast the elemental portion of that display.?
Figured.
It wasn?t a question, it was a statement. The man didn?t need nor want confirmation of the query; he was already dead set in his assumptions of what had happened. For anyone else it may have been a grave error in judgment but not for Clay Marks. His inflated ego was tagged with a semblance of truth -- the duelist was one of the best around. Good enough to defeat a mystery woven by a hero of the Grail? That was debatable but he was certainly enough of a match to make a few incorrect assumptions with even agents of the Clock Tower. The woman simply nodded in response as she slowly walked out from the shadows, her guardian stepping in synch at her side.
What little that had been revealed by the move seemed fruitless at best. The woman?s face was well hidden behind quite to opaque mourning veil attached to a quaint flat top hat. Her brown hair flowed down past her shoulders, kept in check with the occasional clip. Her stature was unusually thin, almost sickly, with what skin was showing being a pale white in the moonlight. Her dress only compounded this with a contrast, the gothic lolita inspired attire being either the black body of the piece or the white accents and frills on its edges. Long, lithe legs showed just below the knee, covered in a dark but transparent stocking before slipping into a pair of flats. If her goal was to look as morose as possible, she was certainly a high achiever.
?While showey, I am still rather alive. On top of that, your fire magecraft? well? the only way to put it is that it was quite lacking. Without the leylines and that formalcraft granting stability, it would have blown up in your face.?
It was an obvious statement. It took every ounce of her fiber to not roll her eyes in sheer annoyance at the ?lesson? the man was giving her. Had her opponent?s bark been worse than his bite, he wouldn?t have posed a threat to even that Heller boy their benefactor was responsible for. Of course the mysteries had barely held together and would have backfired if not for the extra prana and stability granted by the leylines. They were crafted and casted knowing that they would be given that sort of power, so how was that a pearl of wisdom? For now, the woman would bide her time and bite her tongue. The woman was forced to with her opposite partaking in such a disgusting habit. But she knew the fiery personality that stood before her could only hold out so long and was about to explode into action.
?An outcome I would not mourn. You just made a huge mistake, you know. I don?t mind threats and ambushes against myself ? comes with the territory of being a Master. But you put my sister in danger. In most circumstances, I would be willing to parlay. But now? You die.?
?Lancer, the woman,? she stated plainly as her adversary finished his little speech.
Her attention was then drawn to Clay?s manifestation. His aria was short but serviceable, forming snaking columns of fire that snapped like dragons? maws. Had it not been such an exhilarating and life threatening situation she would have had to force back rolling her eyes once again. For such a display there wasn?t much substance behind the attack. A single line for the aria was more than telling as to how powerful this mystery would end up being. The rest was just flash meant to unnerve his opponent, hoping to instill the sense of being overcome with minimal effort. And so she whispered to herself?
?Heat and flame chill by my touch,
Spread winter?s grasp to all who protest.?
She could already feel her mind slip into that stream of unconsciousness as the words fell from her mouth. The power within began to stir, small leaks trickling through her circuits. As the final word was spoken, she could vividly see that crystal bauble once more, a violent crack crashing through her mind as it frosted over to its breaking point. Suddenly the chill spread through her entire body, power surging forth from her chest and outwards to the very tips of her fingers. Her hand outstretched towards the oncoming flames, her index finger gently caressing the first head moments before it engulfed her. As her finger pressed itself against the inferno it quickly became chilled, and then solid into a magnificent sculpture of ice. The frost carried itself to the origin of the spell, threatening its owner with the same fate as his conjured beast. As each head of this supposed hydra lashed out, the veiled Master lazily touched them in turn and froze them solid with her mystery. He would easily be able to counter this, she was sure from his reputation, but showing him she wasn't interested in his petty scare tactics was an important point to make.
Lancer, on the other hand, was sprinting towards Diana's position with all the speed he could muster. It wasn't the most tactically sound position to take, yet it wasn't his place to judge. His Master had spoken at great length that the man's weakness was his family, particularly his fondness for his younger sister, and she intended to exploit it. As Lancer of White rushed the Servant down, Lancer of Black could see his victorious path towards the woman. From the ethereal bled in two solid gold spears; both simple shafts that ended in a point, each entwined by a golden snake that ended in forming a pike pole guard. Grasping one in each hand, the Heroic Spirit quickly hefted the spear in his right hand and threw it between the meddling ape and his own intended target. The golden armour spirit then rushed forwards, keeping the soaring weapon to his left as he approached Diana, keeping his remaining tool of war in a defensive position in case the monkey was foolish enough to pursue straight through the hurled projectile.
[hr]
?Then peace is out of the question? Even for your team?s Saber? You wretches, cowards, and traitors both!?
The words hung heavy in the air, clinging to the young man?s chest with an almost unbearable weight. The assassin had thought about it many times -- his career, his methodology, and the goal they hopefully led him to. Was it truly as detestable as the woman claimed? His eyes began to grow wider as he fell to his knees, trembling with apprehension and doubt. The words seemed so true now that eh thought about them. What sort of monster had he become!?
??shut up...Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!!!?
Assassin?s voice was wracked with pained grief, clutching his head in agony as he shook it vigorously from side to side. That stupid woman was trying to manipulate them, but even more discomforting, she was using the truth to do it. He was a wretch, a man who had been spurned by both his family and his Lord as lesser than him. He was a coward, having used the shadows and unfounded trust to manipulate his brother. He was a traitor, having stabbed his kin in cold blood over such a petty reason. Assassin was a monster beyond compare and it pained him to hear it, especially from a complete stranger. What did she know of these words -- of betrayal most foul? Rage began to bubble to the surface of the Servant?s face as it contorted itself into strange and unfitting expressions, still digging his fingers into his scalp with an unimaginable force. Something had gripped his mind and it certainly wasn?t Cassius? phantasm.
