"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?"
Her first answer to that was a sardonic snort and a fold of her arms. Monkey paws? They were playing with enough fire already. It was understandable that such a greasy merchant would belittle the merchant so much. However, belittling him would be a mistake. Right beside the almost comical figure, was a snarling beast. That growling punctuated every word that came out of Farouk's mouth. It made Yi question how long things would remain civil, especially since the merchant was more or less humoring her request to discuss the terms of the hypothetical deal. She was playing for time, but what was he doing? Had she given him time to prepare something?
Berserker was getting impatient, why was his Master being so hesitant? Why did she seem to continue with going along with Master of Black's farce? Certainly, the reason wasn't lack of faith in Berserker of White's abilities? He was no stranger to unkind odds. He had been tied up, broken, blinded and still he had emerged vicious. Well, he probably won't have to resort to that just yet. But still, he clearly was able to take down the hairy shortie. That said, this wasn't the best choice of battlefield, and there was his Master to take into account. It was funny that someone who was only known for destruction, slaughter and skirt-chasing was now in a position where he had to protect a woman from harm. Even if that was bad enough, she was entirely serious about everything. Not that a War was the place or the time to loosen up a bit, of course.
Berserker sighed, he had run out of patience. Time to bring an end to this.
Before Yi could begin her second, or rather her proper answer, a wave of fire expanded outward from Berserker's position, while she almost collapsed from a wave of pain. He was yelling something unintelligible, or perhaps it was something in a language she didn't understand? However, pain she did understand. Was Berserker trying to drain her dry? Damn oaf. But before the Master could add anything to that thought, her Servant snatched her up his in arms and made a hastly retreat. He could only hope that the greasy merchant and his hairy lackey were distracted enough by that little number. Nothing like raging, panicking and outright unreliable fox spirits to cause a bit of a stir. Whether the result was worth revealing one of their cards in their proverbial deck had yet to be seen.
Naturally, Berserker was empty of such thoughts as he retreated to... well, anywhere.
Anywhere where there wasn't Farouk and that short Berserker of his. Destroying the Fuyuki Church and utilizing divide and conquer tatics... They just had to play dirty didn't they? Well, Team White would just have to adapt and from what she saw earlier, all of them probably were more able Magi than her. Hopefully, they all would survive the first round. Hopefully. Still, she and Berseker had to pull their own weight as well - not doing so meant death. Yi couldn't really say that her Servant had taken the right course of action or not. She was too busy dealing with the effects of Berserker's rather casual use of one of his Noble Phantasms. While he was foolishly retreating rather than advancing. It would just result in an excruciating game of cat and mouse. However, her protests were just met with shakes of the head. Did she really think was ready for a fight in this condition?
The air being exhaled crackled with frost as it escaped her lips, bringing with it all the tension built up inside her. Just a moment ago she had been squaring off with one of the world?s most formidable pyromancers and now she was watching him and his entourage bound off into the night. Her eyes wandered down to her trembling hands, having been kept still through sheer tenacity and disgust of having her adversary see her quiver with trepidation. Now she was free of that burden and looked as though she were about to break out into tears, just starring mindlessly at her shaking.
Lancer simply seemed put off by the entire exchange. The British man had been so cocksure of his success and then at the first sign of adversity he had decided to retreat, taking along with him his muppet of a Servant. Not Lancer of Black had been denied his opportunity for a fight he had longed for for centuries, but his adversary had been robbed of that privilege as well. The most disappointing factor was that Lancer had not secured his target. The younger sister of their adversary had been secured by Team White up by through the use of some sort of sorcery. Lancer?s attempts at diverting the ape?s path had been for naught as Lancer of White cloned himself and used the falsehoods as a shield. The toss had been strong enough to skewer three of the Heroic Spirits but as Lancer dug his weapon from out of the ground he felt the pang of failure inform him it was one body too few.
?They have escaped,? Lancer stated just loud enough so that his Master could hear, hopeful in his attempt to solidify her focus once again with such an aggravatingly obvious fact.
?Such an astute observation, my Servant,? she returned as her eyes rolled, tightening her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. ?My faith in your ability was clearly well placed.?
The Servant snorted but ignored the slight. Whether she was his Master or not such disrespect wouldn?t be tolerated, but he also realized the woman wasn?t from an age of constant strife and war. Chances were that the events of this evening were her first taste of true battle and that could be unnerving on the most prepared of souls. Instead he focused his attention upon the ground. Letting the spear he had just recovered vanish into the ether, the Servant began to brush his newly freed hand through the grass in search of something. His eyes flicked to and fro, intent on finding whatever it was that he had lost in the battle.
?Should we give chase?? the Servant questioned as he continued to probe the ground.
?No,? the woman said plainly, the uncaring chill returning to her voice. ?Let them go. I am certain when we need to, you will find them.?
?You are indeed correct, as always, Master.?
The Servant nodded in agreement, holding up the prize he had been seeking. Between forefinger and thumb he held three strands of hair. Each had been a part of the glossy coat of the Lancer of White just moments before he had so carelessly used them as catalysts in his mysteries. Now they would be the pair?s undoing. As the Servant?s gaze bored into the three hairs with unshakable focus, both the hairs and his pupils began to glow a magnificent gold. It was if he was scanning every molecule within the discarded fur, searching for any common threads between them and their owner. At last the Servant stood to his full height, looking off in the direction the three had fled to, his eyes flickering slightly with each movement his quarry made.
?Excellent.?
The woman spoke softly, straightening herself out after the ruffling of the small altercation. She knew her Servant now had the scent he needed and could pick it back up at any time they wished. Now she could focus on more pressing matters.
?Come, Lancer, we have work elsewhere before you may have your fun. I?m certain our ?allies? would appreciate some assistance.?
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 muted. At this rank, even time is meaningless as for every day he consumes two souls he will not age that day. Rank A+
Relentless Hunt- When the end of Lancer?s reign was envisioned in a dream and translated by a soothsayer, the hunt for his killer became an obsession that lasted a millennium. Such is his skill now that it takes only a small token for him to focus his unparalleled tracking skills. When a target is chosen, he is able to intuit their direction over the vastness of countries themselves but cannot identify the exact person the token belonged to. Only one person can be the target of this ability at any time. Rank B
[hr]
?If you wanted forgiveness, attacking a church is not the way to go! The men you call allies slaughtered an innocent priest! Think of what your actions are doing, stop this madness before it truly begins.?
Assassin of Black wasn?t having any of it. Cassius? words seemed as ineffective as her sword blows in trying to divert the beast from its goal. Flailing like a madman, he continued the assault upon the Heroic Spirit that had stung him so deeply. The distance the woman had put between them was negligible for the sort of being he had become. He dove towards the female Assassin, his arms twirling in the wind as his body spun in a corkscrew motion. While easy enough to step away from, the man simply landed on all fours and continued his awkwardly angled strikes at a breakneck pace.
Though both combatants seemed to be fairly inexperienced, their super human ability leant itself to a display of feigned mastery. Agile kicks and stabs were met with equal finesse, attacks blocked and parried as Assassin slowly drove into the defense of Cassius. She was slowly being driven inwards with Assassin?s skirmishing tactics, his seemingly erratic movements keeping her contained within a circle only a few feet in diameter. Her assumption in thinking that her opponent had warmed up to his full speed in his previous advance had proven to be a tactical error. Assassin of Black had proven to be much faster on his feet than first anticipated, especially in rapid, successive bursts. Eventually he would close in like a pack of wolves when Cassius wouldn?t be able to afford an inch in any direction and strike a killing blow. She had to think of a plan and fast.
Yet Assassin wouldn?t let her have that luxury. With ferocious tenacity, the Servant closed the window of opportunity that Cassius was trying to keep open in order to formulate and effective counter strategy. With a flick of his wrist, the obsidian shiv was flung towards his prey, like a lightning bolt, aimed for the throat. The Servant then dashed past his own projectile, using it as a distraction for his true intension. The glint of an emerald dagger shone distinctly as Assassin drew his prized weapon from within his cloak. It was a curious piece, two narrow blades of green tinted crystal intertwining twice before coming to a deadly point. The hilt was far more ornate than his previous weapon, a solid gold guard in the form of a coiling snake. In the center was inlaid a brilliant round ruby with the snake?s mouth firmly wrapped about it as if to swallow the jewel whole. As the phantasm was brought to bear, the murderer took position up behind his victim, crouching low, and awaited his plan to unfold.
Cassius had little recourse, stuck between what looked to be instant incapacitation and the waiting arms of her assailant. Bringing her gladius up to deflect the incoming shiv, she shifted her eyes to look towards her next move. Assassin of Black had already somehow skulked his way behind her, ready to strike like a wretched spider. She couldn?t be sure if he was simply a more capable operative of the shadows or if he had hidden his true speed from her. Regardless of the reason, she would need to strike with absolute precision if she hoped to outpace the insane spirit. As the clink of stone hit metal, the woman shifted the weight on her feet from back to front, bringing the blade down behind her in hopes of striking down her opponent in his reckless charge. Yet he was much lower than she had anticipated, moving upwards and forwards at once. The clever savage had even brought his left shoulder up, catching her sword arm before the blade could make a solid connection. He was in her guard and there was nothing she could do about it.
It was then that she felt the searing pain of the emerald blade sink into her gut. Pain immeasurable was undoubtedly coursing through her body now as Assassin dug the blade as far as he could manage, the prongs of the guard beginning to jab into her sides he was pressing so hard. Wrapping his left arm around her back, he embraced the woman in some sick display of compassion, shushing for her silence. He then leaned in and began to placate her fears, as if anything the monster could say would abate the panic. As he spoke the weapon glowed with a brilliant shine, dark tendrils snaking their way from within Assassin?s cloak, down his hand and onto the wound to brand it with untold magical horrors.
Yuri, on the other hand, looked to be in a perfect position of power. Rolan was still reeling from the near escape from Cassius? phantasm as the mystery soared its way towards him. He barely had enough time to react, the Wind Scar shearing the very night air itself as it cut through anything in its path. Quick feet kept Rolan ahead of the spell just enough to keep himself in one piece; however, he wasn?t fortunate enough to come out completely unscathed. A deep gash in his left side began to squirt copious amounts of blood, along with a few cosmetic scratches that swelled with their first droplets from various other near misses.
