"Well, this is a neat little mess."
She didn't have the gift for understatement. The statement though, however meaningless, still applied to the situation.
Rin was almost reminded of the light from the fireplace—bringing with it the memory of the times spent alone during the coldest nights—as it illuminated the walls of the buildings they walked past. It was interspersed with the occasional light from the many sirens buzzing through the vicinity, their many colors flashing and darting about from roof to roof.
When she'd come to, the first thing she did was contact her Servant. Archer would have most likely begun to worry when she'd gone almost an hour without contacting him remotely.
Although, Rin noted, Archer then didn't at all seem frantic about the dangers his Master had gone through during their communication. Shouldn't she be afforded even one ounce of frenzied concern as his Master? Was that too much to ask?
She had after all, survived ground zero of a gas explosion (undoubtedly ignited by loose energies from Berserker's impact) that seemed to almost rival the Great Fire all those years ago. Saved by the devil's luck from vaporizing in that sudden burst. It was slightly unnerving how the very night Emiya Shirou summoned his Servant, something like this occurred. It would be a potent stain on the arranged War, if it the disaster wasn't already something to write for the history books.
How far would the War escalate at this rate?
She was glad to have survived. Few would begrudge her that self-serving feeling. In some respects, the event was a great accident, and if others thought differently, then she could point out that ultimately it was the Einzbern's fault, and all blame should be laid at the girl's feet. The girl would be diabolical if she had intended it (though it was well within the rights of a Master), or negligent if it was not.
And that was why she could not understand how someone like Emiya Shirou (and there was a mystery she hadn't cracked yet), who'd briefly mouthed off about being a hero, had went and saved that girl from the blaze, from a mini-explosion no less. It was as if the girl—well he was back to boy—had his own brand of personal justice.
Well, she would not dwell too long on that. She was, after all, still in the presence of a Master-Servant pair, the latter of which could very well renege on its previous words and attack her, finishing Einzbern's job for her.
She looked to her side.
Correction. She was with a Master-Servant pair plus one more Servant, who was perfectly able to kill her now if he wanted to while Archer was still far away recuperating.
Servant Lancer jaunted to her left, face mostly unseen in the dimness.
A few minutes ago, the three of them had been on the rooftop of a building some blocks away from the fire. While she'd conversed with Archer, Master and Servant were having a slight row paces away, their voices raised and gestures aplenty.
Shirou had then returned to his normal form, no longer the nymph in dress and cover-alls. His normal clothes were miraculously free from blood and tear as if he'd never fought or even transformed. (This must be a mystery, thought Rin, glancing surreptitiously at the boy's countenance) With his transformation, Saber had mysteriously relented, her heated disagreement fading into a sort of cold simmer. Shirou had then walked to the rooftop's edge to stare off into the fire, and Rin almost missed the way his hands trembled as they were clenched to his sides.
"Yo, you guys seem to be having fun." Guards were instantly raised, stances were taken and tension returned as the three faced the newcomer, whom Rin instantly recognized as Archer's enemy earlier that night.
Damn it, now I have to rely on Shirou's protection again! She hated getting that role tonight. She was a magus for God's sake.
"Hold, hold, I come in peace," Lancer had then said, raising his empty hands. Saber didn't relent, still stepping in front of her Master. A Servant's weapons could be easily summoned for a surprise attack after all.
"What do you want, Lancer?" Rin demanded, forcing her power into the confrontation. If worse came to worst she would have made a quick getaway, utilizing Saber's nature to run interference against the Servant.
"My Master thinks it is of some importance to meet with the two of you, and your Servants of course, tonight," Lancer explained, though Rin sensed a hint of restrained bloodlust in his expression. "He's thus sent me to escort you back to him, for protection—and more obviously to keep an eye on you until the meeting."
"And if we refuse? You cannot honestly believe that we trust your cock-and-bull story?" said Saber, who then took an aggressive step forward.
"Believe me, I would prefer a battle to any sort of parlay, Saber," Lancer pronounced. He raised his arms in a motion that made Rin think he'd draw his weapon. "And were it not for the Seal that binds my actions so completely, I would have begun this conversation with steel, not words."
"Um…" it was Shirou's turn to speak. "Who's your Master then? Can you tell us why he wants to talk?" You idiot, Emiya.
Lancer chose to humor the boy, however, despite his naïve question. "I am not bound by the Seal to not say thus, but my honor demands I don't entertain that question, boy. But you will be meeting him soon enough, so that concern is moot." Lancer lowered his arms. "Will you come?"
"What happens if we decide not to?" asked Rin. The "We" she'd added in that question only applied to herself and Archer, though Shirou and Saber didn't seem to pick up on the presumption and so went along as if "we" applied to them too.
Lancer shrugged. "Then alas, I would return, my objective unfulfilled, ready to face the wrath of my Master." The way he said it made Rin think it wasn't that bad an alternative to the Servant.
Rin had then made a show of thinking, looking from Lancer to Saber with weapon still bared and then to Shirou, who was also looking at her with a silent question in his eyes.
What do we do? The look seemed to say.
Unbelievable.
Shirou seemed to have latched on to her as if she were a friend, or a guide-dog, perhaps trusting in her judgement more than his own (or Saber's). Pity she couldn't take advantage of his misguided trust in that circumstance. But then again, Emiya Shirou was that kind of person from the outset.
And so Rin blew out a sigh, turning back to Lancer and nodding. "We'll follow—cautiously. If something bad happens, know that Archer is watching from somewhere." A blatant bluff, though she figured it would only make Saber more cautious and possibly make Lancer take it up as an outright challenge.
Rin accepted Lancer's proposal, but already planning how to slip away towards the end. There was more than the certainty that it might be a trap. Better the magically cross-dressing boy and his Servant deal with whatever it was than her.
"Oh is he now? I so want to repay that man for tonight, but for this Seal…" said Lancer, wringing his hands. "Well, if there're no more objections, then let's be off." Saber, after a conversation of eyes with her Master, glanced at Rin with an appraising eye before she breathed once and followed, keeping her alert body fixed between Lancer and her Master.
Rin wondered if Lancer's Master wanted some sort of alliance, so early in the War. But for what reason, if that were so? Had he been watching while they'd fought with Berserker? Or perhaps Lancer had been made to watch, and he'd seen Shirou in action? Perhaps he was a mage interested in exotic magecraft such as Shirou's, a magecraft she admittedly wanted to study under less demanding circumstances.
The four had been silent all throughout, though Rin kept an active eye on the desolate surroundings. They passed through empty side-streets, averting the panicked bustle of a city rudely awakened by a disaster. She wondered if Kirei would have his hands full tonight. She hoped so.