?I?ll kill you! I?ll kill you all if it brings forgiveness in His eyes! HOW DARE YOU SAY BROTHER DOESN?T LOVE ME?!?
The words had little time to sink in before Assassin was rushing towards his adversary. His movements were erratic, zigzagging in short bursts as he approached the Assassin of white. In his hands he toyed with his ebony shiv, twirling it playfully through his fingers with a precision only familiarity and practice brought. His upper body was completely slack, arms and head dangling limp with each halt in movement as he continued to throw various questions that made much less sense than the first one had. Assassin was now at the edge of sanity, nearly broken into a permanent gibbering rage and that unpredictable strength was now his to wield against Yuri and his own Assassin. He would make them pay dearly for what they had said and be one step closer into seeing his brother again.
As his Assassin charged forward in a maddened state, his Master was beginning to return to reality from the dizzying state of Cassius? Traitor?s Guise. It seemed so obvious before but now that guilt had bled itself away, nothing more than lies upon the wind. He raised himself to only one knee, taking stock of his situation. His senses were still muted from the experience and considering the magic that had been woven upon him it was a miracle that he was still standing at all. Any normal human would have been outright destroyed or left an empty shell of their former selves. He could only thank God that he had been given reprieve from such a fate and continue to move forwards.
?Keep it together, Rolan. Brother would not approve of such weakness??
[hr]
Kyle wasn?t certain if he was squaring off against a very energetic girl or a complete psychopath but she was proving to be most amusing. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Regardless of his opponent?s mental state, the executor was beginning to unclasp his cassock to prepare for the inevitable battle. His was more of a coat than anything else, opening to reveal a similarly coloured shirt, pair of pants and a fairly sizable cross made of silver. Once the man felt a little more comfortable, he turned his attention back towards his adversary, still jabbering away about how hard it was to keep her fists from colliding with another human being?s face. Even he felt it was a little much to want to fight all the time. What was this girl?s problem anyway?
?But you? You blew up a church, Kyle. I don?t think anyone will mind if I rough you up a bit!?
?I?ve destroyed far grander things than a pitiful church in a back water town,? he commented, his vocabulary changing drastically from before. Was the previous account an act, or was this a mockery of her?
Just before the girl could begin her charge, her Servant decided to interject with the most obvious of observations: where was Kyle?s Servant? The man chuckled a little to himself, brushing back his cassock and spread his weight around to lean more on his back leg to brace for an oncoming charge. His right hand quickly shot up towards the hilt of his blade, fingers twitching in anticipation to grasp the weapon. His other was busily rummaging around to find something within the coat. Eventually the Master began to act in accordance to her title and stifled anymore protest from her Heroic Spirit with a quick chop to the air. At last, she was ready to throw down.
As predicted, the young woman was off like a rocket, screaming towards him with demonic speed. Her stature was certainly deceptive in this respect, hiding a fighter twice her size in speed and strength. Nevertheless, he was prepared. From within his coat he brought forth a tiny vile of pitch black ichor. It sloshed with a varying viscosity like crude oil when parting its main body; yet reformed as if it was water. With a quick flick of his thumb the vial was sent end over end on a direct path towards the diving girl. It was odd that she was off by such a wide margin with her swing but he wasn?t about to complain about a poorly calculated punch. As the vial soared towards its intended target, the executor was already shifting his weight from his back to his front, shifting all the power behind that movement as well. He drew the blade to follow through, extending himself out at a far greater speed with the momentum built. As the blade nearly reached the furthest point of its arc he could feel the weapon buckle slightly as it began to dig into what was in front of him. It felt soft, much like the flesh of another human being, and the executor stopped at the extremity of the swipe, wanting to gloat a little before sending the witch to her final hell. The draw was over in but an instant yet the damage was done -- Executor Solus had struck down Daria.
Or so he thought. As the blur of combat began to come back into focus, Kyle quickly began to realize his stroke was just a hair short. Yes, Daria was the first shape he could make out and she was directly in front of him, but the point of his blade was just scratching the fabric of her shirt near her belly. What he had struck was some odd liquid metal looking magecraft, now mingling with the ichor he had tossed out. The black liquid was already infecting it, the rapid progress far beyond external repair and would simply need to run its course through the mystic code. Contrary to how the black liquid had been performing earlier, now with the added stroke of his blade it seemed to be having difficulty reforming, as though he had destroyed some part of its nature. The worst of it, however, was that Kyle had Daria right where he wanted but couldn?t seal her fate. Just a couple of inches and she would be gutted like the sheep she was and yet he had already stretched himself to his limit. With a chuckle he slowly straightened himself, sheathing the blade before needlessly dusting his cassock off for show before addressing his opponent.
?Demon?s blood,? Executor Solus stated with a wicked grin. ?I don?t think your code?ll be much use now. Black Keys?ll make it nothing more than a pile of grey goop.? Kyle tapped the hilt of his greatsword as an example to accentuate that point. ?I?ll be honest, never thought I?d be excited to get down and dirty with a little girl. Suppose it?s the priest in me. But a fight?s a fight, so whether Heaven or Hell, let?s rock!?
The executor quickly dashed towards the girl with the same force she had previously engaged him with. His ferocity was certainly much greater than one would expect at first glance, even from an executor of the church. Each punch was supported with a plethora of power, each kick able to shatter bone. Yet every attack was met with its opposite on the other end, each punch countered with her own fist from the opposite angle, every kick stopped with a matching strike. The two were eagerly engaged, literally blow for blow, in a contest of both strength and endurance. Kyle could feel his knuckles shake with every impact, his grin growing wider as each strike met its partner in this macabre dance of destruction. His eyes were only growing wider, his mind detaching itself from rational thought and focusing in on the euphoria of battle. He even let a small, steady laugh begin to escape his lips as the test continued well beyond what any other had been capable of in his illustrious career. She was a demon that surpassed all his expectations and he relished the thought of making her writhe and cry out in pain and horror.