The assassin grunted through gritted teeth, forcing himself to hold back anything far more telling of his true condition. One blow and he was already in a bad way. Yet he could sense that his own Servant was having far more success than himself. If this knight-errant could be held back just a few more minutes, Assassin of White would be slain and Rolan the victor of this bout. He just had to keep pace and he was sure to be one step closer to his goal.
Unfortunately for the young assassin, his opponent was not in the business of prolonging his victory. From his position in the night sky he dove towards Rolan like a swooping hawk coming in for the kill. It was almost too perfect to be true and the injured magus almost hesitated at his opportunity to turn this fight around. Ignoring the burning pain in his side, Rolan looked towards his opponent, right arm raised to counter any sword blows that would rain blow upon him. It was only at the very last moment that he stretched out his left arm and pressed in what looked to be the bolt holding the guard in place. Once the button was hit, the blade of the katar shot out with a puff of compressed air and went hurtling into a nearby tree. The thin wire cabling glistened in the moonlight, stretching taut as the trained killer dove in the opposite direction. There was barely any time to react now, but he needed to secure his foothold. Bringing the other punching dagger to bare, the youth fired it off towards his counterpart, hoping to trap him between the two razor sharp filament wires. Like a spider he wove his trap and now he awaited what terrible fate he had wrought for his captive.
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 of staying hidden has granted him the exceptional ability to move and remain unseen from even some of the most perceptive individuals. Rank B+
Madness? Embrace- Such is the volatility and unpredictable nature of his curse that it can transmit itself through mere touch. Any open wound that Assassin can make exposed contact with instantly infects the victim with the Mark of Cain. Rank D
Jealousy: The Sin of Unrequited Desires- A crystalline dagger that shimmer green. It is the purest manifestation of Assassin?s one, true sin against his twin brother. This accursed weapon pulsates with dark energies and drives its wielder to more and more heinous acts against those they feel are wrongly above them. When the dagger strikes, using a mental command, the weapon can drain its victim of their most desirable qualities and transfer them to the wielder, effectively switching their aptitudes. This is functional on all personal skills and some weaker phantasms. Because of the attachment a phantasm has to its owner, Jealousy is only able to steal one from an individual that is not already manifested. The effects of this phantasm are reverted once Assassin disengages his target. Rank C+
Mark of Cain: Living Accursed of God- Assassin is the first living accursed of the world, branded as a traitor to mankind and turned into a monster by the God he had served. It is the vilest of curses, an ancient magical sickness that warps and corrupts those it can infect into terrible monsters of their former selves. Appearing as a scrawl of constantly shifting, shadowy designs, the curse drives its victim to greater acts of depravity. When dormant within another host, the curse seals away a portion of their power, reducing the parameters of more powerful beings by one rank and requiring the curse to take over the victim to release their power once again at the cost of their sanity. The curse can be evoked by the host of their own will or at the mere presence or command of Assassin. Rank B
[hr]
She was good, he?d give her that. One moment Kyle Solus had been jetting across the gap that separated himself and Daria, the next he was spinning end over end through the air, hurtling towards the ground. He had to admit, he was impressed by the amount of force she had managed to put behind her toss. Hell, he was impressed that the girl was even able to grab him off such a fast-moving projectile! Yet here the executor was, tumbling across the rough ground, his body being battered and his exposed skin getting rubbed raw. It seemed like forever before his body slid to a halt, lying on his back as he lazily stared up at the night sky.
It wasn?t to last for long, however, as the shrieking harpy he had been tussling with was falling straight towards him. Her leg was raised high into the air, ready to shoot down and crash into his chest the very first moment she could. It was an impressive feat of athleticism and for someone who had found issue with battling a ?dirty? priest, she seemed quite comfortable taking such provocative positions. Kyle couldn?t help but smile at his own smarm, not even trying to move an inch as the kick came down full force into his ribs. He could hear the bones crunch with the impact, his chest becoming a caved in soup of bone fragments and exposed organs. Almost instantly the man doubled up in pain, clutching himself tightly in an uncontrolled reaction. He sounded more like a wounded animal than a man as he tried to stifle his cries of anguish through gritted teeth. It was then that he felt his body beginning to force him onto all fours, and he obeyed without hesitation, just before he began throwing up blood and bile. His stomach pumped itself dry and he could feel his body beginning to grow cold. It was an all too familiar sensation yet one he would never get used to, no matter how many times it would be induced in his lifetime. He his involuntary actions came to a close, the man let himself fall to the ground, fatigued from the experience. He could feel the slick stickiness of the contents within his stomach smeared across his face as he let his eye close for a brief moment of rest. To Daria, it might have seemed he was dead if not for the constant, low groans that kept emanating from the man?s lips. Lying in his own puke, the executor could only await the sweet embrace that pain like this brought.
[hr]
Twetny-One was almost aghast at the behavior of the Heller boy -- almost. The boy certainly had reason to be suspicious of the Enforcer before him. After all, his position within the Clock Tower was to keep other mages in line. Furthermore, he was an opponent in this Holy Grail War, supposedly charged to kill the child with prejudice to obtain a single wish. Yet for all the danger he represented, he assumed the young magus would have treated him with manners befitting one of both their statures. The man simply tutted in disappointment and withdrew a single cigarillo from the case, placing both gifts back into his jacket afterwards. With a simple flick, as if striking a match, Twenty-One brushed the end of his smoke against an ember dancing ever so gently in the wind and lit it with a great puff. Inhaling deeply, he could smell the sweet bitterness of the tobacco before exhaling the smoke into the night air with a satisfied sigh.
?Matthew, Matthew, Matthew? I would have thought your grandfather would have taught you better manners than this.?
Twenty-One then began to casually stroll towards the boy, as if he hadn?t a care in the world. The small pocket knife was nothing to concern himself with. Matthew wasn?t one to take a life needlessly; he was too much of a coward to involve himself with such activities. No, even if the boy acted out of fright the Enforcer would simply stop him with his superior skill and steeled demeanor. It was the tomfoolery of thinking there was a way to escape that grated on Twenty-One?s patience. His Servant was already in the appropriate position to halt the Heller boy?s retreat, having seized his opportunity in the momentary confusion and slipped into the ether before reappearing in a shine of blackened purple prana. Now the oriental knight was staring at the back of Matthew?s head, the boy?s back pressed and stopped against Saber of Black?s chest. Despite the oddity of his position, the man seemed unusually stoic for the situation. Not even a frown creased his face as the Heroic Spirit looked down upon the pathetic boy, waiting for him to realize the predicament that had befallen him.
?I?d prefer this not to come to blows; you know that, right, Matthew?? Twenty-One mused as he began to close to gap between himself and his supposed enemy, taking a large puff of his smoke before continuing. ?I?m no stranger to fighting, I?m sure that much is obvious by my station. Simply put, if I had wanted you dead, Mr. Heller, you would be; it?s as simple as that. So could you please stop waving that butter knife about and speak like enlightened individuals that would bring some iota of dignity and grace to our families, hmm??
The man had stopped himself at arm?s length from the Heller boy by the time his little speech ended. While he was confident in his ability to subdue the boy, keeping a reasonable distance would prevent the need to violence. So he waited for a response, having every card in his hand at this point and hoping the child would recognize this. Only someone stupid or desperate would try and make a move now. The problem being, this boy was turning out to be both?
[hr]
His position had changed so quickly and drastically that Isaac hadn?t had time to react. One moment he was comfortably holding the upper hand against the Supervisor, the next he was encased within a rock tomb, surrounded by steamy mist and pitch black darkness. The quick but immaculate crafting of these mysteries gave the Einzburn pause in his next move. It seemed the giant oaf wasn?t willing to just continue to throw out the same powerful mystery. No, he was willing to throw out all of his powerful mysteries! As the homunculus brushed his palm across the stone prison, trying to decipher its make, he could only imagine what massive reserves were needed to wield such a magecraft efficiently. It seemed as though his plans would need to become that much more intricate if he had any hope of winning this bout.
Returning to the center of the mysteries that had been unleashed upon him, Isaac exhaled deeply and closed his eyes before beginning to focus his attentions on a plan of action. He could see his hand clearly in his mind, using the image as a focusing point. It was a mantra that had been repeated tens of thousands of time in his short life, yet every time it never changed down to the very last detail. The knife came down as quickly as ever, coming down onto the back of the hand and spraying a crimson shower everywhere. As the blade connected, Isaac could feel his magical circuits light up with the familiar pulse of prana and his eyes opened to the world around him once more as he chanted in a foreign tongue.
?What was one is now two.
Connected by my contract of blood,
Copy the body and share the soul,
To whichever ends I command,
Vessel of my flesh, do my biding.
Doppelgänger!?
As the homunculus completed the aria, he took one slow step backwards. From him, another began to take shape, as if Isaac was stepping out from a second skin. Great globs of blood and sinew turned to stringy tethers as they clung to the mage?s body before snapping their tenuous holds and flopping lifelessly to the ground. Yet the newly created creature didn?t seem to have any sort of intelligence to it, its visage blank and its pupil less eyes staring aimlessly forwards. The master had only but a moment to grope outwards and inspect the likeness of his creation before his attention needed to be placed elsewhere. A simple straightening of its posture would have to do to try and emulate his silhouette.
The next mystery wouldn?t be so easy, which was saying something considering he had just created life, however temporary it was. The boy fished around in his pocket momentarily before withdrawing a simple golden coin, grasping it tightly in his right hand. As his grip tightened, he could feel the warmth of his body slowly transferring itself to the coin, making the metal more malleable. Time was of the essence, yet he needed to focus to ensure that the mystery was performed correctly. One wrong move and he would be nothing more than an inanimate mess of flesh upon the lawn.
?As greed is the base of man,
So shall it be what I become,
Let this metal consume my body,
And protect it from that which would harm,
Let this worthless flesh,
Become something worth saving.
Gift of Midas!?