In the stifling silence of the church, the Grail War's mediator bows in a manner befitting the virtue of humility. "I apologize for leaving you so early, honored guest. I hope the night, and the city treats you well. If you are up to it, we may speak in the morning, after the dawn Mass." Seemingly in no hurry, the priest leaves the sanctity of the church through the creaking doors and out into the cold night.
The girl bows in return, and does not raise her head until the sounds of the priest's footsteps fade. She hesitates, looking around the church with a polite curiosity, before walking around to the end of a pew and sitting down.
She adjusts her traveling sweater, drawing the hood closer to her head and inserting her hands inside the pockets. She seems to take one last look around, the light from the many jeweled ornaments reflecting off the floor and stained-glass windows glinting in her spectacled eyes, before shrugging and letting her chin drop to her chest.
A minute later, she is asleep. An aura of insubstantiality settles upon her, as if another person arriving would entirely miss her presence unless they stood right next to her.
Although one does not.
Piercing red eyes observe the girl for a long while from the hidden recesses of the church. The presence quickly withdraws, and if the girl senses this, she gives no indication other than a shift in her seat.
With a single gesture from Matou Zouken, the shadows move to follow.
An undetermined amount of time ago, his Servant returned from its reconnaissance, bringing with it tidings of a stimulating nature.
He has no desire to even punish the Servant for revealing it almost tried to kill the curiosity that makes even the worms of his body drool in hunger.
For, after all, if Assassin were speaking the truth (and he knows the Servant would not dare lie), a being with almost limitless energy was once again within his grasp.
To put it in contemporary terms, it was a long-lasting, self-recharging battery. Described to be a powerful, inexhaustible source of energy, and a rarity to glimpse even in the hallowed circles of every Mystic that had ever lived.
For most it was a mystery that wasn't, strictly speaking, a mystery.
It would not even be classified as a Sorcery, it is repeatedly postulated, if there was more time to study it.
Zouken had only encountered such beings twice in his life: the first in a brief encounter before his family had come to this blasted land, the second after the Third War, from whom he'd had a brief taste of its power before its escape.
That brief taste was greater than any mind-affecting drug he'd tried before and after.
And now, another similar being had reappeared, and he was not about to squander an opportunity like an undisciplined magus.
The creature's identity was of no consequence: neither was its status as an enemy Master nor its observed combat capabilities.
All would be for naught once his worms were within striking distance.
A moon-like mask forms in the darkness.
"Master… one kilometer away… with Saber… and Lancer…"
Assassin spoke haltingly, in the manner of a retarded child.
So close? But if it had two Servants along—
Ah.
His brief stint of incompetence was squashed when he remembered he had his own two Servants to call upon.
Should he risk it?
The Rider flanks the Saber.
A Lancer unseats the Rider.
The Assassin finishes off whatever is left.
Yet still, he guessed he would be at a slight disadvantage.
But the goal to be gained far outweighed the risk, in his eyes.
He'd get several months to study the specimen, then several more to determine practical applications of utilizing its energy.
He would be then able to wait out several more Grail Wars, or even accomplish the Third Magic by himself if the endless font was at his side.
As long as no other Servant intervened, he would succeed, especially if he had surprise on his side.
He praises himself for the remarkable foresight in summoning a Servant-with fate rewarding him with a veritable wonder.
The shadows stirred.
Having decided, Zouken sent the worms on their way.
Ultimately, the Servants would only be his cat's paws.
The thing that was "Emiya Shirou" was the true prize.
She had smelled of smoke and sweat and the quiet mountainside at dawn.
Her hands had been smooth as sandpaper, if sandpaper could ever be smooth.
The feel of her heart, beating so close to hers, had radiated a comforting heat, markedly different from the flames, that soothed her in that brief moment of contact.
Illya should hate her for being who she was.
She'd been made to hate what she symbolized: misery, pain and the biting cold of desertion.
Yet she finds that, more than anything, the girl/boy tantalizes her.
She is like a precious gift for which no price on earth could ever purchase- something hopelessly beyond her reach.
And for that, the girl wishes to possess it, more than anything.
She brushes ash from her forehead, feeling as if the fire has tainted her with a curse more agonizing than hate.
Desire.
Perhaps the soul she has interred is to blame, affecting her decisions far more than was expected.
"Berserker."
The giant materializes behind her, eclipsing the moon.
"We shall not return yet. The night has not yet ended."
She stands, a little white sprite ruminating at the roots of a tree more twisted and robust than the nearby trees.
She has a feeling the night was not through dispensing its treacheries.
A flash of red flits through the darkness.
For a while, the figure pauses before the defiant flames.
It summons a nemesis long conquered.
It uncurls from deep sleep, like the smoke that ascends, unseen, into the sky.
His gaze pierces through it.
He is held, like the snake before the charmer.
Then the ghost of a self-satisfied smile flits across his face.
It holds no power over him.
And like that impotent pillar, the nemesis flees from his will.
Satisfied, the shade turns and flies.
Unquestionably, the night belongs to the dark.
Far above, the canopy sees into the truth of the universe: the all-encompassing darkness that sweeps through creation.
It is in the night, and the darkness, that "it" finds solace, where it can revel unseen in obscurity. For it hid things: terrible things, disgusting, wretched things, the pallid writhing truths that dwelt in its inglorious self.
There is a stifling sort of eternity before its master calls for it.
It slithers deeper into the dark, as if doing so would make it forget the joy of light.
And so, during the time of night when the dark was purest, another battle was joined.
This would be the last battle.
There was no glory or honor to be gained, riches to collect, nor titles to lay claim to.
This is the War of the Holy Grail, where the language was death and the population would ultimately only be one.
It began with an earnest question from one Emiya Shirou.
"Oh, is that your Master, Lancer? Are we here?"
Rin was too paralyzed by the heat of the moment to care to blow up at the boy, while Lancer had his silent back to the rest of them with stance lowering, and Saber had already rushed forward in a clamor of greaves to deflect the first missile and so were too busy to even give an answer to the negative.
The Tosaka magus whipped her arm up, finding herself tensing right back into battle. A loud clanking of chains echoed about in the empty causeway, though Rin couldn't see its source yet.
Shirou, realizing the truth a second later, has also squared his shoulders. "So it's not? Shit!"
The first thought in the group's mind, excluding Lancer's, is that the latter had been leading them to a trap. But just as Saber had it in her to lop of the blue knight's head after repelling that first thrown weapon, a chain-held nail shoots out of the darkness. Lancer jumped aside, spear at the ready, as the chain-and-weapon was quickly withdrawn.