After about a minute of mirrored counters, Kyle had had just about enough of this practice. Daria was a worthy adversary, but he had bigger fish to fry when it came to this war. With a hefty twist of his body, the man delivered a roundhouse kick that caused a thunderous clap when it struck its opposite thrown by the girl. The force was so great that it sent Kyle?s leg flying back, sliding him across the ground as he stamped the grass with his previously lifted foot. It was an impressive blow that created some much needed distance, begrudging as it was ending the fusillade of fists. It couldn?t be helped, however, as he?d need time to prepare his next move. His eyes inspected his now raw and bloody knuckles, smirking with satisfaction at their state. He then began?
?I ride upon thunder, to strike swift and true.?
As the words were spoken, arcs of electricity began to form from his fingertips, dancing about the ground around him. He could feel the energy coursing through him and begun to weave it into its true purpose. Beneath his feet he forged a dart shaped platform, just wide enough to crouch upon and filled with enough crackling energy to be used as a weapon. Stretching his hands out behind him, he commanded the plasma below to jet forwards once more and rushed towards his adversary at an unthinkable speed.
?Bolt Rider!?
[hr]
Alexander Jean Luc Valjean Mustang.
If there was one name the boy would remember until his dying breath it?d be his. It wasn?t because it was a fanciful name, no. It had nothing to do with lineage within the magus community. It wasn?t even the grand display of magecraft with lava flows that burst forth from the very crust of the planet itself. No, it was because Alexander Jean Luc Valjean Mustang was the biggest ponce he would ever have the displeasure of meeting.
Despite the disdain the young man had for the needlessly flashy entrance, the threat of the mystery hurtling towards him was very real. There wasn't time to move out of the way, not by a human's standards. Yet Mr. Valjean Mustang was still facing another magus and fairly talented one at that. Beneath his breath the boy began to mutter the aria that would keep him safe from such a catastrophic attack.
"My steps, so light, they carry me through worlds. Flash Step..."
The magus then took a single step backwards before the stalagmites forming from underneath overtook him. Yet the whispers of his spell still hung in the air, as if expecting their creator to return. It was but a moment until the crafty young man reappeared beside the rock formation that had just threatened to kill him, finishing his small slide backwards. Yet the craft his adversary created was unrelenting in its power, more spikes crafted from the very earth beneath him shooting upwards without warning. Again and again the boy weaved his mystery and disappeared from this existence, only to reappear safely again. By the end of the assault he was balancing himself precariously on the very tip of the tallest stalagmite, one foot gingerly resting upon the other with one hand pointing a sideways finger gun accusingly at Alexander, the other having his elbow pointing towards the sky as he flexed.
"You look silly doing all of that needless posing, you know," the boy mentioned. "If you had any flair or pnash like myself, maybe you'd stand half a chance to show up the devilishly handsome Isaac Einzburn. Yet you're a chump, a third rate magus from a fourth rate family. Just give it up, you know you can't beat a pedigree like mine. In fact..."
The Master then looked down at his servant, dusting herself off after the calamity of a mystery Alexander had mustered, looking rather peeved about it.
"Hey Archer," the young man yelled out. "Why don't you sit this one out? Go play with that child this gorilla scraped up from the bottom of the Grail."
Isaac didn't retaliate; there was no need to. He just went back to staring straight ahead at the mound of mscle before him, a cocky grin from ear to ear. He knew in his heart of hearts that a magus of Clermont-Ferrand, an Average One at that, was a futile exercise. He couldn't compete mystery for mystery against a powerhouse like that. But maybe if he could wear him out with minimal effort on his own part. Even if half of that speech was the aria for that craft he had used, there was no way Alexander was going to keep it up for any reasonable length of time. Besides, his own Flash Step mystery was more than enough to keep him out of harms way and at a pittance of the prana Alexander was wasting. Yes, time was on his side right now and he needed to goad the oaf into using up what reserves he had before making his own move.
Archer, on the other hand, simply gave a two fingered salute to her Master before jovially skipping across to the other side of the battlefield. She knew her own little plaything was around here somewhere. He had entered their staged encounter with the beefcake, yet now he seemed to have disappeared. Winding her way through the shadows, the spirit eventually found her newest fancy trying to keep himself out of sight, oddly enough more so from Alexander than her own Master. With the beguilery like the brigand she was, Archer crept through the burning church and up behind Paris without so much as a peep. It was only once her soft breath was creeping across his neck that he could tell the vixen was there.
"So, boy'o, when does the real fight start?" she whispered into his ear before walking to his front, purposefully brushing her luscious curves against his arm in passing.
She then spun around quickly, firing off two finger guns with her own pew! noises to accompany each, giggling like a schoolgirl afterwards. The woman then made her way to the left of the boy, wrapping her arms around his and snuggling up to his side as if they had spent a lifetime together. She looked up at the young man, wide eyed and innocent, as if he had been the first man to ever have made her heart skip a beat.
"Your Master really knows how to put on a show, doesn't he?" she asked rhetorically. "I bet the hero that man summoned could show a girl a real good time, hmm?"
[hr]
?Twenty-One? Do numbers pass for names these days? Jeez, times really have changed, haven?t they??
Twenty-One looked the Servant over from top to bottom with a quick shift of his eyes. If he was impressed or intimidated, he did a superb job in hiding it. The man hadn?t even flinched at the remark, keeping his relaxed posture and demeanor unwavering in the face of the boisterous brute. In fact, he seemed a little put off by no one accepting his outstretched hand, placing it back at his side with a momentary sneer at the inhospitality. Yet his jovial attitude came back just as quickly as it had departed, looking Saber straight in the eyes to respond to her rhetorical insult.
?It?s suited me fine thus far,? he answered, cool as ever. ?I?ve no need for a proper name, as such.? If the comment had any impact on the Servant, she didn?t show it.