The boy could already hear the shifting of stone as the barrels formed themselves within his prison as his spell began to take effect. His time was up but he had succeeded in shifting his body from flesh to that of molten gold. As his features melted away, Alexander?s mystery began to fire off in full force, hundreds of stone bullets being shot out at near sonic speeds. Yet the homunculus boy would live to see another day, already seeping into the safety of the soil beneath him and leaving his copy to the fate of becoming a pile of hot, sticky meat in a matter of moments.
* * *
Archer of Black could hardly believe her ears as she was so rudely shoved away. At first he had seemed like such a nice boy toy. His young features and innocent manner were just so alluring to the fiery redhead. But now? Now he was protesting her kindness, calling her unspeakable things. A harlot? A *****?! The boiling anger in Archer?s blood was evident as she shook with rage at the insults being slung at her. The child was even foolish enough to believe a weapon would make her reconsider her actions now. No, Paris was not the most knowledgeable or astute when it came to the ways of women.
The petite femme fatale easily brushed away both his weapon and his guard with the grace and finesse one would only expect from such a beauty. She then brought her hand back as far as she could before landing a thunderous, open-palmed slap to the pathetic boy?s cheek. Such was the force of the blow that she wouldn?t have been surprised if the loud smack could be heard from the other teams. In fact, it was strong enough to land the pitiful boy right onto his backside, staring up at the hellish woman. She then straightened herself out, putting her hands to her hips before leaning forwards once more to vent her anger.
?You-you-you-?Hmph!? she stuttered out, her anger blinding her from her more articulate speech. ?Serves me right for giving an incredulous pup a chance. If you?re going to act like that, I?ll just go find a real man who can appreciate his fortune.?
The woman then turned on her heel and left the boy to his own devices. This place was already getting on her nerves. Two boys had already brushed her off like some cheap thrill since she had come back to this world. At least the second had had some difficulty resisting her wiles. Yet there was little conciliation in those thoughts and for a moment she worried that maybe there were no men in this brutish war that she could find warm solace with. But no, those were foolish words, especially for such a vixen as herself. It would take little time to find some brave and righteous man she could lay with and be at peace.
She just needed to start finding the actual men?
[hr]
Fire everywhere!
One minute, Farouk had been trying to convince the young lady Yi to sign away her life in exchange for helping them win the war, the next a sea of fire and fur had appeared from the surrounding gardens. The Master of Black was certainly taken aback by the sudden change from diplomacy to intimidation but his Servant was more than prepared for this outcome. In fact, by the gleeful smile that had adorned his face, it was as if he had been hoping for this the entire time. No sooner had the orange beasts been unleashed than Berserker had been in front of his master, batting away the spirit foxes with mimicked claws. He was brutal but efficient; stomping, clawing, punching and even biting his way through the furry horde that assailed them. Yet hundreds more beasts poured out and to Farouk it seemed as though they would be overwhelmed by the Phantasm?s force.
And then it stopped?
The master looked about, trying to see if he could spot where their adversaries had retreated to, but with no luck. The only thing left were the slowly dissolving corpses of the foxes Berserker had slain and his servant, a wicked grin hidden behind his freshest kill, his jaw still clamped down on the poor fox?s broken neck. As the body finally flecked away into a shower of prana, the murderer barred his blood soaked teeth and cackled maniacally at the slaughter that had just occurred.
?Can we do it again, Master?? the brute questioned through heavy breathing, clearly taxed far more than he would have admitted to.
?I am not thinking that is bestest plannings, friend,? Farouk responded. The merchant was looking down at his chubby hand, a worried expression on his face as greasy gobs of skin were sloughing off onto the grass. ?I am having many ideas of who this large man is being. We must go find homes for now, before people are finding our many, many secrets??
The hairy servant frowned at the mention of retreat. He had just gotten to the fun part and now his leash was being pulled back in. He wanted to stay, to fight, to slaughter these weaklings and revel in their screams of terror and agony. Yet his master had other plans and he was forced to obey. If he didn?t, it would only damage what little report he had with the alchemist and his privileges would be taken away. The only affirmative he gave the merchant was a low growl before slowly making his way towards the front of the church.
He?d get his chance to terrorize, one way or another.
[hr]
?Master, I think we need to get outta here!?
Caster had barely gotten out his advice before another clash rang out into the dead of night. Once more the sword blows of the blonde haired woman had met the downturned guard of the aged sword smith. Another fist was thrown from the brown haired girl, straight for his head, but without enough speed before he could duck the attack. His only recourse was to strike back, slashing upwards as he came back to his full height and following up with a strike that was down and away from his center. The strikes had achieved their goal of breaking the swordswoman?s guard, but before the Heroic Spirit could take advantage her blade was already in place to block another attack. It was a stalemate, and as the smith turned on the ball of his foot and sprang backwards to gain some distance, it was all too apparent that he was fighting a battle of attrition on two fronts. If they were going to escape to fight another day, they would need a plan of action quickly before he was really backed into a corner.
The problem was Machiko. For the entire engagement, she had taken refuge behind a solitary tree, peeking out to witness the battle unfold but giving no real direction. He was stuck fighting two opponents with no tactical guidance which was proving to be an insurmountable handicap. On the other hand, Caster had two other fighting forms with perfect battlefield insight being fed to them. While he couldn?t hear any commands being issued, he could see links of prana connecting the three Casters together. No doubt they were sharing information through some sort of magical means as the two aggressive women seemed to be fighting in a far too unified manner to not be communicating somehow.
There was little time for more contemplation as another assault began, this time with the brown haired woman leading. She mindlessly threw out a powerful kick to the side of Caster of White?s head, so predictable that all that was required was to raise his right forearm to protect himself. It was then their women?s plan came to bare. The blonde woman dashed forwards, covering the distance between her and Caster of White in the blink of an eye. Meanwhile, the brunette was already twisted her right leg over her left to deliver a second, overhead attack, while still digging her left foot into the spirit?s forearm. It was a bind that most would have fallen prey to, but the emotionally collected sword smith knew that the smallest of adjustments could topple the greatest of plans. It didn?t take much, just raising his guard abruptly and shifting it slightly to his left to deflect the brunette?s right foot up and away and block the incoming blade the blonde was wielding with great force.
It was this moment that Machiko poked her head around the trunk of the tree once again to witness the battle. She had been analyzing Caster of Black?s movements, watching intently as the trio fought her servant. It was the only thing she could manage with her knees knocking together from shaking so much in fear. Great heroes of ages past, death dealers of the highest caliber, were locking blades right before her very eyes. All she could do to not slide to the ground was hang onto this tree for dear life. But her servant, Caster, was in desperate need of assistance. So she had begun to watch, picking the fight apart bit by bit to find any sort of weakness or inconsistency with their opponents.
It was an odd thing that the girl found when she examined Caster of Black closer. Their movements, their reactions, their power; it all didn?t fit. The blonde was so brutish and overbearing, giving even Caster of White a challenge when it came to keeping his guard up. The brunette felt like the exact opposite. She was weak and slow, only meant as a distraction to try and catch her servant off guard. Then it dawned on her, like a light bulb finally sparking to life inside her head. She knew what was going on.
?Caster, the brunette!? she shouted, motioning to slide the breach on a pistol as the Endless Trace morphed into her desired weapon, nestling comfortably in her moving hand as it loaded the first round into the chamber with the finishing of the motion.
The spirit sword smith was almost taken aback by the sudden action his master was taking. She was proving to be a very curious creature, but this wasn?t the time for musing. Now was the time for decisive action. His target was already twisting wildly through the air, feebly trying to regain control of her descent. With a small shift in weight, Caster of White then maneuvered his blade in the clash, sliding it down into the guard of the blonde Caster. A strike with his weapon would be impossible, but it didn?t stop the Heroic Spirit from bringing his backhand up and into the woman?s face with force. As his opponent staggered from the hit, he turned his attention back to the flailing brunette and sent his foot straight into her gut. A loud thud rang out as wood hit flesh and sent the woman tumbling backwards. To her credit, the girl did manage to keep her feet after it all, holding her side with an expression of pain and frustration. She was clearly contemplating how she would make the spirit pay for his transgressions.
Click!
The movement of mechanisms snapped the woman out of her thoughts of revenge and pay attention to the pistol being aimed directly at her temple. It had been a perfect setup by the pairing for White. Brunette Caster was now in the narrowed sights of Machiko Tsukino, ready to pull the trigger and end this conflict. Her hands were clammy and shaking, her breaths were quick and shallow and her mind was racing with the ultimate decision and how it would weigh on her conscience. But she was ready for that.
Her finger tensed and a single shot was fired as the pistol kicked back on the school girl. Everything seemed to slow for a moment and Machiko could have sworn that she had witnessed the very bullet that was fired spiraling towards its intended target through the air. The action of the gun slid backwards with a jolt before pushing the next round forwards and the schoolgirl watched with dreaded anticipation at the girl she had sentenced to an assured death. The brunette?s eyes went wide and she saw the flash of the gun, the same realization coming to her mind as they both waited for the inevitability.
Yet these two girls had never fought with great heroes before?
Suddenly the world came back into its regular momentum as the ricochet of metal on metal clanged out. The blonde haired warrior was already standing in front of her ally, shielding the brunette with as much of her body as she could. The bullet struck true, simply against an unintended target, and drilled itself into the blonde woman?s forehead with its force. She was taken aback, stumbling onto the woman she was protecting and collapsing to the ground. Everything was barely registering in Machiko?s mind as events unfolded to their somewhat unnatural conclusion. Before she could protest or fire a second shot, she could feel her body being swept away with the strength of an elephant. It was her Caster, doing whatever he could to get some distance between them and their adversaries. The girl couldn?t have agreed more with that sentiment right now.
?It was a trick,? she mentioned, explaining herself to her Servant.
?Hmm? What?re you saying?? he replied.
?The true Caster of Black must have been using some sort of illusory magecraft on me. I couldn?t tell which the real Caster was because they were all had Servant information around them. It doesn?t seem like she could change that information, though, and that was its fatal flaw. The brunette was moving far slower than someone like you, more comparable to speeds of a regular person. The blonde, however, was exceptionally quick, on par with your own skills, so she definitely couldn?t have been multiple ranks weaker than you physically. If I had to make assumptions, I?d say the brunette was the master, the green haired woman our mysterious Caster, and the blonde haired woman either Saber or some kind of familiar.?