"Damn," the Servant said under his breath. He nodded at the darkness, as if he were able to peer at those who were hiding in it. "So you intend to fight? Please say yes so this boring command becomes a bit livelier." In answer, there was a sound of more chains rustling.
Saber had a mind to assist Lancer, but then quickly moved left when her senses caught a tell-tale movement in the shadows, barely missing the brief flare of murderous presence.
It appeared there were two.
"Emiya-kun?"
Saber did not turn to look, but thought she knew what her Master might be doing.
"Master, please watch yourself and Rin. Don't interfere here until you see an opening."
"What's wrong with fighting now? I can do it!"
"This is not your battle, Master! Please stop attempting to take my duty from me!" Saber barked sharply. "I almost lost you to Berserker in the conflagration. We must ensure the situation is clearer and therefore safer for you before you may charge ahead. Please understand."
The battle would not allow for another argument to occur right then, as three black blades whooshed through the air, all three aimed for Shirou. Saber blocked the assault with ease, and then faced the general direction of the weapons' source where the enemy Servant must be.
"I see… Servant Assassin," Saber said, bringing the invisible sword to a ready stance. "I recognize your murderous air. Only a spirit of your class would feel this insipid as a heroic shade."
Something moaned from the darkness, an inarticulate reply like the babbling of a babe. "Fine. Keep to your shadows, Assassin. I shall flush you out into the light." Saber hesitated, looking over to where Lancer too had disappeared into the other side of the shadowy alley, where the clash of steel and the sound of rustling chains had intensified. She gripped the handle of her sword tighter, concern paramount for her Master.
The sounds of chains suddenly grew louder, seeming so close now, which made Saber set her feet, backing close to her Master. She scanned the distance from them to Rin, who was still standing a respectable few paces away. Like a metallic rattlesnake the clamor continued, echoing all around the group as if it were surrounding them all.
The attack came, lunging with lightning speed, though not where Saber expected it to be. With the senses of a heroic entity, Saber watched the attack spring from behind Rin, a long nail-like weapon, and knew she'd be too late to intervene-as a forward charge would be itself impeded by Rin's body.
She tried anyway, pushing past Shirou and lowering close to the ground in a sprint.
It was too late.
Shirou's and Saber's wore identical distressed expressions when the weapon struck flesh, the sound of fatal impact clear.
But then, not a split-second later, the group saw the more acceptable truth.
Servant Archer, the knight in red, now stood in front of Rin with arm raised, the nail having struck into his forearm. Looking not the least hurt, something flashed white in Archer's hands and then the chain was cut.
The Servant pulled the offending nail free, using a kerchief he'd gotten from out of nowhere to wipe the blood from it, before tossing it aside, where it landed with a clatter. Archer, hawk-like eyes alert, said, "Rin. I thought I said not to take unnecessary actions. This is so unlike you after all—walking open-eyed into such a transparent trap."
Rin opened and closed her mouth in silence to that, as if her Servant's well-timed intervention had literally blown the words from her mouth. Then she schooled her expression, having decided on a proper response. "What are you doing here, Archer? I thought I told you to stay back and recover! This is a dangerous situation if you must know."
Archer raised his eyebrows, fully turning around to regard his Master. "I agree. My Master, caught flat-footed in the presence of several other Servants, and the Servant himself, still feeling the after-effects of a not insignificant wound." His eyes flickered, barely imperceptibly, to Saber. "This is indeed a dangerous situation for us to be in. It almost makes one want to… retreat." And with that, Archer lifted her Master up, in a manner quite different from how Shirou had done.
"Hey, wait! What are you—ugh! People should really not just carry other people so suddenly like that on a whim! You're as bad as Shirou! Put me down! Do you hear me Archer?! Put me-"
"My thanks, Saber-" He regarded the swordswoman, then her Master, inclining his head. "-Emiya Shirou. But for now, I must attend to my Master's survival foremost. I hope you understand. But you have my word that I will follow whatever Master decides afterwards—in case you survive."
"—Don't make me make another Command—" And with that, the red knight leapt high into the sky, indignant magus in tow. The night quickly swallowed the two.
Only Shirou could look up after their figures as they departed, for Saber was already set to defending her Master from the threat still there.
"Identify yourself!" she demanded. "Are you Servant Caster? Or Servant Rider? Are you in league with the Assassin?"
The enemy is as wordless as Assassin. Moments pass in tense silence as Saber keeps close, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of its chains.
"It's no good Saber," Lancer remarked, and the Servant now faced the approaching blue-clad knight warily. "That worthless Assassin left too. I couldn't even get a proper fight in. Maybe they were just testing our strengths for tonight."
"Perhaps."
"Maybe their Masters made some sort of alliance. It kind of figures: the two don't seem all that powerful by themselves."
"Ill-formed… assessment…" The words alerted them too late, or so it seemed. Something long and blood-red bounded from the darkness. Lancer cursed, brandishing his spear to prepare a counter-assault while Saber moved to intercept whatever it was from reaching her Master.
There was a clash of keening metal that blinded Shirou momentarily, and then the sound of flesh being torn. In the darkness, something screeched, as if a cave full of bats had been riled.
"What…?" said Shirou.
"Wha'd I tell ya? Worthless. Can't even kill with the element of surprise."
By Saber's estimation, though, that surprise attack had been almost too close for comfort. She recognized the malice behind the attack as some form of dark magic. She had a feeling the attack, like even the simplest unguarded sword-stroke, would have been fatal had she not blocked it with her sword.
"Hm?" The two Servants abruptly stiffened next, as if sensing something Shirou hadn't (which he didn't).
And then from out of the black, a light shining brighter than the sun erupted, carrying with it a potent menace. Shirou threw up a hand to shield his eyes even as he felt something grab the front of his shirt.
A wave of power and magical energy surged forward, its sight set on the three. Shirou, as he was, could only blink.
"All we should do, and what I would strongly advise we do, is watch," said Archer, he and his Master now safely established upon a perch a mile from the ambush site.
"We have to go back. We can't just let them die." The two had begun this conversation as soon as Archer had put them down.
"Rin, they're enemies. Strictly speaking, we should only care if perhaps someone strong is trying to eliminate something weak, so we can improve our chances by teaming up to eliminate the former and then afterwards the latter." Archer watched as intense light suddenly filled the area he was watching. Rin could share his enhanced sight, though he and his Master focused on different things.
"What is…?"
"Someone's treasured tool no doubt. That's too much magical energy than a normal magus can throw around so easily. He looked at his Master, who was also staring that way. "Why does this matter so much? What can Saber and the boy offer us before we have to eliminate them?"