?Well, it was certainly nice of you two to come all the way out here and say ?hi? to us. Had I known you were coming, I would?ve brought out a trophy or two to brag about. But still, what?s done is done, right? No sense in worrying about the past.?
It would turn out that her attempts would be misplaced with these particular comments. Saber of Black began to show the faintest etchings of a frown beginning to form on his otherwise expressionless face. While his rather stoic visage didn?t betray what exactly about Saber of White?s remarks bothered him, it was clear that the Servant was displeased with her general attitude at this point. Almost immediately the spirit placed a hand upon his scabbard, thumb resting just below the guard of his blade as their adversary removed her own, beginning to show his own frustration with this entire scenario. The prim Master stole a glance towards his own Servant, a seemingly nonchalant blink separating each shift in gaze. While he had chosen his specific Saber for his ruthless personal attention and demand for detail, Twenty-One would accept nothing but one hundred percent perfection and could only really trust anything he was personally overseeing. He was, however, satisfied with his Saber?s reaction, both with his restraint and in the elevated attention to the potential threat of the exchange ultimately coming to blows. Fortunately, the next round of less than gracious comments would hit their proper mark, less than veiled as they were.
?Now, it looks like you two did a pretty bad job of killing my Master and myself. Tell me, would you like to try again??
Failed?! How dare she even suggest such a thing. He was an enforcer, a master of High Thaumaturgy unrivaled. Even as a hero from the Age of Gods, she dare suggest that he had failed to kill her, let alone her sniveling cur of a master? Beyond that, the incredulous ***** was goading the magus into beginning an altercation he didn?t wish to engage in. Yet despite how hot Saber was getting him under his collar, the man didn?t show any of his frustrations. He played the part immaculately, sashaying his way at an even pace to the Servant opposite himself. The only hint the enforcer gave that he had even heard what Saber had claimed was the slight change of his smile becoming a smirk. Saber of Black followed loyally in his Master?s wake, keeping his own guard up and his hand steady by his katana in the event that blades were drawn. Though noticeably shorter than his counterpart he was advancing on, the Servant felt like a giant with his gait, a practiced poise and posture creating the illusion. The two were not backing down nor were they about to give into their oppositions attempts at sending them into an insulted rage. As the three figures neared each other, Saber of White stood her ground while the interloping pair continued to advance.
?My sincerest of apologies, Saber,? Twenty-One remarked as they approached the former queen, a slight chuckle that bordered insincerity staying behind the words throughout. ?I should not have addressed you so formally -- it seems to have caused some confusion. After all, I have no interest in speaking with the hand maiden.?
The agent then brushed past the knight as if she were a common servant, leaving his protector with the task of keeping the wench in check to keep his eye upon his true objective. Standing in a hunched and disheveled form was Matthew Heller, failure magus of the not-quite-so famous house Heller. For the first time, Twenty-One was able to inspect the boy properly. He noted the unkempt hair that the boy hadn?t even bothered to attempt and fix. He remarked the black and dirtied clothing the boy had refused to straighten or dust off from his encounter with the blaze inside the church. He even caught glimpse of the tiny scar across the boy?s left thumb, left from an insignificant scratch by a gear long ago. From the odd length of his recently singed eyebrows to the missing left-hand lace on the boy?s right shoe, the enforcer drank it all in like a muddied glass of tap water. Matthew Heller truly was a disgusting failure of a creature.
?Ah, Matthew, there you are,? the agent exclaimed, seemingly ignoring his deplorable state of being. ?A pleasure to meet you, my boy, I?m certain.?
The man then casually reached into his coat to produce a gilded cigarette case that shimmered of pure yellow gold, intricately patterned with spiraling vines and leaves. In the next moment he was holding a similarly treated flask using white gold leaf with an immaculate monogram engraved upon it. With a quick flick of his thumb, the cigarette case was opened to reveal a line of cigarillos, fifteen in total and all lined with care. The strong smell wafted from the case, a good vintage giving a crisp and sharp scent over the sooty background.
?Maybe a small nip or a good smoke?? he suggested as if the calamity around him was non-existent.
[hr]
?I see that you have laid your terms on the table, Mr. Farouk. But are they open to discussion??
The girl was playing a dangerous game indeed. For all the pretense of civility the U.A.E. feigned in the name of global image, it was a cut-throat portion of the world. Deals were often brokered with less than savoury individuals from politically unstable countries in the dark corners of the world. Farouk had always rolled with the best of them, making his fortune in the darkest of those corners with the villains that no one else dared to speak with for fear of their own lives. This lifestyle had taught the pudgy merchant that some clients needed a little more coercing than others. Keeping those experiences firmly in mind, with each pause in the gestures he made while speaking the man?s right hand casually began to inch closer and closer to his belt line.
?Why, for whatever would you need to be changing our terms of agreements?? he questioned in a jovial manner. ?I can give you many, many things of what you are wishing. Eeeh~, what is little grail warring comparing to this, yes? Much safer and many more wishings; no monkey paws business, yes??
As he posed his final ?question?, his hand stopped right at his waist, drumming his fingers against his pot belly in a gleeful manner. As each finger tapped, he could feel the image of his pistol?s grip form in his mind as its dimensions were defined. His robes were thick enough to keep the small firearm properly hidden; however, he knew that his touching would begin to smooth the creases out and reveal the hidden weapon. The merchant could only hope that the moving fingers, the bulky clothing and the subtlety applied would all be enough to distract her from seeing what he wanted to keep hidden for now.