Caster was almost agape at the sheer amount of tactical information his master had been able to gather during such a short duel. Forget that she hadn?t given him any sort of guidance, how had she read their opponent?s so quickly and under such duress and beguilery? Truly the girl was full of fortuitous surprises.
?So that?s how it is then?? he replied.
?I?I think so, yeah.?
He could tell she was beginning to doubt herself under his scrutiny.
?Well then, we should regroup with our allies and share tactical information. I?m sure they?ll all have a chance to face Caster before this war?s done.?
Machiko nodded in affirmation at that, glad that someone seemed to be able to trust in her talents. So through the starry night they went, Caster jumping from home to home with the lightest of feet as he carried his master away from the fight. Direct confrontation didn?t seem to be either of their styles and if they could join up with their team, both of their genius could be brought to bear upon the villains of Team Black.
* * *
?Dumb fucking *****, get your fat ass offa me!?
The brunette woman was livid with her Servant?s performance, now left in the dust by the Team White pairing. The jobber of a familiar she called her knight was now laying prone on top of her like a ragdoll and preventing her from chasing. The only thing she could manage now was to throw her arms and legs about in futility, screaming and swearing all the while.
After some gentle coaxing, the blonde haired woman finally stirred from her stupor. The warrior sat back up immediately, looking around for the punk girl that had dared to shoot at them. It was a slow realization that the two had retreated and the blonde could only sigh with frustration as she rolled over to allow her partner, now having an absolute fit, to stand up as well. As she stood, her left hand groped about her forehead until it found the wetness it had been searching for, a trickle of blood emanating from the bullet wound on her forehead. The slug was even still lodged into her face and without effort she removed the nuisance with a flick, revealing a small abrasion leaving a blemish.
?Why the hell did you let them go, dumbfuck?!? the brunette yelled out, immediately at the blonde?s throat once more.
?And what was I gonna do, Karine? Let you get shot?? she retorted, an equally fiery personality lighting up.
?I told you to call me master, you stupid ****!?
The two began bickering with the other, like two twin siblings vying to outdo the other. Caster of Black simply smiled to herself, amused at how simple the two could be. With a sylvan grace she began to glide towards the two girls, each step as if stepping upon a cloud. A gentle hand on both shoulders was all it took for them to instantly shush and look to the older woman for guidance. Her chosen appearance made her out to be far sterner than she acted, this much was certain.
?Girls, girls, please,? she purred, looking over one and then the other. ?My dearest daughters, you should not fight. There will be plenty of persons to show who the two best girls are in the world.?
The blonde barely seemed placated by the response, huffing in frustration and turning her back on the two. Karine, however, was still fuming over their supposed defeat to the school girl and her pathetic swordsman.
?I don?t give a shit, Caster.? she yelled back, pouting in her fit. ?Your stupid girl just up and let them get away. Do you know how pissed Twenty-One is going to be?!?
?Yes, I suppose he will be upset,? the woman cooed, moving to stand behind her master and lightly brushing and tapping her nails against her arms. ?For a while, at least. I am certain he will come about once he has had time to exert his brashness upon you.?
Karine was left standing by herself as her Servant whisked away as quickly as she had come. The girl simply watched, chewing on her bottom lip with a soft expression on her face. She could hear the rubbing of corduroy as her legs rubbed with anxiousness. Her eyes were deep in contemplation, glassy as she was looking into her mind rather than at her two Servants.
?Fine, whatever!? she finally said, throwing her hands up in frustration before crossing them across her chest. ?Let?s just get this over with.?
With that order, the three began to walk towards the front of the church. First was Karine as she looked onto their destination with hopeful eyes. Second was the knight as she gawked at her master, unsure of how she was placated so easily. And last was Caster, smiling coyly to herself in victory as the strings of her puppets led her to their next stage.
Mistakes had been made. That much was clear as the brutish barbarian sped up his assault, to the point where even SHE couldn't keep up. Cassius was not one to take mistakes, or failure, lightly. One was leading into another too rapidly, it was all she could do back up from every slash, and stop every kick. His minor retreat gave her the split second needed to use her phantasm, things would be easier after that. She barely caught the glint of the dagger as she brought her gladius to bare, the shiv flying at her already.
'Can't dodge.' She adjusted her blade slightly, reverse grip knocking it away. She had noticed the little blighter skulk behind her already, as soon as she blocked she turned on her heel to stab down. Only he wasn't where she was expecting. his shoulder knocked some of the air from her, but she held on to her weapon. As useless as it was this close to him. She barely had time to move her arm before pain shot through her body, the cold metal sliding in farther and farther. She tried to gasp out some form of shocked expletives, but Assassin shushed her. Arrogant prick! He had her wrapped like an anaconda, too. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw some shadowy snakes slink around on her skin. She more felt it, though.
She was panicking. She was aware of this, her body squirming against the brute as he held on tighter and tighter. Still, she had managed something. Freeing her blade arm, she grinned despite herself as she jabbed it into the man's back, bringing it out again quickly. Droplets of blood flew from the blade, splashing the ground behind them. The puddle swirled together, quickly taking the shape of a man. A vague thing, but it wasn't what Cassius saw that was important. It moved quickly, the shape slimming itself as it jumped inbetween the two, expanding to separate them. The golem turned to the Assassin of Black, giving an expression of sadness. It took the form of... some person or another, Cassius didn't know them so it didn't really matter, did it? Still, it did it's job, approaching his brother slowly, his arm shaping into a blade behind his back. Cassius wasn't able to take a breath, the tendrils wrapping around her magnificent brain. She clutched at her head, weaving towards the Assassin of Black in blind assault.
__________________
Yuri cocked an eyebrow as the Wind Scar hit it's target, he wasn't expecting that. Perhaps he was still shrugging off the last phantasm, which left a slight burn in Yuri's lungs. He began chanting as the blue haired assassin worked, creating a web between them. As though Yuri was some mere fly.
"Tch, taikutsu." Yuri announced at the end of an aria, activating his favorite mystery. Grey Haze made his body disappear in the moonlight, his shape becoming simple fog. The Assassin could probably feel a cool breeze as his shape wafted down to the ground, taking shape on the man's right. Just within reach of his sword. He performed a quick slash, aimed just above the soft glow of his opponents Command Symbols.
Yuri took a step back, whether or not that strike hit or not didn't matter. Relentless assault was what he needed to do right now, as the burn of prana use hit him again. He was taxing himself too hard. A few more mysteries would be it for the night, but he could always rely on his Command Symbols if he needed. He raised his sword in kendo stance, sending a quick vertical slash towards the injured master.
The cold night air fluttered through Clay's hair as Lancer deposited them in their destination - a rooftop he identified as being a few miles from the former site of the church, adjacent to Fuyuki Park. In the distance, against the pitch dark sky, he could see a smoldering cloud of embers and smoke in the church's direction. Lancer unceremoniously dumped Clay on the ground, causing him to land hard on his side. As he righted himself and brushed the soot and dirt from his coat, he gave Lancer a frown, before turning in the former church's direction. So much for a neutral ground.
Lancer gently placed Diana on the ground and turned to Clay, his face contorted into a scowl, fangs bared. "WHY," he hissed, not bothering to conceal his anger and contempt, "Dear 'Master', did you order that retreat?" He stomped over, his furious face stopping mere inches from Clay's. After seething for a moment, he continued. "We had that! I'd wipe the floor with that two-bit Servant, then we'd clean up the uppity ***** controlling him! So WHY, pray tell, DID YOU TELL ME NOT TO DO THAT!?"
Clay's own expression remained neutral as his Servant ranted and seethed. Another Servant, another arrogant, spoiled child. With any luck, he'd mellow out a bit like Rider. "I'M THE GLORIOUS SAGE OF HEAVEN, EQUAL OF NONE! EVEN THE GODS TREMBLE AT MY PRESENCE! SO WHY, DEAR MASTER, DID YOU FORCE ME TO RUN LIKE A COWARD!? HM!?" His scowl worsened as he observed Clay's non-reaction, the lack of a response only serving to anger him further. "ANSWER ME, YOU IDIOT!"
No response.
Lancer gave a massive roar, punching the the wall to his side, shattering it like it was made of paper. Shards of concrete bounced off Clay's coat as Lancer's tirade continued. "DON'T YOU IGNORE ME, YOU INSOLENT WHELP! DO YOU COMPREHEND WHO YOU BEHOLD? THE GREATEST WARRIOR AND KING OF ALL TIME, THAT'S WHO!" Again, Clay held his ground, not even bothering to look to the side at his violent handiwork as Lancer threw his tantrum. After another series of colorful threats and ostentatious titles, Lancer seemed to calm, panting and trembling slightly.
"You..." The rage in his voice had finally subsided, replaced by frustration. "Why? We could have won, right there. I thought you said you'd do what it took to win!"
"Perhaps. Now we'll never know."
"PERHAPS!? Don't get me started again, 'Master'."
Clay's eyes narrowed at his Servant at his tone. "We were at a significant tactical disadvantage, Lancer. In the midst of a brutal ambush. Retreat was prudent, and you know it."
"Prudent!?" Lancer balked, his eyes narrowing in return. "If they were going to gang up on us, they would have done it as we left the church - not when we had time to regroup after escaping! No, that woman wanted... to..." A proverbial light bulb lit over Lancer's head, and his eyes came to rest on Diana's still-unconscious form on the ground. His face went from its previous snarl to something altogether different, his mouth open agate and his eyes piercing Diana in outraged realization. "...she's why, isn't she?" Lancer's gaze came to rest on Clay, the scowl from earlier returning. "Why they didn't go all-out on us. Why you ordered us to retreat."
Clay's impassive frown turned to a scowl to mirror Lancer's, his own teeth baring in the moonlight. "You'll drop this line of discussion NOW, Lancer."
"She's holding you back, isn't she?"