Rin crossed her arms in a stubborn manner, biting her lower lip absently. "I can't let him die after I've saved him just recently. I also can't let a curious magecraft like his die without proper examination."
"Curious magecraft?" the white-haired Archer wondered, inviting his Master to elaborate after turning again to watch Rider's lightshow.
"It may not sound surprising—you being a hero and all—but Emiya Shirou turned out to have a minor sorcery at his disposal that gives him Servant-like abilities, Archer. In fact—" Rin rubbed her forehead, as if finally remembering something important. "—he managed to go toe to toe with Berserker Archer. That monster—"
"Unfortunately, as I haven't encountered that Servant, I shall have to take your word upon the subject of Berserker's strength." A light glittered in Archer's pupils. "But you're surprised, Rin? You seem to hardly know the boy. He probably has depths that you missed—he is a magus after all."
"But that's the thing. I know Emiya Shirou." She paused, as if the statement struck her, before she flushed briefly. "Well, not intimately, but I can tell what sort of threat a person can be, and over the years that I knew him, Emiya-kun didn't exhibit any indication of what he was able to do here. I mean, magecraft is the sort of thing I'm supposed to watch out for. Whatever arts he had been doing should've been small and insignificant that I couldn't sense it, and using a sorcery to gain abilities like that isn't anything minor at all. He turned into a girl, Archer. As far as I know, a magecraft like that shouldn't exist."
"But it might," Archer said shortly, his eyes closing his thought. A moment later, he sighed, steering his head from the direction of the battle. "But to me, this sounds like Emiya Shirou might be more a threat than he seems."
"We are not eliminating him," Rin said with an air of finality. "Unless he ends up getting killed down there, or I find out later on his art's just something mundane." Though the girl had a thought that it wasn't anything mundane, not at all.
"So you intend to study him, as long as he is amenable. As expected of a magus. I shall work to ensure your temporary decision does not harm you beforehand."
"Did you expect anything else, Archer? I went into this war willingly with the mindset of one." Rin raised a finger. "If anything, you should work to eliminate his Servant. With her out of the way, I can capture Emiya-kun for myself. For further research, of course."
Archer smirked to that, though ventured nothing in reply. Freed from the conversation, the Servant's thoughts drifted. A part of him lost itself to that thread of thought, making him unaware of what he said next.
"What was that Archer?"
"Hm?" The Servant blinked.
"What did you mean by that?"
"By what?"
"What you just said," Rin said with some asperity.
"What…did I say… out loud?" The Servant hesitated uncertainly, turning to regard Rin.
"'—it's earlier for him here'. What does that mean? Early for whom? Emiya-kun?"
Archer shook his head. "No. To me, it's too early for me." he amended. "I am but a tool, Master, and in my thoughts I tend to refer to myself as a mere object, in third-person. I sometimes forget that when I think out loud. I meant that it's still too early for me for any interventions of any sort. The most I can do are two or three strong attacks before I have to recuperate again."
"Oh," and Rin fell silent, perhaps to think through what her Archer had just revealed.
The sound of a distant, thunderous crash reached their ears, and Archer quickly focused his sight on the source. The light of a giant, luminous firefly floated up into the sky.
It was a splendid display of magical might.
That such a thing overtook Lancer and Saber in sheer speed was one thing; that it carried a definite threat of mortal doom if it had hit them was another that forced the two Servants to separate.
Thankfully, while in that form, Rider seemed not to sense where Saber had hidden her Master—after urging him to ride out the clearly dangerous attacks for a while and to call on her once more should he be attacked—before re-engaging. Rider indeed moved with purpose, but it was sticking true to the edicts of the War: Servant against Servant, legend against legend.
And while each of the two had received their fair share of attentions from the blazing summoned creature, Saber was sure the silent, long-haired Rider was focusing its attacks on her.
Saber did a running jump, and at the apex used a free hand to grab hold of a protruding banner-holder and kicked upward to somersault onto the roof. Just then, Rider passed under her, narrowly missing her by inches.
There was one thing she noted of the enemy's treasured tool: it was fast, true, but it adhered partly to the rules of the world. Every charge couldn't be stopped midway: like a true steed it had to stop, pause and turn to adjust its trajectory, particularly after missing its target.
As long as they held the battle in this part of the city, with its many obstacles and turns and corners and heights, Saber could hide and evade from Rider's vicious charges again and again.
Saber ran up and jumped from the roof onto a narrow alley, crossing over through several intersections as a violent flash of light in front of her indicated Rider barreling through a street up ahead. The distant shouts of a cursing man signaled to Saber that Lancer was still in the battle.
Still, she had a feeling this battle would end up being a stalemate until Rider stopped from exhaustion or an order to withdraw from its Master. She couldn't unleash her own treasured tool, which she felt would match or maybe exceed Rider's own. The clash would also rival Berserker's rampage that had caused the conflagration, something she did not want to repeat. In any case, she was still conserving her energy while Shirou had yet to transform and reinforce their connection.
A strong breeze ruffled the back of her hair, and Saber didn't waste time turning around. Her small body agilely bounded from wall to wall, her feet finding enough of a ledge to step on before instantly leaping up to the next. Only when she had reached the rooftop again did she look down, and then, eyes widening, immediately leap backward several meters with superhuman celerity.
A white geyser erupted upward, and Saber gritted her teeth as her gaze followed the thing's flight up.
So it wasn't entirely land-based.
"Yes, Saber," Rider cold voice resounded for the first time. The summoned creature flapped idly, its wings carrying its bulk and its master impossibly by some feat of magic. "'Tis a winged steed I have mastered."
"Do you think that is enough to give me pause, Rider?" Saber proclaimed. "I have slain winged beasts greater than yours in my time."
"In your time… yes. The times after mine, and after yours, have greatly degenerated the blood of creatures such as these, Saber. But the miracle of the Summoning returns their grave splendor to the world, their might undiminished. Isn't that why you hid from my charge? Your instincts could not lie to you. My tool would have left nothing of you if I had run you down."
"Rubbish," she said. "You could never run me down." In Saber's mind, a decision settled into place. She was at least thankful Rider had brought the fighting to a more open area, where there would be less onlookers and innocent bystanders. The wind began to swirl around her invisible blade.
"Your ally has fled, and I will attend to your Master after your demise. I don't know where that confidence is coming from, but unless you wield a power greater than a beast from the Age of Gods, then your fate is to be dust." Saber watched Rider wheel her steed about, a giant, mobile star on the verge of another ominous charge. Energy coursed through the sky as Rider began charging up an attack.