Rider stood on the sidelines of the battlefield, both hands lightly cradling the heft of his axe. It was a deliberate choice, not gripping it more tightly, or else his nerves might have commanded him to snap it in half just a moment ago. His bright red eyes were wide open, aghast at the inherent deadliness of the very first interaction between his Master and this man called an Executor. At first he had thought that Daria had been run through, and was a moment away from hewing the arm that dared to wound her. But his enhanced vision gave him a completed image of the frozen combatants, and he was impressed by them both. This one named Kyle had been very thorough in countering Daria's first strike, but despite his apparently superior position it was clear that he had lost the first round of the battle. He had intended to slay her immediately, it seemed, but Orihara's attack had been so perfectly suited to survive his methods that Rider briefly wondered if it was merely luck, or prescience that Daria approached in the way she did.
She had swung wide, he could see, and some strange stream of metal had shot from some hidden compartment to lash at Kyle. Her Mystic Code had, by its function, kept her body at the perfect range to avoid any wounds from the sword he had thrust toward her belly. And not only that, but it had served as a shield and mixed with a black ichor meant to mingle into Daria's flesh. She had definitely won this round. Rider curled his lip back and snarled, though, as he took in the full weight of the situation. This was a pyrrhic victory at best.
Neither side was able to approach the other without being gutted or making contact with a very dangerous looking black liquid. And so they disengaged. Kyle withdrew and replaced his sword and began to tidy himself. Daria took a few steps back as well, but she seemed far less composed than her opponent. She was not rattled; no, that would have comforted Rider and confirmed that she was human. But there was a bounce to her step, and the way her chest heaved up and down with little giggling fits troubled him. She had nearly been killed twice-over in the span of seconds, and all she could feel from it was a rush. He stamped his foot, clamping down on his tongue to keep from lashing out at his bloodthirsty companion on the spot. Damn it, Daria! We're not here to have fun; if you get too caught up in the excitement you're going to make a mistake and get yourself killed! You got lucky this once, but if you want to survive you need to start taking your opponent seriously. You need a strategy to beat an opponent like this...
"Demon's blood," Executor Solus stated with a wicked grin. "I don't think your code'll be much use now. Black Keys'll make it nothing more than a pile of grey goop."
Daria shimmied from foot to foot, shaking out her body as she returned the horrible face of the priest. She could see the sorry state of her Prana Drop from the corner of her eye. The gray liquid had disgusting globs of black sifting around through its form, and no matter how much she tried to form a perfect sphere a few imperfections remained. It seemed the Executor knew his stuff; this demon blood had definitely crippled her Mystic Code. If what she remembered was true, then the black goop was supernaturally corrosive. If even a droplet touched her bare skin then she would be in a world of trouble. She opened up a pouch on her side and carefully guided the Prana Drop back in. She sealed the clasp over the pouch and gave a thumbs-up to her opponent, of all people.
"No worries, Kyle! If ya wanted the kiddie gloves off, all ya had to do was ask. Now then..." She took a big wind-up, lifting one leg into the air and slamming down into a sumo stance. Rider wondered if he only imagined the ground shaking. Both Daria and Kyle spoke at once, "Let's rock!"
And faster than the human body should have permitted they closed the distance. Daria and Kyle tore up the turf beneath them until they came together in a violent clash. From the outside, a violent and unpredictable flurry of limbs. But within, a carefully measured dance where every step meant life or death. Every punch that Kyle threw, Daria tossed aside or met head-on with her own fist. Every kick that was launched she sent to the ground with even force. A meaningless, matched exchange of strength that only served to bloody their knuckles and bruise their shins. Exactly as Daria wanted it to be; Kyle's sinful grin was expanding. The dirty old priest was getting off on this fight. Oh, Daria wasn't upset with him. It wasn't like she wasn't doing the same. But while he was reveling in the violence, she was analyzing what she knew about him. She'd been robbed of her Mystic Code, and that was her primary method of combat. This guy probably had some mysteries up his sleeve yet. She needed a way to end the fight before they gave him the advantage.
Everything the dirty old man said is true; Black Keys are perfectly suited for the destruction of demonic spirits, and he's pretty much converted the Prana Drop into one. I could probably work out the imperfections and repair it, but that'd take, like, an hour of concentrated effort. I can't exactly do THAT in the middle of a fight! So that's the gist of it. Pretty lucky for him. He knocked out my best weapon... or, wait... Did he, really? It's harder to manipulate, sure, but it's not like it doesn't work anymore. All he's done is mix in demon's blood. If anything... if anything that makes it even deadlier! Oh jeez, yeah, I'm digging this! I could probably floor him in one hit if I could just make contact with the Drop now. But his Keys... A few good hits of those and my Code will be destroyed. Permanently, I bet.
So I've gotta find a way to tie up his hands. I have to make sure he can't use his Black Keys long enough for me to make that strike. So, first things first! I have to make him draw that sword!
Her time was up. A particularly powerful kick had generated a ton of knockback against both of their bodies, and they were flung apart. The sod was shredded and bits of grass and dirt littered the air as Daria's heel ground into the earth. That was the opening that Kyle had been trying for. He called out an aria and his body filled with power. The holy man placed it all into a board beneath him that crackled to life. "Bolt Rider!" Like he was crouching on a rocket board, the dart-shaped projectile blasted along the ground with its rider, on a beeline heading straight for Orihara. She hopped backward and crouched, letting the pressure build up in her legs. Step one to getting that sword out was getting Kyle off of his board and on the defensive. It would require perfect timing, but...
"Hup!"
An instant before collision Daria leaped. Her powerful muscles unleashed all of their energy and sent her body spinning into the air. Her lithe form twirled and somersaulted until she was upside down, right above the man that had been aiming for her. Two arms snapped out like powerful jaws and grabbed the priest by the cloth above his shoulders. "Let's go for a ride, ya dirty priest!" The energy from her jump wasn't expended yet, and as she continued to flip about Kyle Solus was dragged along with her. As she righted herself vertically the executor was wrenched from his Bolt Rider and flung above her, hanging briefly upside down in vertigo. As he came back down Daria released her hands, and flung his body down to the dirt, letting him tumble along its hard surface.