"That's an ORDER."
"ANSWER ME!" Lancer, in a flash, grabbed his Master by his coat lapel and hoisted him over the side of the building. "If your dear sister had to die to secure our victory, would you let it happen?"
Clay grunted as Lancer's steel-firm palms bit into his throat. It took a great deal of concentration to both prevent himself from gagging, and to keep his legs from flailing as they dangled over the precipice. "...Point... received..."
"You aren't answering my question."
"I'll..." He gasped a quick breath, Lancer's hands starting to constrict further. "...send her from Japan when she awakens. You're right... I can't let her cloud my judgement."
"I suppose that will do." He released Clay, dumping him back onto the rooftop, before turning to pick up Diana and sling her once again over his shoulder. "So... where to?"
"Huff, huff..." The Orihara girl towered over her conquest, mind still honed towards battle to such an extent that she hadn't yet thought to lower her arms. As her breathing slowed her muscles slacked, knees unbending and arms falling to her sides as she glowered at the pathetic priest. "Shit, Kyle... I thought you would be more fun than that." She took a step backwards to let the priest crawl up to his knees. Her body language showed a girl less than impressed with the holy man spewing his guts out onto the floor before falling right into the slather of wretched substances. Her lip curled down, and she turned away from the groaning man. She might as well have killed the Executor for all she cared right at that moment. Rider watched him by her side, but the edge to his eyes hadn't yet gone away. Daria craned her head around to look at her Servant. "Whassup, Rider?"
His brow furrowed, fixated on the shivering body. "Aren't you going to kill him?" he asked of his Master. "You've clearly won."
"Nah." Daria shrugged her shoulders in indifference to Solus' life or death. "Death is for threats and for good folk who need to stop suffering. Kyle's neither."
The Servant's rigid shoulders didn't droop just yet. "Then do you mind if I kill him? He is still a Master, and his Servant may be deadlier than him."
"Yeah, fair enough I guess. Do what'cha gotta do, R."
"I intend to." Rider's red eyes paid very special attention to the priest named Kyle Solus. He's clearly deadly. Even if Daria's one to forget those kinds of things, he was clearly as tough as her. I don't know if he got cocky and misjudged her--whatever it was, she got a chance hit in and ended it too early. But... she crushed his ribcage with her leg. I saw her make contact. So how... how did Kyle manage to crawl back onto his hands and knees with such a painful injury? And why wouldn't he try to roll back over? It must be terribly painful to lie on so many broken bones. It doesn't make any sense! I think... whether he can heal injuries, or he's resistant to normally fatal wounds, this Mr. Solus isn't hurt as badly as he'd like Daria to believe.
Rider produced his Noble Phantasm: a mighty golden chain that coiled around his arm many times over. He loosened the metal serpent and let it loose towards Kyle. A noose slipped around his neck and tightened, further and further until Solus' neck was visibly squashed beneath its pressure. Rider hummed a few satisfied tones as he pulled the chain up, letting it tug even more heavily against the Master's windpipe. Whatever your secret is, Mr. Solus, I don't think it will save you from having the life choked straight out. I should probably decapitate you after this, too. Just to be sure..."
The chain pulled harder and harder, writhing more furiously against the chafing flesh of the priest. It only took a few brief moments for his skin to turn blue around the face, and then the hands, Rider had so thoroughly cut him off from air. All that was left now was... Rider dug his heels in and yanked the chain. It cut into Kyle's flesh and wrenched his head up and around with a disgusting crack. His head sat at an unnatural angle upon his shoulders now, no breath left to escape his corpse. Daria sat on a rock watching the carnage, her Prana Drop suspended in front of her. The operation she performed was delicate and time-consuming, but necessary, working out every imperfection in the metal that Kyle's ichor had introduced. "Man, Rider. That was brutal. You done here?"
Her Servant drew his axe. "In a moment." He stepped closer, just within distance of the body as he raised his weapon high. He didn't say anything or make a boast of any sort. Rider's intention was to be quickly rid of this grisly business. The axe came down fast and hard.
Saber had tolerated it when the talkative bastard had walked past her, ignoring her in favor of her Master. Striking down the Black Master before she even got a measure on his Servant would've been a terrible waste, after all. She wanted to take on her counterpart when he was in his prime; there was no way anything short of that could possibly be satisfying. So if that meant letting this impudent brat insult her and her Master and act like her, then so be it. Saber allowed Twenty-One to continue, keeping her eyes locked instead on the mute figure of his Servant.
Needless to say, when the Black Saber disappeared into the night, seemingly without moving a muscle, the swordswoman was more than a little surprised. Luckily, it hardly took her a moment to detect the enemy knight's new location; her instincts, finally tuned by decades of raw and bloody battles, placed him squarely behind her, behind Twenty-One... Directly behind the whining boy, in fact. That couldn't be good.
"Matthew, Matthew, Ma-"
Saber moved.
Her body blurred as she pushed herself to her limits, muscles creaking and groaning in protest as she spun about on her heel and slammed her open palm around the hilt of the blade sheathed at her waist. Her mouth set itself in a fierce grin as her body tilted forward, her feet kicking against the ground to propel her forward at speeds no modern human could hope to match. The sounds of shattering earth and rasping steel filled the cold night air as the ground beneath Saber's feet cracked beneath her, and as her sword began to leave its scabbard.
Less than a fraction of a second passed before the Servant was next to Twenty-One. From this position, unfortunately, she wouldn't be able to get a good attack off, not with her blade only half-drawn and her body tilted so drastically forward. However, that didn't mean that couldn't "nudge" the arrogant Master aside as she passed. After all, her elbow was in prime position to bump into the side of his chest, and anything that knocked him off-balance was bound to help. And something as light as that was unlikely to kill him, so that was also a plus.
So, as she continued drawing her blade, Saber slid her elbow into the man's ribs, a few centimeters below his armpit. The blow carried enough strength to knock a car out of her way.
And then she was past Twenty-One, the distance between herself and her Master disappearing in under a second. Her sword, finally sliding free of its sheath, shone in the moonlight, the crimson steel appearing to reflect the silver brightness back even stronger. Letting out a roar of joy, defiance, and battle-lust, Saber hefted the blade back, wrapping both of her hands around its hilt. And then, with her momentum almost carrying her straight into Black's silent swordsman, she swung her weapon down, moving it in a line that would strike Saber in his shoulder, cleave through his armor and chest, and exit out at his opposite hip.
Some part of the Servant's mind idly noted that her Master, his eyes spread wide with shock and adrenaline, had begun throwing himself out of the path of her blow. Though he wasn't moving nearly as fast as she could, he was making decent time; he'd probably land quite uncomfortably upon the ground, but he'd be alright. At least he wouldn't be bisected.
"If you're going to act like that, I'll just go find a real man who can appreciate his fortune."
"W-what did you say..?" Archer's words were quiet, so much so as to be unheard by the marvelous figure slinking away from him, stung by his words but not so humble as to take them lying down. The stinging red mark on his cheek attested to that. Hot tears streaked from the afflicted side's eye, and the other was squinted into a glare that so desperately wished death it might have been truly frightening on someone with the countenance of, say, his brother. He stepped out from the wall, staggering and full of nervous twitches that poked his body around in awkward ways. As bizarre and pathetic he looked, a bow in the hands of a Servant was still a deadly weapon. Even to other Servants. Archer brandished his weapon with flourish, his arms the only part of his body not shaking with indignation as he shut one eye, ground his teeth, and picked the spot, right on the small of her back, where the Archer of Black would be pierced by the arrow meant to snuff out her life. Under his breath he murmured curses to her name. "How dare you? What right does a woman of perfumes and oils have? What right has she to question my manhood? You whore... I'll pierce you and remind you of your place!" He pulled back the bowstring, just behind his ear... and ceased. He lowered his arrow and let the tension in the gut string go. Furious tears trickled off of his shamed, reddened face as he walked in the opposite direction, back to his Master.
Alexander was roughly where Archer had left him, standing shirtless and tall on the cold night, the cooling remnants of lava pooled behind him as he basked in the glory of his tremendous craft. The giant's arms were crossed--his expression was cross, too, staring daggers at his latest monstrosity. How in the hell had Archer missed this one? A dome of solid rock that stretched some dozen meters into the air. The tiny Servant's body drooped, gone limp just in the presence of such power. "By the gods, what sin against nature have you committed now?"
"Impressive, isn't it!" Mustang said in commendation of his own skills. Paris gave him a shifty leer. It's like you're having an entirely different conversation with me in your head... The magus stepped forward, letting the tattered remains of his shirt waft in the brisk evening breeze. "I believe the prisoner's sentence has been fulfilled! We'll lower the walls, and see if there's enough of this homunculus left to fight." His booted foot rose to waist level, and met with the ground in a mighty collision. That must have been some signal, as the walls of the Firing Squad dropped in response. The mist, pierced by so many bullets, dispersed with the breeze's contact. Left behind was a ruined landscape, the turf left a pocked and brown wasteland. In its center was a pile of steaming meat and tattered thread that may once have been a man. Archer stomach turned, but his manner improved all but immediately.
"You tore him to shreds... that means we won, right?" he asked with the beginnings of a cheer on his lips. But Archer was confused, as Alexander did not seem quite so happy, his tiny sharp eyes fixated upon what was left over of Isaac Einzbern.
Could I have miscalculated? I was certain that an Einzbern homunculus would be a match for me--moreso, even. Is it possible I applied too much force for even he to repel? Perhaps he lacked a means to defend against a physical assault? Possibly true, but why does it feel me feeling so unsatisfied? There is something I don't understand here.
"Boy!" Alexander barked, clapping a hand upon Archer's curly locks. "Attend to those remains. Find a hefty piece, above the size of your head, and toss it back to me!"
The Servant blanched. "C-come again, Master?" You want me to do WHAT, you bloodthirsty psychopath?!