"We shall see." And Saber answered the challenge, a burst of magic exploding from her weapon. A light, golden and pure, began winking from within the veil of cutting air.
Even Rider should have started to become aware of the power she was about to unleash. It was risky to her reserves, but it was also her only recourse now that she was completely open to Rider's attacks.
And Rider's next attack did not take long to come, charging forward in an explosion of brilliance as she was still in the latter stages of unveiling her weapon.
Warmth filled Saber's hands as she poured all she could spare into her attack.
With this, victory would be within her grasp-!
A sun flared to answer the heavenly light.
In the midst of the storm of pure, destructive magic, Saber announced her sword's name.
"Ex-!"
Rider saw it first. Unlike Saber, she had the advantage of an overhead view of the battlefield.
She pulled up just in time, right as her attack would collide against whatever Saber was about to use—and whatever unknown it was that had screamed at her instincts to pull back.
A booming crack of thunder echoed across the night, sending a shower of debris everywhere.
She didn't know what would have happened if she'd followed through.
Would she be ground meat, as Saber surely must be now?
Rider goaded her tool upward, peering down through the erupted smoke at the meteor that had disrupted her plunge.
Saber couldn't believe her eyes.
"Ber…serker…?"
The giant loomed over her as ever, crazed gaze fixed on hers. At the last second, well-honed battle intuition had told her to jump away, and when she did, the strain of unleashing Excalibur disappeared, as she'd been unable to unleash its power. The upset slabs of concrete missed her by many inches, having been thrown up by Berserker's sudden crash.
Perhaps following that fool Lancer's proposal had been ill-thought after all. Of course Berserker wouldn't have been let off its leash for the night; the little Einzbern's malice had been clear.
"You're certainly inept in some ways, huh Saber?" said the girl in question, now revealed to be perched on her Servant's shoulder after some more smoke dissipated. Her sharp red eyes seemed to be mildly amused, mixed in with a hint of something Saber couldn't identify. "Or perhaps nee-san is more to blame."
She glared at the girl with naked hostility. "Illyasviel. What—"
"Saber. You do realize you've lost sight of two Servants yes? Two Servants unaccounted for, along with your Master who is the most vulnerable separated from you. You can't honestly think stealing one of my Berserker's lives is enough to make a Master capable against a Servant. Especially if it's maybe against two."
"But he's-" she tried to gain a sense of their connection. It was still there, the familiar rush of energy replenishing—
The connection had been strengthened.
Her Master had transformed.
Eyes widening in realization, Saber glanced over to where she'd bidden Shirou hide. Her gauntlets tightened around her weapon. The connection was still there, but…
A flicker of light caught her attention, and she saw Rider shoot towards the direction of Shirou.
"Master!" A clatter of steel presaged the knight leaping into the dark, hoping that she wasn't too late.
Illyasviel stared after her, twirling a lock of her hair absent-mindedly. She looked down at the mess Saber, Berserker and Rider had made.
"It'll be alright, Saber," she murmured. "Nee-san is strong."
Nee-san is strong, she repeated in her mind, a nonsense chant she'd entirely made up at that moment.
A loud, keening sound was followed by another thrown weapon, and yet again that thing melted into the shadows.
It was easy enough for me to avoid them, and though I wanted to stop and destroy the weapons, there seemed to be more where they came from, and I had to go pursue the enemy before it got away.
The moment I clapped my eyes on that white skull, something inside of me rose to life, like some sort of sudden desire that a kid feels for a new toy.
Of course, I recognized that feeling.
It was a necessary, ingrained part of accepting the Contract.
I would be drawn to sensing the essence of a person I would see, forced to recognize it as something unnatural.
Forced to use all in my power to eliminate it.
It wasn't that bad of a coercion as someone explained to me.
Everything we would be reacting to was undoubtedly something that actually needed to be fought and, if possible, destroyed.
A villain for each hero.
As such, I immediately transformed and set to hunting the thing.
I wasn't sure if I could succeed—solo—but it was my duty.
The thing was so slippery though.
I traced a big, metal club, thicker than a baseball bat yet just as light after removing the unnecessary elements of composition.
It would serve to bludgeon that thing's mask.
If I could reach it.
Whoosh came several more black daggers, and without thinking the weapon rose and arced in a swing.
Huh. Looks like it's also useful to deflect missiles.
But this was going nowhere.
"I can throw knives too!"
Four knives sprung free from my hands, each going wild and disappearing into the night.
I wasn't very confident in aiming, especially in throwing things with just my bare hands, under poor visibility, and against an agile enemy.
But like most things in my life, I had to try.
Missile for missile.
Kitchen knife against whatever the heck it was using.
I leaped up, skimming against the darkened surface of a large commercial banner before lunging forward in a downward slam of the club.
I caught the sound of a hiss as the thing skittered away, leading to yet another exchange of knives.
Tsk. If I'm going to match it I have to at least have knives ready.
But projecting has a time requirement to it, like most spells by my reckoning; and that small difference makes the thing's missiles come out earlier than I could throw.
The far-off sound of several explosions reached my ears, and I paused, wondering if I should investigate.
It wouldn't do for a repeat of the—
Forgetit!
I shook my head.
Right. There's an enemy in front of—
Ba-dump!
"Oh no you don't," I muttered, pushing away the instinct to flee and/or transform.
I tensed, narrowing my eyes before instantly turning around and throwing my club.
A loud, satisfying thunk signaled that I had hit a home run at last.
The thing squealed in what seemed like agony, as it clutched a hand to its mask.
Did I crack it?
"Assassin! Return, now!"
"What?" Who was that?
I looked around, and then caught the thing as it scuttled away.
"Stop! I'm not finished!"
I bounded after it quickly, throwing several more knives in pursuit.
At the rate I was throwing them I'd probably run out of usable reserves.
You are not getting away.
I won't let you.
My oath demands it!
The thing finally stopped, its black body still convulsing, as it jumped up to take a perch on a protruding piece of masonry like a black, malformed cat.
I looked around, recognizing we had gone back to square one: the place where we'd been ambushed.
There was no sight of Saber or Lancer or that mystery Servant.
I readied myself, loading the weapons in my mind.
"Hm?"
Ba-dump.
There was that feeling again.
I transformed back quickly, gritting through the pain to ascertain if it went away.
Even then, the bad feeling continued.
I hastily transformed back, my nerves and muscles now definitely throbbing from the sudden, consecutive changes.
Taking another look around, there really seemed to be nothing wrong…
Wait, what was that sound?
It was like the sound a dishwashing scrub makes when it's squeezed.