And then she descended along after him, a falling axe kick coming for the closest part of him that looked crunch-able. With a "KYAA!" she struck, ecstasy written across her face. The sheer pleasure of every muscle in her body firing off at once was too much for her face to hide. She beamed, practically begging Solus to counter her. It would just be too sad if she cracked his skull open this quickly.
The enemy Master responded to his assault with a calm utterance of her own. With a touch, each head in turn struck her hands, and each were transmuted from roiling fire into a pillar of ice. The transmutation snaked its way through the spell, threatening to freeze the mass of flames Clay had conjured to act as its source.
A calm, measured reaction - one that only moved with what was necessary. He wouldn't be able to bully or intimidate this one, but there were still ways to exploit that temperament with enough time to prepare. He'd seen enough.
Dipping his blazing hand into the flames, a surge of prana made its way through the spell, reducing it to mere cinders. A further jet then shot its way through the transmuted ice, and with a shudder steam rose from its surface. It was plain to see it was on the verge of shattering, sending shards of ice into anybody in the immediate area if left unchecked. With that distraction, he began a quick but measured movement backwards, careful to keep his eye on the enemy magus the entire way through.
Lancer, meanwhile, focused on his counterpart. The enemy Servant bounded towards the helpless girl with frightening speed and summoned two golden spears to act as his weapons. Lancer immediately maneuvered to intercede, his own weapon at the ready. A grin split across his simian face as the enemy Lancer threw one of his weapons. He understood the purpose behind this attack - an attempt to keep him from moving towards the girl. It's too bad it wouldn't work in quite the way he expected.
Ducking low, Lancer raised his arm to his mouth and blew. Several hairs fluttered out in front of him, and as they did so a pop and a puff of smoke issued forth. When it cleared, three replicas of Lancer stood at his front, each appearing to be perfect copies of the original. They too grinned in Lancer's impish manner and leaped forward, forming a line in front of the spear. He dashed low to dodge the spear, and as it sailed through the air it connected with the clones, skewering each one, which then promptly dissolved into a puff of smoke. With that obstacle out of the way, Lancer was at the girl's side in an instant. With a howl, he bounded forward, ready to strike...
"Lancer. We're retreating - NOW."
He glanced back to see his Master at the girl's side, his eyes still fixated on the enemy magus. His hands were ablaze, ready to counter anything the woman sent his way. The man's tone left no room for interpretation - this order was absolute and could not be swayed. Lancer stopped with unnatural speed and leapt back, at this Master's side. His grin was gone, replaced by a dissatisfied frown. "What!? You think we can't take them? Or are you a coward too!?"
"We can discuss this later. Take us out."
"But... fine." As much as Lancer hated to admit it, an argument this boring would only kill the fun of such a pitched battle. He grabbed the girl and his Master, and with a bounding leap backwards, disappeared from view.
Cassius held in her smirk at the fallen master, clutching his head in internal agony. The kind of damage a sword could never do, and if done properly could do in an army before they raised their weapons. The only problem was their assassin, she wasn't expecting mental resistances on someone meant to cling to shadows. This was not a good thing to learn, she kept her eyes on his movements, listening to his babbling.
"...shut up...Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!!!"
The Team of White glanced at each other, he was fighting what seemed to be a losing mental battle. Was it the phantasm or what she said, was a good question. A better one was how close to the edge was this enemy. His thrashing and screaming rose in intensity and volume, Yuri chose now to rise higher into the air. The master was done, for now, this would be a battle between servants. Still, better safe than sorry, Yuri figured.
As the servant dug his fingers into his head, Cassius couldn't help but feel pity. Sure, the ranting and raving were those of a true lunatic, though she couldn't help but sympathize... It sounded like Brutus, a week after the murder of Caesar. Somewhat.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you all if it brings forgiveness in His eyes! HOW DARE YOU SAY BROTHER DOESN'T LOVE ME?!"
He began his... charge? He flailed and zagged, making it difficult for Cassius to keep up. Too sporadic and random to plan, Cassius decided another strategy would be best. He was equal in speed to her, and he was likely stronger if what she felt when he slashed her phantasm was any indicator. Cassius moved her dagger behind her, skipping back a few steps to give a wide enough gap between them.
"If you wanted forgiveness, attacking a church is not the way to go!" She began, taunting. "The men you call allies slaughtered an innocent priest! Think of what your actions are doing, stop this madness before it truly begins!" She ended, pleading for him to listen.
Yuri took his moment to subdue the master, snapping to attention and looking at him rise to his feet. He raised his bloodied blade into the air, letting the soft moonlight flash off the bright steel. He almost looked heroic, like a knight of old as the prana swirled and clung to it's edge, as he muttered the aria to himself;
"Slice deep, rend the air as flesh, Wind Scar."
Yuri waited for it to stop, stretching up the length of his sword, before flicking the blade down with all the force he could muster, the prana releasing itself from the blade and launching towards the Scarred man at blinding speed, a wild slash meant to maim. He'd wait to make his kill for now, as he dropped into a samurai's stance, aiming his blade over his shoulder, one hand on the pommel to drive it into his flesh. He jumped off and dove after his attack.
It was the strangest thing. The Tectonic Shift was a mystery that moved faster than a human mind could process. Alexander Valjean Mustang was quite certain of this fact. He had spent months testing every facet of it; recorded it from a hundred different angles and pored over every sliver of film. And yet this bizarre man--this child--had slipped through its cracks with no effort at all. "Remarkable!" he exclaimed, sincerely shocked by his opponent's ability to do so. Shirtless and exposed on the chilly night, it was difficult for the Supervisor of Clemont-Ferrand to tell... was it simply exposure to the cold that gave him such goosebumps, or might it be this Master he faced? With a hand on one bared hip, Alexander slouched as he tried to strategize. This was no simple task, working through the flippant taunts of this hotheaded youth.