Archer was wrong to question him, as he was so firmly reminded by the magus' steely glare, like two blazing stars in the shadow under his brow. "WAS I MISTAKEN, OR DO YOUR DUTIES NOT INCLUDE THE QUESTIONING OF YOUR SUPERIOR? Do as I say, and quickly! There is no time to waste!" His mighty hand drew back and slapped Archer in the back, stinging him greatly and propelling him forward with the greatest motivator of all: pain, intermingled with a tinge of fear. The stumbling boy in the tunic raggedly stumbled towards the pile of blood and guts, and with regret jammed his hands into the slurry. He recovered a slab about the size Alexander requested, and as quickly as he could get it out of his hands he chucked it his Master's way. Alexander caught it with ease, and let the raw flesh rest against his arm. His free hand worked over it, his fingers rubbing deep into it, splitting the sinew and stringy bits that held it together. Archer felt like he was about to be ill, yet the human showed no signs of acknowledging his grotesque behavior. Finally satisfied, the Supervisor dropped the hunk and stooped down to wipe the blood into the grass at his feet.
"W-well?" Archer asked indignantly. "What was the point of that?"
"The meat," Alexander declared. "it was hot."
The Servant's eyebrow twitched imperceptibly. "Of course it was. The human body is warm, and reduced it to a bloody pulp... why wouldn't it be hot?"
Alexander scoffed. "You've misunderstood me, boy, as is to be expected. Of course the body is hot, the matter at hand is that the body was too hot." He held up a finger. "The human body has a certain level of heat naturally, but the time since the activation since my spell's activation is significant enough that it should have cooled off by a degree or two, particularly in this weather. But this flesh is notably hotter than is normal. This implies that some manner of exothermic reaction occurred, something that used a great deal of energy. Being an Einzbern, it's likely this was some form of magecraft."
Archer shook his head. "I don't get it. Explain it simply."
"I am explaining simply, the problem is that you're simple!" the Master boomed. "What I am saying is that this Master we have here has duped us. I cannot say for certain how, but he escaped my prison. And he left a duplicate behind to attempt to convince me that he had died. His trick has failed; I've seen through it. But now I'm left to ponder how he did it..." He began to stroke his chin. "And where he's gone. Boy! Where is the Servant you engaged?"
"O-oh!" Archer rubbed his arm, avoiding eye contact. "She, erm, got away in the chaos."
"Hmph. I see. I should have expected her to survive. This is fine, though, your failure's given us a chance to track down the enemy Master!"
"Buh? Huh?" Archer was shocked by the sudden arrival of Alexander's arm around his back, and was pulled closer to receive his orders.
"If she has left the battlefield, the chances of her rendezvousing with her Master, Isaac Einzbern, are all but certain! Reconnaissance is your task, if you'll recall, boy. Go into spirit form and track them down. Return to me with their location, their current plan of action, and any allies they might have with them!"
Bewildered, Archer asked, "And what'll YOU do?"
"I shall reconvene with our allies," he boldly declared. "and formulate a plan of action. Hopefully one supplemented by the intelligence you provide. Are we clear, soldier?"
Archer saluted with a limp wrist. "Yessir." The magus nodded to him and turned back to the church, heading that way as Archer struck out on the path the Archer of Black had followed. His body began to disperse in feathered flecks of prana, his sullen eyes invisible to the boorish man who commanded him. O Captain, my Captain... how brave of you to send your only soldier into certain death while you sit safely behind the lines. Bastard.
He disappeared, and sprinted off towards the maiden he had shunned...
Rolan realized he was in a tight spot. Yuri looked as though he had barely made an effort to avoid the razor thin cables attached to the assassin?s katar. In fact, the Matou?s form had dissipated into a chilling mist that began to wrap itself around the young master of Black. The action was both disturbing and worrying, not knowing when or where his opponent would strike from. Yet the boy still had an answer; it was what made him such a feared shadow in the dark.
As the vapour that was Yuri began to surround Rolan, the boy's nerves began to settle from their panicked state from just moments before. His eyes began to glaze over, looking into a distance far beyond reality. His limbs began to heat up, the surge of power flowing through him once more that these mages called prana. In his mind he recited the mantra, over and over again until it was the only thing he could believe. Then, he saw the flame flicker to life in the darkness, a single candle burning in a sea of pitch black. He then whispered something barely audible to himself, trying to grab hold of that burning focus.
It was then that his body felt as though it was on fire, alight with energy from deep within that spread throughout his battered form. He could already feel his skin bubbling as it shifted, cells multiplying and joining, making his body much more dense than before. He was being reconstructed, greater and more powerful than any magus could imagine. They had mocked his simplicity, finding elegance in such a "feeble" mystery. Yet now, with the vast knowledge of the Einzburn family, he could sculpt his body into a tool of destruction. Or, in this case, a tool of invulnerability.
[HEADING=3]"...AND STEEL THE SOUL!"[/HEADING]
His timing couldn't have been more serendipitous as Yuri's blade struck the youth directly onto his wrist. The clang of metal on metal chimed through the air as the sword was violently deflected off, his skin as solid as diamond. He then began to tug with his left arm, straining under the great weight of the tree he had lodged his blade into, though success was inevitable as he was now. With sickening creeks and cracks, it was only a moment before the massive plant was ripped from the ground from its roots and hurtled towards Yuri in his stupor of regaining his footing after his failed attack. Even if this particular swing failed, Rolan knew he still had an upper hand with such a gargantuan weapon in his hands. If he gave the superior mage no pause, there wouldn't be time to bring out any of those other pesky mysteries.
* * *
Assassin of Black could hardly believe that the woman still had any fight left in her. It was a pleasant surprise, to be sure; he hadn't wanted his fun to end just yet. It was more so that he had never encountered such a stalwart foe in centuries and now he had been presented with seven. Seven luscious targets to tease out and pick apart, gob by bloody gob, until he was satisfied with the results. And then? Then he would be reunited with the one he had hurt those many years ago. His soul could finally be at rest for the crimes he had committed and he would atone for his sins in His glorious eyes to walk amongst man once more.
Though he was getting ahead of himself. First this whore would have to pay for her transgressions. As the sword slid out of his back wound, he could hardly feel the pain that most would have been agonizing over. The blades of a thousand mortals had dug themselves deep into his back before and had failed to realize their goal. What difference would this one make? It was then that the Heroic Spirit noticed the treachery of the move. Her goal wasn't to murder her assailant outright. As the droplets of crimson vitae splattered across the lawn, a figured formed from it that surprised even Assassin of Black.
It was himself.
An exact replica of his visage stared back at the sinful spirit. At least, that's how it would appear to the ignorant Assassin that had created this puppet of lifeblood. It was a disturbing effect, to be certain, and the shadow killer barely held back a shiver down his spine. Clearly this creature was meant to disturb his calm and, to his dismay, it was proving effective. Yet he could turn this around. He could use this beguilery against the woman by using some deceit of his own. The spirit would need to act quickly, however, to ensure the plan came to fruition as best he could devise.
The puppet wasted no time in its attack, charging forwards with a small stone crafted shiv in hand. Taking hold of his captive more firmly, Assassin of Black flipped over the spirit he had just infected, keeping hold of the woman's shoulders. Using the momentum of the maneuver, he tossed Cassius with everything he could muster towards the ground some ten feet away. Whether she recovered or not was irrelevant, the murderer simply needed her distracted for but a moment. It was then the puppet caught up with Assassin of Black and stabbed out with the intention of ending this fight in one strike. The spirit was more than a match, however, as he broke into the blood golem's guard, brushing the attack aside and driving his shoulder into the monstrosity's chest.
The two went tumbling to the ground, wheeling about in a grapple as the other struggled for control. It was then that Assassin put the next step of his plan into effect. As the pair scuffled about on the grass, the Heroic Spirit began to shift from his cloaked figure to something else. His form stayed roughly similar, but his cloak stuck to his body like a second skin. The pigment of it changed from a midnight black to a crimson red, as if to compliment his opponent's colouring. His wound slowly filled in with cloth and within moments, the spirit had transformed into an exact duplicate of the golem he was tussling with. As his form completed its transformation, he kicked the copy away from himself and gained some separation. Yet at this point, it would be all but impossible to tell the two figures apart, having shuffled their position numerous times. Would Assassin of White take the risk of destroying her own creation and leaving herself open to attack, or would she try to let her weaker, less capable golem fight her villainous counter part and hope that whoever emerged victorious would be obvious? It was certainly the conundrum Assassin of black had hoped to put her in.
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 of staying hidden has granted him the exceptional ability to move and remain unseen from even some of the most perceptive individuals. Rank B+
Hunting Amongst the Flock- It could never have been concieved that Assassin would have betrayed those he loved. This percieved innocence has transmuted to the ability to hide in plain sight, assuming the form of any who he's seen before. This can activate Presence Concealment if the subject is unaware what his current form is. Rank C+
Madness? Embrace- Such is the volatility and unpredictable nature of his curse that it can transmit itself through mere touch. Any open wound that Assassin can make exposed contact with instantly infects the victim with the Mark of Cain. Rank D
Jealousy: The Sin of Unrequited Desires- A crystalline dagger that shimmer green. It is the purest manifestation of Assassin?s one, true sin against his twin brother. This accursed weapon pulsates with dark energies and drives its wielder to more and more heinous acts against those they feel are wrongly above them. When the dagger strikes, using a mental command, the weapon can drain its victim of their most desirable qualities and transfer them to the wielder, effectively switching their aptitudes. This is functional on all personal skills and some weaker phantasms. Because of the attachment a phantasm has to its owner, Jealousy is only able to steal one from an individual that is not already manifested. The effects of this phantasm are reverted once Assassin disengages his target. Rank C+
Mark of Cain: Living Accursed of God- Assassin is the first living accursed of the world, branded as a traitor to mankind and turned into a monster by the God he had served. It is the vilest of curses, an ancient magical sickness that warps and corrupts those it can infect into terrible monsters of their former selves. Appearing as a scrawl of constantly shifting, shadowy designs, the curse drives its victim to greater acts of depravity. When dormant within another host, the curse seals away a portion of their power, reducing the parameters of more powerful beings by one rank and requiring the curse to take over the victim to release their power once again at the cost of their sanity. The curse can be evoked by the host of their own will or at the mere presence or command of Assassin. Rank B
[hr]
So much pain. His body was in so much pain. So much so that Kyle was almost grinning like a mad man. He couldn't believe that the hot headed girl was stupid enough to not wonder why it had been so easy. Had his ribs not felt like they were going to jab themselves further into his lungs, he would have been cackling maniacal right about now. For the moment, he would need to suffice with his inner glee.