It was faint, but it was strange hearing it out here all of a sudden.
The bad feeling didn't seem to be going away, so I set my shoulders and glared at the enemy, still perched like a giant, mutated crow.
"I hope you're ready. I, Emiya Shirou, the hero, will eliminate you."
"Ke… ke… ke…"
Was it laughing?
It wouldn't do if there was a trap prepared.
Forming needles as large as my femur, I hurled them at the thing.
All hit their mark, burying into its pitch black cloak like it was cloth.
"Well done, Assassin. You may withdraw."
The thing tensed and leaped like a frog, causing me to turn after it.
It could still move after being impaled like that?
I knew I should've used something more effective.
But when I made to follow, I found that I couldn't move.
What…
"…the hell…?" A strange black miasma was pooling around my feet, holding them to the ground like quicksand.
No matter how much I strained my knees, my feet wouldn't budge.
"Damned trap."
How could I have missed sensing this?
"Indeed. A lovely little trap for a valuable specimen such as yourself. Now, there is no need to panic, my dear. I will take good care of you."
"Who are you?"
The strange sound had doubled in volume.
It was like I was surrounded by it.
I could see something warping the darkness around me, but I couldn't be sure of it.
The bad feeling intensified.
"Damn, damn, damn!"
I projected a large shovel, honed to carve out the ground. I began methodically hacking away around the darkness.
Though was it my imagination, or was the strange mud expanding?
It was then that I realized the odd sounds had gone louder, as if its source was practically near my ear.
And then when I looked up, my heart plummeted downward and my mouth widening enough to accommodate an apple.
"Shit."
Archer made a humming sound, which caused Rin to look from the lightshow to her Servant. "Something on your mind Archer?"
"Rin, there is something I have to do."
"Watch, right?"
A thin smile crept on the red knight's face before he shook his head.
"No. I have to bind your senses."
"What? Why?" Rin started and took one step backward, as if Archer had just appeared before her eyes. "What would make you dare say something like that?"
"Because there is something I might need to do which relies on you not knowing things that would cause me to kill you… well—" he gave Rin a harsh, determined look. "There are things a Servant, despite promises to the contrary, may need to hide from its Master. And this is something the world would particularly care to keep hidden."
"The world…?" Rin mouthed doubtfully. "Well… has it got anything to do with their fighting over there?"
"Yes and no." At Rin's confused expression, Archer drew his gaze away, shaking his head slowly as if he were arguing with himself. "It doesn't matter. Please just trust me, Rin. I won't even be leaving your side. You just need to not see, nor hear, nor smell nor feel for a short amount of time." When Rin glanced at her arm, Archer continued, "And if you were to use a Command Spell, then I would do everything in my power to circumvent it. And the end would involve me hurting you. Please don't make me hurt you Rin."
Rin breathed a sigh, mulling over the sudden request. "For how long?"
"Well… it won't start until I can see the signal to." Archer snorted. "Perhaps I won't even need to. But I can see that the possibility leans closer to necessitating my action. So when that signal comes, would you mind having your senses bound, Rin?"
A loud explosion caught their attention; something was happening at another rooftop, far away.
Rin glanced back briefly at her Servant, scrutinizing him appraisingly before finally nodding in acquiescence. "Alright. Just…no funny business, alright?"
"I swear, Rin."
A short silence. "Sheesh. You're almost as bad as Emiya-kun. You men and your secrets."
His eyes glittered with faint amusement. "Hmph. Please don't joke about things like that, Rin."
The whole area was dark.
It had been dark once, lit only by the distantly spaced night lights of this part of Fuyuki, but to Saber it seemed it had gone completely dark, as if all light had been swallowed around that area.
Shirou must be involved with this. He wasn't at his supposed hiding place and this was an anomaly that had just now come up.
"Master!" she shouted, peering about through the dark. "Master!"
"It is done." The light, once the glare from an enemy, now seemed salvation. With it the dark was banished, leaving only one portion that resisted its spread.
A writhing, gurgling black that sent shivers even down the swordswoman's spine.
"Master!" Saber hefted her sword and charged. She didn't really think—but there was the biggest possibility—
A loud, braying sound, made Saber halt, avoiding Rider's charge. She glared at the impediment.
"I can't let you do that," said the Servant, turning around in the air for another dive.
"Then you shall be the blood on this holy blade." Without hesitation, golden light joined the illumination on the area, and a small whirlwind ravaged the space around Saber. She had sensed no inhabitants here, now that she checked, which was strange for any part of the city. Where did all the people go?
"Are you really willing to risk your Master's life with an attack like that?" asked Rider. "If I let our tools clash, not even he would be spared from the result."
"So my Master is indeed there?" She regarded the pulsating void coolly. She had no time to woolgather. "I thank you, Rider."
"Kee! Kee!"
The sound made Saber whirl and she now beheld the darker shape of the assassin, hanging bat-like from a rooftop.
Two enemies at once. This would be tricky.
"Before… her… I… kill you… eat… you…!"
Saber could feel Rider coming. She prepared to face her first.
But Assassin struck.
"Keeeeeehh!"
Damn it all. Excalibur couldn't strike two separate points simultaneously. She would trust whatever remained of her luck as she focused fully on Rider's inexorable charge.
"Excalibur!"
"Gae Bolg!"
An outpouring of light blinded all who looked in that instant onrush of gold and white coalescing into one single, monochromatic shade. In the end of that instant, the light slowly receding against the unending murk of night, Saber stood, holy sword blazing before her. She looked up and saw Rider clinging to a side of the wall that hadn't been blown away, bleeding from her arm but otherwise uninjured.
"I have defeated you. If you had not dodged in that one instant, I would have destroyed you."
"You haven't defeated me. I'm still whole, Saber. My tool was beaten, yes, but I live yet."
"Well, this one isn't."
Saber now spared a glance behind her, where Lancer stood, eyes regarding the sight of Assassin impaled straight through its chest with his red missile.
"I think I kind of recognize the magic in your arm," Lancer remarked, as if commenting on the state of the weather. "Whatever it was, though, it's still your loss, little Assassin."
"Gehhhh… Kkkkggggaaaahh!" Assassin's death rattle was a terrible thing, but to the Servants present, it was but one more dying protestation. Slowly, but surely, the masked thing dissipated, until all that was left was the spear embedded into the building.
"Well that's one annoyance cleared," said Lancer, turning to look at Rider after retrieving his tool. "Hey you. Are you gonna pull out that thing again?"
"Get out of the way, Lancer!"
"Eh?" was all the knight could say before he and Saber scattered to both sides of the street, as Berserker crashed down with an almighty force on the spot where they were.