"You look silly doing all of that needless posing, you know."
"Hrmph." He did not flatter the foolish boy with a retort made of actual words. A man of true caliber need not resort to petty insults. I can already tell all there is to know about this shallow boy. His talent as a magus is commendable, but he is entirely full of himself. He'll fill up any silence with the sound of his own voice. And if I let him keep talking, he might let something important slip...
And so he did.
"If you had any flair or panache like myself, maybe you'd stand half a chance to show up the devilishly handsome Isaac Einzbern."
So THAT'S who you are... Isaac Einzbern. It makes perfect sense! That unmistakable white hair... such masterful skill in his craft. It could only mean that this boy is a homunculus. Yes, indeed! Then I can consider myself briefed.
"Yet you're a chump, a third rate magus from a fourth rate family. Just give it up, you know you can't beat a pedigree like mine. In fact..."
Isaac called out to his Servant, who had avoided combat until this moment, to seek out Alexander's own companion and kill him. Alexander watched her go, feeling his eyes linger on her form for just a moment too long. With a mental tug he kept his vision focused upon the Master. Isaac, for his part, made no effort to press the attack. The glam-rock boy kept his distance, mocking the magus of lesser blood with his taunting smile. Valjean Mustang hazarded a guess that they'd come to the same conclusion. Alexander would only waste his time pursuing the same manner of attack as before. That Flash Step would leave Isaac quite immune to any direct assault with its mobility.
He is indeed maneuverable, and as a homunculus his reserves of prana must be astronomical... enough even to dwarf my own. He can keep this fight up for far longer than I. But... he presumes too much! I have a thousand ways to press my assault, and his Flash Step will not protect him from a single one of them!
Alexander's rippling tapestry of muscles moved once more, the constricting of his flesh happening so quickly that droplets of sweat were left suspended in the air, glistening in the firelight. A loose, open hand teasingly covered half of his face, his body leaned ever-so-slightly backward as his other arm was in a guarding position, down, forward, and right of his chest. He dug his heel into the ground and left a crack, funneling prana into the wound within the earth.
"You are a talented man, Master Einzbern! Such effortless grace, such beauty of motion is to be commended, even if your attitude does not match the poetry of your body! But even so..."
His hands switched places. The fist rose up beside his face, and the open palm was extended outward. His body began to sparkle, flecks of blue light swirling about his form in the night. "With the heat of my blood I command this space: IGNITE!" His spell was instantaneous, and powerful too. All about the Einzbern's body the oxygen within the air ignited, exploding in lashing tongues of flame that struck in every direction, without a mind to discriminate targets. But the Average One was nowhere near finished. His body spun upon his heels, turning his left side to face the raging flames, Isaac somewhere within. Alexander flexed his mighty arms and swung them back, to the right side of his body. His right leg stepped leftward, and his whole body spun that way to face forward once more. His arms stretched forward as a roar rumbled up from his chest: "BEHOLD THE POWER OF TORRENTIAL WATERS! A CERULEAN WAVE"
The air all about Isaac twisted and melted as its existence was shredded apart, the pieces being stitched together in a new fashion. Where there was once air now was a humongous sphere of water, which broke apart and made contact with the flames. The prana from the spells melded, and as the elemental forces reacted both were eliminated. In its place was a thick, heavy cloud of mist, the Einzbern trapped in its midst. Alexander's eyes blazed with light as roared, "NOW IS THE MOMENT!" He dug his heel back into the crack he had made and triggered its pool of deposited prana. His arms retracted to the sides of his body, clenching with all their might. He threw his head back and yelled into the air.
"THE PRISON IS ALREADY CONSTRUCTED,
AND NOW AWAITS ITS PRISONER!"
The ground around the Black Master's feet began to split apart. A circle, five meters in diameter, spawned as a trench around him. And from it came sheer rock, its makeup contorted to construct a perfectly smooth dome. From either side the rock rose, and clamped tightly shut above him.
Let us see, young Einzbern, just what kind of man you are!
Alexander pointed toward the scene with one arm as he completed the mystery.
"YOU HAVE ALREADY BEEN SENTENCED, AND BEEN FOUND GUILTY!
THE SENTENCE..."
Einzbern was trapped twofold. There were no sources of light within the dome of rock, and so his vision was all but eliminated. And moreso, even if he had some manner of producing light, the thick mist would leave his eyes starved. And in an enclosed space, there was no way to remove that mist, nowhere to shift its presence to. This mystery, though, was more than a prison. It was the means of carrying out its sentence.
The pointed hand's wrist pivoted, and it produced a thumbs-down.
"IS DEATH!!!"
The prisoner could hear the sounds. Shifting, clinking rocks scraping against one another as something was set in place. What he could not see to explain the noise were the tiny rifle barrels forming upon the interior of the wall. Within them, shards of stone were loaded, to be the bullets. More than a hundred such barrels were formed, and aimed at every inch of the dome's interior. This was not to be a fight. This was an execution. This was the Firing Squad.
The salvo awaited only Alexander's command. Alexander bowed his head in respect to the man he had just doomed. "Godspeed, good sir. OPEN FIRE!"
[hr]
Off in the shadows of the burning church lurked a single figure, trying not to be noticed. Archer's stuttering breaths were muffled beneath the sound of crackling flames, and the shouts of his Master a distance away. And still he knew he wasn't safe. He had to get further away, before someone realized he'd gone. Before one of them... his eyes peered from behind a fallen chunk of rubble. He counted two heads in the distance. Both Masters, but... where was the--
It was already too late to run. A warm breath tickled his bare neck, and all the hairs on his body stood up. He tried to breathe, but his mouth was locked in place, and his lungs felt constricted. A dangerous serpent lurked behind him, and it slithered up to his ear. A voice dripping in sex and honey licked the air around his ear. "So, boy'o, when does the real fight start?"