For Rider, however, it wasn't over yet. A golden chain, clearly some sort of Conceptual Weapon, wrapped itself around Kyle's neck with ease. The executor looked at it with that foolish grin, relishing what was coming next. The chain then tightened, cutting off what little air he could manage to gasp into his damaged lungs. It was almost too perfect. As the chains began to strangle the priest, all he could wonder was how much more these fools could help. In his mind he ran through each word, each simple word as if they were the only things that mattered. He tried to vocalize them, but he found his voice was simply a rasping drone. Had the golden links wrapped around his throat not been clanking violently as they tightened, he might have been found out. No, these idiots had given him his golden opportunity with their inattentiveness.
It was around a full minute before Kyle's skin began to turn a stomach churning shade of blue and the Servant finally showed some pity. The chain was yanked as tightly as possible and the church of a broken wind pipe emanated from the man. But it was't enough. Rider was walking towards the executor with axe in hand, intent on finishing the job as thoroughly as possible. Had he suspected, or was he just as much a butcher as the girl? Whatever the case, it didn't matter at this point. The priest was prepared to take to the offensive and end both of these plebes with a simple stroke. The final words were thought as the brute leveled his axe, a flood of prana streaming from his fingers into the blood that had pooled around his body. He could already see the thick, red liquid begin to trickle outwards to surround the man above him.
As the axe came down, Kyle put his plan into motion. There was no grand gesture but the one his mystery made, sending a massive tendril of blood up to bat away Rider's axe from a possible finishing blow. The pool of blood then snaked its way around the Heroic Spirit's feet, binding him to his place before the executor rolled away from his aggressor. The now animate liquid kept its assault constant, not aiming to finish the largely more powerful spirit but rather to distract it. With some effort, Kyle regained his feet. With some sickening twists and cracks, the man adjusted his head back into its proper fitting after having it disjointed by Rider. He then began to tug at his neck, making noises akin to a hacking cough as he fiddled with his wind pipe. After a moment, he seemed satisfied and with a final clearing of his throat, looked at the girl who had dared walk away from their contest.
"Pardon my brief reprise, little missy," Kyle said, withdrawing a cloth to wipe his face and dusting his shoulder off. "Now where were we with your execution?"
The man feigned a moment of pondering, cupping his chin within one hand. Despite his injuries, he seemed almost rejuvenated compared to moments ago. Whatever had sparked this second wind, it was now burning bright in Father Solus' eyes.
"Oh yeah. Pretty sure I was gonna finally do you a favour and end your miserable little existence. Now hold still and it'll all be over before you know it..."
With his intentions made clear, the man let his right hand hang lack in front of his body. Holding his shoulder with the left, he closed his eyes and began to chant an aria under his breath. As the whispers flowed out, his right arm began to spasm violently as if reacting to them. He could feel his flesh bubbling beneath his cossack, gobs of skin and sinew beginning to heat up and melt away. As the pain of the process enveloped him, he could hear a small laugh rise in his words, enjoying the familiar sensation as a hunter would the feel of his rifle. It was their end he could sense and he relished it so deeply with this pathetic soul. Then behind sweat and dirt soiled locks of blonde hair, two eyes flickered to life with a fire most foul; one red, the other gold.
[hr]
They had made their decision. To be more accurate, Saber had made the decision for the pairing. Before Twenty-One could engage in any more dull pleasantries, the Heroic Spirit was bounding towards her master, tearing up the ground beneath her feet with each stride in a mad dash to rescue him. Even the prodigal Enforcer had barely time to react as the Servant brushed past him, trying to deliver a knockout blow to his ribs. Without a moment to spare, the man pushed out with his left hand, placing it gently on the woman's elbow and redirected the momentum she created to launch himself backwards and out of harms way. Yet there was a problem. The desired effect of the attack had still been achieved. Saber of White had put herself between Matthew and himself, cutting off any chance at further parlay. The man sneered with discontent, knowing that his wishes would not be filled this evening.
Saber of Black, on the other hand, had been suspiciously prepared for this outcome. It was as if he had intended to get his adversary hot under the collar by posing a clear threat to the defenseless boy. As his counterpart raised her blade and brought it down to meet his shoulder, the eastern knight drew his own blade and brought it up to deflect the blow. It was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, a full thirty inches of steel attached to an eleven inch handle. The deadly weapon glistened in the moonlight, revealing expertly crafted caricatures of various heroes and demons battling under the same moon that had been darkened down its entire length. The cross guard was elaborately shaped as a mokkou, obviously more decorative than functional. Yet it was the power the blade brought to bare, the strong of Saber of Black's blade clashing against the demon dog of the west. Its ferocity was made readily apparently, knocking aside Saber of White's blow with ease despite their massive difference in strength.
The samurai followed up quickly with and upwards slash, fixing his grip to use both hands now as he struck. It was a testament to the woman's finesse and swordsmanship that she was easily able to stab downwards at the rising blade, catching both crossguards together to hold the weapons at a stand still. Try as he might, the eastern warrior couldn't come close to matching the brute strength of the White warrior, stuck in a vulnerable position. It was a position the female Saber intended to take full advantage of, winding her left arm back before throwing an unstoppable punch. Trying to gain the upper hand, the asian warrior crouched down, shifting his weight to gain more leverage and strength in pressing his blade upwards, giving the man enough birth to duck down and sweep his left leg and try to trip the behemoth. As his leg swung about, he felt the blow connect but without purchase, the inhumanly sturdy calf barely ducking under the blow, even despite her balance having been thrown off by her own failed strike. The man's brow furrowed, both in frustration and respect for the woman's prowess, which was returning by a vicious and mocking smile. The woman wasted no time in bringing up her free leg, aiming to stomp out her pitifully weak opponent with one grand gesture. Swiping her sword away and catching Saber of Black's in the process, she removed any obstructions and brought her heel down with all her might. As seemed to be a growing trend, the asian knight narrowly escaped the coup de grace with an expertly timed backwards roll, coming back up to one knee a few feet from the giant that had just made a crater in the ground with her attack.
The two then shared a brief moment of reprieve, sizing the other up from the small altercation and judging their next move accordingly. The woman was far stronger than Saber of Black had anticipated. He was no match in a pure contest of strength, that had been made frustratingly apparent. Yet her style was wild and untamed, one fueled by instinct rather than reason. While she made appropriate maneuvers, they were filled with weakness in form, which gave the more tactically minded samurai a distinct advantage. It wasn't how hard he placed his blow, but where. He could easily match her power with leverage, striking at the weakest point. What bothered him was that it only made them even and this fight would drag on for an eternity if they were to keep dueling at this pace. He would need to bring to bear one of his skills if he were to stand a chance against she foreign devil.
After the moment's respite, Saber of White pressed her attack once more, utilizing her superior bulk to try and muscle her opponent around the front lawn. Strangely enough, Saber of Black seemed fine with this, not bothering to stand to his full height and remaining perfectly still. As the great king bore down upon him, night black blade cutting through light itself, the warrior made his move by thrusting his arm outwards, sword perfectly horizontal, and pushing away the woman's attack to his left, one palm pushing against his own weapon. With her right hand guard open, the ferocious woman threw a vicious uppercut, hoping to catch her opponent off guard himself. The Black Saber took his opportunity to duck about the woman's guard once more, extending his foot and using the force and momentum of the punch to launch himself up and over the woman. Instinctually, Saber of White went to protect her backside with a spinning downward back fist, attempting to crush the pesky fly that was dancing about her. But again the man used his knowledge of combat against her, ducking low as he landed to avoid the blow and drew his sword outward to his left, looking to come in quick on her right side. It gave her little time to contemplate the next move. A trained warrior would guard to soften the blow, possibly affording them enough time to dodge the rest of the blow. Yet this is what he drew her in for. A wicked purple sheen glossed the blade of his katana and the man knew full well that her strength would mean nothing against his blows now.
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
Oni Burst- Saber's body surges with demonic energy, flowing through every strike he makes in combat with destructive energy. It manifests at the exact moment a blow will connect, adding strength untold to the strike. This skill functions much like the Prana Burst skill, but may only be used offensively.
Their blades collided in a flash of crimson and violet sparks, the sound of screeching metal splitting the air around the two Servants. The exchange, like those that had preceded it, was all but instantaneous, the two swords connecting for only the merest fraction of a second. Unlike its predecessors, however, this particular clash stank of sorcery. The purple gleam that shone along Saber of Black's katana, the subtle, tingling sensation of prana leaking through the air; this battle had finally ceased being one of pure strength and swordsmanship. And it was one that Saber of White couldn't possibly win.
For the first time in their duel, the silent swordsman overpowered her. To the outside observer, the difference would have been all but impossible to spot, but to the two warriors it was clear as day. Whereas the Black knight had previously only parried and dodged his foe's attacks, his strength insufficient for fully blocking them, his slash stopped her blow in its tracks. Despite the incredible force behind the woman's strike, it was actually forced back by two centimeters. As the female swordsman struggled to retain her balance, the Eastern warrior's blade slid down along her own, kicking up a trail of sparks as it flew towards her wrists. Only by surrendering to her enemy's strength, using the force of his blow to spin her arms and body down and away from the katana, did Saber avoid losing her hands to the attack.
There was a half-instant reprieve between this and their next exchange. Though there was not enough time for Saber to change her expression, the knight's instincts still managed to come to terms with the new situation. Her advantage in this fight, her overwhelming strength that had never once been matched, had been surpassed. The opposing swordsman possessed superior force and technique with a blade now; she could not hope to best him in this fight, not with the means readily available to her. She was going to lose. She understood, and accepted the inevitability.
Five blows.