Saber watched as the girl descended from the silent giant hurriedly, curious to see Illya's current countenance. Blood-red, spidery lines now covered the girl's face and hands, as if traced by some sadistic hand on the white skin.
"Makiri! Release Emiya Shirou this instant!"
"Who's this brat?" Lancer remarked, and Saber saw him stare at the muscular giant warily.
What was Illyasviel planning by coming here?
"Makiri! Reveal yourself!"
"I am here," came a voice, "And really, it is rather childish to resort to compulsion like that. I thought an Einzbern would have more dignity." From out of the darkness stepped forth a small, bent old man, as if he'd been standing back hidden and watching all this time.
Saber saw clear satisfaction on the shriveled face as its eyes scanned the assembly of Servants around him. When it caught sight of Rider, something moved in the man's expression which made Rider instantly fade from sight, dematerializing into spirit form.
"So," the man said, sighing, "Assassin has lost, Rider is useless and all is right in the world. I knew I should've begun moving it back to the mansion… What business would three Servants and an Einzbern have, then, with this old man?"
"I demand you release my Master, magus!" Saber couldn't help but yell, stepping forward a few paces.
"Ah, the font's Servant. Where are my manners? I am Matou Zouken, a magus of some skill. Worry not; you and your Master will be put to good use under my care. As to the War, you can have my deepest assurances that any wish you may have shall be addressed, and much more quicker if your Master proves cooperative."
"I care not. Cease your vile magic, or I will have to cut you down." A bolt of light suddenly erupted at the side of her vision, a glob of magical energy aimed straight for the old man.
Before it could hit, a geyser of black rose to block the attack. Having done so, the mysterious shadow retreated, revealing behind an unfazed Zouken.
"What she said, Makiri," Illyasviel said, a haze of red seeming to settle around her. "Release Shirou, or else! He is mine!"
"Oh, so you intend to obtain a mystery like him for yourself, Einzbern? That is laudable." Zouken chuckled. "But as you can see, I have the right of first acquisition. You and your family may apply for borrowing privileges as soon as I am done. But as a matter of course, you will have to jostle your way in with all the other magi who desire to wet their beaks…"
"I don't care for the garbage coming from your mouth, Makiri!" She attacked again, and again it was absorbed.
"Understand your position, Einzbern," said Zouken, still standing implacably as before. "What I stand upon is a substance you might recognize, being the fifth… It is something that neither you nor the Servant behind you—" His gaze wandered over to the other Servants. "—Nor any of you would wish to touch. That is, unless you desire a distorted existence."
"Enough!" Saber said, charging up what little energy she had left to strike.
"Let's not be hasty," said Zouken, eyeing her now. "As Rider pointed out, unleashing that miraculous power of yours would only end up endangering your Master. It would serve as ample revenge for what I am doing: although at the same time it would be quite a pyrrhic victory for you, Servant Saber. And anything less than your attack, you will be glad to know," gaze now regarding Illya, "-will just as easily become food for me and my trump card."
"I will not stand for this!" said Illya, stamping her foot. "Berserker!"
A roar answered her.
Zouken grinned widely as the giant charged, weapon already poised to strike.
And then there was a loud, explosive splash of water.
"Behold, the Lord's good word."
Battle instincts caused Berserker to stop, but only briefly, as a fresh, glinting wet line separated him from the blackness' boundary.
Every eye looked up, at the source of the voice.
A tall woman stood on top of the ravaged part of the building, long, wavy brown hair swaying in the breeze. She was clad in a pure-white nun's habit, though there were no visible ornaments on her to indicate her faith. Several metallic objects floated about and above her. In her hands was a coiled, pulsing weapon of power.
Her eyes sweeped over them all, before settling upon the withered magus.
"Matou Zouken. As a Master with a defeated Servant, you may now qualify to seek sanctum with the Church. It is a requirement, sir, or else these other Servants may make short work of you."
"Who are you, woman? And why—" Zouken's gaze tightened, as if realizing something. "You have a familiar scent. Are you comrades with this one here, or is it-"
The whip cracked, quick as lightning, though it did not reach the man; but it was enough for the magus' strange protection to activate, though a bit impotently this time. The darkness slowly sunk down after the feint, and a tense silence followed while all beheld this strange exchange.
"That was not an order, Matou Zouken." The dull edge that used to be in the woman's voice sharpened considerably. "Desist in your scheme, at once."
"You and the Einzbern are all the same. Oh yes, I can sense your intent clear as the light of day. Hungry chum swarming at the first hint of food. But I was here first—"
"Lancer." The woman turned her gaze to the blue knight.
"What, woman?"
"Kill Emiya Shirou," she said commandingly.
"What? Who the hell are you to-" Lancer started violently, as if he'd received an electric shock. "You're kidding me right? Son of a bitch!" Saber saw the knight slap his knee, a wild expression on his face.
"If you'd like, shall it be an order?"
"Obviously it would go against everything I've been doing the past hour if I followed that. But…" He glanced at Saber, then at Berserker. "I don't think I can do it. It's pretty plain there are clear obstacles in my path, and that's not even mentioning the crazy old magus standing on that demonic pool. My instincts tell me to fight, but they also tell me I don't stand a chance."
"Then…shall it be an order?" A ghost of a smile appeared on the woman's face.
"No! Shit, don't—"
Saber, still unclear about the exchange, looked from the woman to Lancer. The man seemed to convulse, staring quickly from Saber to Berserker with half-lidded eyes.
"For the last time, I would advise against it—Master." Master? Immediately, Saber's gaze swiveled to the white-clad woman. This was the person they were supposed to meet? Had that woman been also intending an ambush?
"You may trust me in this matter, my Servant. I will handle the other while you, Lancer—"—a haze of red now shone on the woman's arm—"—Ignore all distractions, use all in your power to pierce through the barrier and take care of Emiya Shirou." The woman leaped from the rooftop and landed with a feline grace on the ground near its apparent Servant.
The man bared his teeth, as both Saber and Illya tensed. "Damn… Well it looks like our truce ends here, Saber. It's a fucking shame I still don't get to fight you again. Or him."
"Lancer, I knew it, you—" Saber turned to face the knight, face going taut at the betrayal, as Zouken chuckled silently behind them all.
"I don't need this distraction. I don't care who you are, but I'm not letting any Master have Shirou! Berserker!" Illyasviel pointed at the mystery woman. "Grind that woman to a bloody paste, then Lancer, then that dried up magus!"
As Berserker rent the night again with his battle cry, Saber took a stance and faced Lancer, who was already sizing up the darkness behind her critically.