"A-ai-haaaaah--" No sane sounds escaped Archer's blustering lips. He could already feel the space between his brows growing numb. Sheer pleasure leaked into his mind. And then she touched him, velvet skin brushing against his own as she stepped past. He couldn't feel that arm anymore save for the titillating rush of warmth that shot straight toward his chest. The beautiful woman stopped in front of him, firing two imaginary shots from her fingers. Both pierced his heart. The world around him grew dim and distant, and all he could focus on was the stunning angel before him. He tried to escape, and mustered all the will he had into his feet. They reluctantly obeyed and took a single, shivering step backward before she moved forward and wrapped herself around his other arm, pulling it toward her chest. The giggling girl smiled up at him. More than his heart moved in excitement, now. The girl asked him, "Your Master really knows how to put on a show, doesn't he?"
"H-he does," Archer agreed. He didn't know that for a fact. Right then he didn't know anything but that soft body drawing ever closer to him. He wanted to agree with it. Whatever she said was true. Anything she didn't say, wasn't. It had to be. Such divine form... could it ever be wrong?
She asked again, "I bet the hero that man summoned could show a girl a real good time, hmm?"
Archer's body trembled, and threatened to collapse in anticipation. Sweat coated every inch of his body, and the pleasing fire in his brain begged for just one more silky word to brush against it. "I... I c--... I coul--..."
[sub]"THE SENTENCE... IS DEATH!"[/sub]
And like a crack of booming thunder, all the magic was gone. His beautiful maiden was replaced in his mind by a hairy, shirtless brute looking down upon Archer with furor and disappointment. His mind briefly restored, Archer wrenched away. With supernatural strength and agility, even he could break away from a woman even smaller than he. He backpedaled away from the woman and hit the stone walls of the church, covering his eyes with one arm and using the other to keep her away with a pushing motion.
"I can't! I won't! Stay away from me, you harlot! Y-you... you poison my mind! The stench of deceit rests in your scented words! Arsenic in the honey you feed me!"
He only dared to look with a single eye from behind his shielding arm, and with that only slightly to Archer's side and not directly into her gorgeous eyes. His bow appeared in a flash of light, and he gripped it tightly. "I will not have you, *****! And you won't have me!!"
The swordsman maintained her lax stance as Twenty-One and his Servant approached, but tilted her head in response to the man's words. She had expected some sort of verbal bard in response, not an apolo-
"I should not have addressed you so formally -- it seems to have caused some confusion. After all, I have no interest in speaking with the hand maiden."
"..."
Hmmph. This bastard knew where to throw his punches, she had to give him that much. That, or for some bizarre reason he was sincerely more interested in her Master than herself. Either way, it was quite the insult, and Saber felt her blood begin to seethe. Her smile faded into a neutral line and her hands slowly curled up into half-fists. But she did not attack, not just yet. Not when her enemy had yet to draw his blade.
"Be careful, boy," Saber replied as Twenty-One walked past her, though she did not turn to face him. The brat was most likely a skilled magus, but the more immediate threat was still his Servant. Even if the enemy Saber had yet to speak or attack, it would be foolish of her to take her eyes off him. "It's one thing to insult my skill. But if you mock my station again, I can promise you that there will not be a third time."
Though she kept part of her senses on the bastard as he approached her Master, Saber switched her focus to the shorter knight before her. "You're a quiet one, aren't you? Are you content to just let your Master talk for you, or do you not have-"
"Saber!"
A sudden wave of apprehension, a result of her empathy with her Master, surged down the swordsman's spine, forcing her body to tense itself for action. What, had the coward actually decided to do something?
"Get away from them! We're retreating, now!"
[hr]
Matt found himself unable to properly think, much less move, as Twenty-One steadily approached. Everything, everything was stacked against him. He wasn't mentally or physically prepared for a fight. He knew nothing about his opponent and barely anything about the enemy Servant. He was separated from the rest of his faction, most of whom were likely dead or engaged in their own battles. If Twenty-One knew his name, what were the odds he knew about his magecraft or Mystic Code?
Victory here was beyond impossible. Retreat was the only viable option if he wanted to stay alive. But if he wanted to retreat, then he'd have to move first. And, judging by his current mental state, that wasn't happening anytime soon.
"Ah, Matthew, there you are. A pleasure to meet you, my boy, I'm certain."
The oddly friendly cheer in Twenty-One's voice did nothing for the cowering magus. If anything, it only served to further muddy Matt's mind; there was no reason for an enemy, one who'd already caught him in an ambush, to act like this. There had to be some angle that the gentleman was playing, but... For the life of him, Matt couldn't see it. All he knew was that this whole farce was horribly wrong.
"Maybe a small nip or a good smoke?"
Stupidly, the young man stared at the proffered cigarettes and flask. Though it was clearly impossible, what with the smoke and ash filling the air, the magus briefly imagined that he could detect the slightest whiff of tobacco drifting past his nose. Twenty-One's offer of refreshments only added to the disconcerting situation. It was simply too much for the boy to process.
It didn't help that the cigarettes clearly weren't his brand. Camel had never splurged on such elaborate packaging, so far as he knew.
Letting out a wordless cry of panic, Matt hurled himself backwards, surging to his feet and leaping away from Twenty-One. It was only after he was in the air and moving that he realized he was retreating back towards the still burning church. Skipping his feet against the ground, he altered his course, angling his retreat to the side so he could increase the distance between himself and the opposing Master without jumping into the literal fire. As he moved, Matt pulled a folding knife out of a pocket and flicked the blade open.
"Saber!" he called, shouting despite his still painful throat and lungs. "Get away from them! We're retreating, now!"
Landing in a half crouch, Matt held his knife close to his chest while extending his clenched left hand out before him as he prepared to leap backwards again. He didn't dare take his eyes off Twenty-One for an instant; the other man clearly had something up his sleeve. Ignoring him would likely mean death.
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