The female Saber launched her next attack, both hands wrapped loosely around the hilt of her sword. It was not a particularly exceptional strike; even without his new strength, Saber of Black should have had no trouble dealing with it. Indeed, when his violet katana nimbly knocked the tip of her short sword aside on its way to open up her throat, Saber knew that she would've lost the exchange without fail. So, even as she ducked forward, making to dodge her foe's attack by a matter of millimeters, she loosened her grip even further, allowing her sword to be knocked from her hands and sent skittering along the ground behind her. The shortsword dug furrows into the dirt as it spun away, before finally jolting to a halt a couple of meters in front of her Master, a few inches of its blade stabbed into the earth.
Four.
The battle had changed again. Saber of White had stepped in close, ducking under the Asian soldier's blade, to a range suited for hand-to-hand combat. Unarmed and bringing her full, monstrous strength to bear, this was where she could best function, in the space where the Black Saber's katana would only awkwardly be able to reach. But even that would not be enough. Were she against an Archer, Assassin, Caster, Berserker, Rider, or possibly even a Lancer, she would undoubtedly be able to crush them with her bare hands. But against another Saber, the Servant hailed as the strongest, renowned for their abilities in close quarters? Even if it was unwieldy, the Black warrior's blade, especially when coupled with his techniques, would provide him a distinct advantage. Even now, he was already correcting the course of his katana, aiming to rip a bloody gash across Saber's back.
However, simply because his sword gave him an advantage, it didn't mean that the Black Saber would be able to win without a fight. The woman's right elbow swung up, knocking into her foe's wrists and throwing his attack off course, as her left fist aimed to smash his teeth in. The man wasn't using his mouth, after all; surely he wouldn't mind if she turned it into a heap of useless bone and muscle.
Three.
Alas, he apparently did, and jerked his neck to the side, allowing Saber's fist to harmlessly graze past his cheek. The silent swordsman spun his blade around in his palms, reversing his grip into a blow that, enhanced by his supernatural strength, would rip his opponent in half. However, gritting her teeth into something that was neither a smile nor a scowl, Saber slammed her open arm into the naked blade with truly tremendous force. Though she couldn't hope to stop the blow, she could deflect it, and though the katana slid painfully along her arm, slicing off a thin strip of flesh as it went, it failed to deal any crippling damage. Her arm would sting like hell for a while, granted, but it was still functional.
Two.
The White Saber brought her hands back, clenching her fingers into fists, while the Black struggled to correct his stance. A fierce grin split the woman's lips apart. Granted, she couldn't possibly win this fight, but that didn't mean she couldn't do some damage first. The silent soldier's armor would undoubtedly provide him with some amount of protection, but against her sheer, blunt might, there was only so much such protection could do. Two punches, one to his kidneys, one to his heart. They wouldn't deal lethal damage, but anything that-
Saber of Black slammed the hilt of his sword into her gut. The metal links that covered her torso screeched in protest at the blunt trauma, but were overpowered by the telltale crack of breaking bone. Spittle, clear and vicious, flew from Saber's lips as the air was driven from her lungs, and the soldier herself was sent flying backwards, eyes widening in shock and pain. She'd guessed wrong, apparently. The Black Saber was even faster to adapt than she had believed.
Saber's heels bounced off the ground once, sending the Servant into a painfully controlled roll. She hadn't planned for this situation exactly, but a retreat was a retreat. Growling, the female swordsman put her own strength into her movement, putting even more space between her and her opponent. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her blade, still stuck in the ground, and behind it the quivering form of her Master. With an almost annoyed air, Saber finally pushed herself back to her feet, continuing to skid backwards for a few more meters. Along the way, she pulled her short sword from the dirt with her left hand, and with her right grabbed the boy by his jacket and slung him over her shoulder, ignoring the startled yelp that stole from his throat. They'd need to make a quick getaway, and there was no way the magus could move fast enough on his own.
Eventually, Saber finally slid to a halt, about fourteen meters away from the Eastern swordsman. Blood ran freely from her right arm, though the wound was already beginning to stitch itself shut. It wasn't particularly deep, after all. Of more concern was the burning pain in her abdomen. One of her ribs was almost certainly cracked. It'd probably take a minute or two to heal on its own. "Jeez," she muttered, more to the night sky than anyone in particular, "I'm just getting my ass kicked tonight, aren't I?
"But yeah, yeah, those were some good hits you got in there, Saber," she continued, switching her focus to her opponent. "Christ, both you and Ruler got me good... Hey, do you know what happened to that guy, anyway? I don't think he'd just go and die on us like that, even if that ambush did catch him off guard." Pausing for a moment, the swordsman waited for the other warrior's response. When none came, however, she allowed herself a small, slightly pained grin. "Yeah, you're right. Not a whole lot of sense in talking about things that don't matter, eh?" Briefly, Saber considered addressing the other Master, Twenty-One. In the end, however, she decided against it, choosing to give him the same attention that he had given her. Treat other people how you want to be treated and all that, right?
Instead, she twisted her head slightly, so that she could see her own Master out of the corner of her eye. "Hey, kid," she began, "I don't suppose you've got any healing magecraft on hand, do ya? Saber managed to crack one of my ribs; it's not that big a deal, but if you could speed up the recovery process, that'd be great."
The boy, instead of delivering a coherent response, simply gibbered something and fidgeted around. Saber failed to resist rolling her eyes. Though, to be fair, she hadn't exactly tried real hard. "Never mind, should've figured. Just stay there then, and hold on tight. If you fall off, it's going to hurt like hell."
It seemed that her Master could follow basic instructions, at the very least, as he wrapped his arms around her neck and freed up her right hand. Breathing deeply, Saber clutched her blade with both hands, bringing the short sword up to a middle guard. "You know," she said, addressing the Black Servant and Master, "I hadn't really planned on the fight going this badly. But damn, if you guys weren't able to pull out a few surprises, ha!" The Servant's chuckles died off after a moment, however, replaced by an abnormally calm, tranquil tone. "I really want to keep fighting, you know. But at this rate, I'll end up dead in... Hell. You could probably just kill right now, if you decided to go all out, right? And that isn't fun at all. There's no way I can let myself die this early in the War. I haven't even gotten to kill anyone yet. So, even if I don't like it, I'm going to show you one of my cards first. You've earned that much.
"This sword is named Hrunting," she said. "And you had better be able to block it. Because if something like this kills you, I don't think I could live with the shame of being injured by you."
Hrunting's crimson steel began to pulse with a violent light, a scarlet glow that spoke of bloodlust and slaughter. Prana formed and festered around the blade, tainting the cool night air with its mad presence. As Saber squeezed the hilt tighter and tighter, the magical energy began to circulate, racing along the the edge of the sword at speeds too fast for the eye to follow. A whirring roar exploded from the Phantasm, reminiscent of a barely restrained hunting dog. It was a sword that was meant to kill, to slaughter its targets absolutely with neither mercy nor regret. A second passed, then two, then three.
Then Hrunting was raised above Saber's head, churning with its foul power, as a battle cry tore from its wielder's vicious smile. "Into the red plains, SCARLET HOUND," she roared, sweeping her Phantasm down in a great arc, "AND HUNT!" As she did, the crimson aura that had engulfed the blade suddenly flew free, sliding out into a far broader arc, and shot towards Saber of Black like a demonic bullet, howling all the while. The distance to its target would be covered in a heartbeat.
The pain in her chest all but forgotten, Saber pushed her feet against the ground and sailed backwards, throwing herself into a great leap that would carry her and her Master off of the hillside and down to the city streets below. From there, they would be able to retreat, and hopefully find the rest of the White faction. They would need to regroup, natuarlly, and decide a plan of attack. But for now, for this one instant, the swordsman was happy to do nothing more than watch her counterpart deal with her attack, or die. And though she could not see his terrified face, she somehow knew that the boy with his arms wrapped helplessly around her was watching as well.
Yuri felt the tide of battle shift, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. The blade bounced off, leaving Yuri far too open. Luckily, Rolan decided he was better off with weapons, but he was still too fast, Yuri found at the same time as his footing. Yuri quickly jumped up, and up, and up again on swift appearing Air Stairs, making a big one underneath him to cushion a counterattack. All the while, he chanted his aria, disappearing again from a crouching position.
It was time to run.
Cassius barely even took a second of time before beginning to charge, in tandem with her golem of blood. The telepathic link told her which one to go for anyways, as it shifted it's hand into a blade and dove forward. Cassius barely had time to take a second step before Yuri appeared next to her, grabbing her wrist and blinking off again. The golem coiled it's form, aiming directly for the legs, covering their retreat quite obviously.
Yuri and the mad Cassius appeared in an alley, The master quickly throwing her. He was testing the range of the obvious curse the other assassin had put on her, a strange phantasm or a skill? Cassius was luckily able to tell the difference between him and an enemy, simply growling instead of immediately striking him with the dagger. She tried to get her bearings, wanting to get back to combat. Yuri pointed towards the park, a good landmark that he could set fire to in case he needed a second retreat. She bounded off, Yuri forced to follow. She hopped along rooftops, Yuri doing his best to follow on foot. Cassius slowly regained her wits with range, eventually stopping for the huffing, aching Yuri.
"What happened?" She asked, simply and a bit angrily.
"Their master pulled a mystery, made his skin hard and made him strong enough to pick up a tree." Yuri's plain tone almost distracted Cassius from how stupid that sounded. She sat down, exhausted as her master. "You think the rest made it out?"
"... Probably, yes." Yuri shrugged, looking around. Close to the park. "Keep going," He ordered, walking off and straightening his coat out, sheathing his sword. Cassius switched back to her suit, changing to her spirit form. They walked in silence, silently reviewing their respective fights as they went. They debriefed each other as they got closer, thinking about it all.
Eventually, it turned from cold hard facts, to analysis, then simple guessing on the identity of their rival assassin. Cassius thought he looked a bit familiar, but hardly a Roman. None of them were that mad. Perhaps a legend from a passing Jew, or a demigod, or some other hero or villain of history. Older than hers, anyways. Maybe they'd get it eventually. After awhile, they lapsed into silence, nearing the park. They thought themselves in the clear.
Yuri enjoyed the cool night air, flexing his armored hand around, almost used to the weight of it. Cassius sulked. And together, they walked on.
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