"I won't let you harm Shirou, Lancer. I shall never let you pass."
"Hey, I'll be doing you lot a favor by destroying… well, trying to destroy whatever's binding your Master. You should be grateful."
"Still, I must defend him at all times, at all costs."
"Are you fucking stupid, Saber? This just means we destroy each other, and your Master never gets a chance to be saved." That, and Zouken's occasional amused giggles, made Saber think furiously on her next course of action. There were just too many unknowns that the only way she saw in order to proceed was to follow her ideals to the end.
"Then I shall ensure that I live. I'm sorry, Lancer, but your part in the War ends—"
"Berserker?" The Einzbern's hushed, troubled tone distracted Saber for a second, when her sight wandered over to the giant Servant.
"Hm?" Lancer lazily turned to look as well.
What she saw then was astounding to Saber, who had fought Berserker firsthand.
The earth had been hollowed out with craters all throughout the field, with many pebbles and small rocks littering the street behind them. And there Berserker stood in the middle of the devastation, trembling with arms slack and shoulders hunched, as if all the fight had been sucked from him. The woman stood some paces in front of him, still smiling placidly.
A long, transparent, line—luminous in the nature of river's calm surface at night—connected the woman's outstretched arm to Berserker's chest.
"dicit mater eius ministris quodcumque dixerit vobis facite."
With those words, a great splattering sound echoed, the watery line disappeared, and now Berserker's upper body was covered in a sheen of what seemed to be blood and sweat, though Saber wasn't sure.
"The effects are diminished with someone cursed by madness; but on the other hand, it was easy to turn this one's mind." The woman made a cutting, upward gesture, and Berserker did a mighty, earth-shaking stomp with its feet. Growling menacingly, it turned deliberately back towards the direction of its Master.
Saber saw the attack coming even before the giant had turned. Though she couldn't understand why she did what she did—scooping up the girl who'd merely stood there with eyes wide as saucers right as the monster's recognizable charge raged.
"Unhand me Saber!" Illya demanded from beneath her. "What has that woman done to my Berserker!?"
Saber now moved to dance for the third time with her enemy, now joined perhaps reluctantly by Lancer, who had been the next target after Illya.
"Hey, you godamned Master, what gives? Do you want me to follow the Seal's command or not?" Lancer didn't try to attack, instead focused on avoiding Berserker's attacks.
"Lancer, just treat it as a minor annoyance and go do your job," remarked the Master, who took one step sideward to dodge a magical bullet from Illyasviel. "It is a weakness in this art that those who are no longer masters of their domain can never be fully controlled."
"Lancer. Do not think I will let you ever harm my Master, even in this situation," said Saber coldly, as she used the surplus of energies from her Master to parry each wild, monstrous strike of Berserker's. The effort would have been disastrous on her arms, had Excalibur still been hidden by wind. The bared holy weapon, suffused with the energies of a legend, lent greater force to Saber's blows and counters.
The Lancer snorted, but the situation seemed to have silenced his candor.
And then there were two sets of laughter, the brief, high giggle of the woman's and Zouken's grating chuckle. Saber could almost hear several whip cracks sounding again and again, and then heard a loud splash of water in the midst of a booming clang of steel.
"You're trash, like that boy, Rider," she heard Zouken say with frank contempt. "Better you'd held back instead of attacking." Another familiar light filled Saber's gaze, and the swordsman felt the pressure of Rider's tool being unleashed yet again.
Saber then heard the woman make a satisfied sound behind her. "Finally, someone I can actually use. Lancer, look well. This is how a Servant should follow orders." The white light shone brighter, and Saber, having had enough of all the things that separated her from her charge, rolled sideward and then swung her sword in a wide, horizontal arc.
"Excalibur!" She heard several men curse, including Zouken, as she unleashed another flare of magical energy to meet Rider's renewed charge.
A fire had started, most probably because the buildings she'd obliterated had had something flammable within. Saber immediately stood and held her sword before her, eyes surveying the situation.
The woman stood where she'd been, staring at her with empty, appraising eyes. She now stood at the precipice of a great chasm of carved concrete that arced directly from Saber's position. Berserker was hunched over on his knees to her right, bleeding a huge waterfall from a great wound that had severed his arm and parts of his torso and leg. Rider and Lancer were nowhere to be found.
"Taking control of Berserker from the start may have been a mistake," the woman said quietly. Saber saw her glance over at the pool of darkness, where a wall of sheer darkness had risen and was now falling down, revealing Zouken where he'd stood.
"Damn, shout out a warning before doing that, yeah?" said Lancer, crawling out from a pile of rubble farther across.
She risked a glance behind her, surprised to see Illyasviel prone and unconscious against the wall where she'd left her, looking very much like a broken, castaway doll with its tiny hand clinging to its chest. "Disregard Matou Zouken's warning Saber," said the woman. Saber shot her a glare. "You should use your sacred weapon on that aberration. You seem far more effective in that role than most."
Just as she was about to growl a retort, Lancer spoke: "I'm hurt, Master. Gee, why don't you just use your little spellcraft to bind that Zouken and have him take care of Emiya Shirou."
"Because he can not," rumbled the shrunken magus this time; and Saber saw him smile in the manner of an imp. "That thing, however effective it might be even against Servants, seems to require a donation of blood to enforce the geas-like component on its victim. But I, fortunately, have not an ounce of blood in this corpse of mine, and so he must resort to his cat's paws." Corpse? What was that man saying—that he had no blood? Was he a spirit, just like them?
"You are very perceptive, sir," said the woman smoothly, inclining her head.
The old man shrugged, although a pensive look had settled on his face. "My thanks for the praise, but that shall not spare you from being my second specimen. One font is a treasure in itself, but two is an astronomical event—as rare and miraculous as the birthing of new stars from the belly of the darkness. I would be a fool to miss this chance."
The woman murmured something, and Saber heard a dripping of water against stone. The woman's hands shimmered again with that strange weapon of hers, and Saber caught see its intentions when the woman locked eyes with her.
"With Rider gone and Berserker still recovering, I shall have to use you, Saber." The attack came so suddenly, even before she could retort a dismissal. Saber barely had time to twirl her weapon upward to deflect the scourge, and then there was the sound of her sword striking water. Outraged, Saber turned the full brunt of her battle lust on the woman.
"Resist all you wish. Or, free your Master before she is lost forever. It is ultimately your choice. Either way, I will have you turning your sword upon the darkness."
Saber said nothing to that, dashing in close to get within her opponent's guard. As she waved her sword about, she noticed that most of the woman's attacks were aiming for her head. Of course! She pivoted, adjusting into a stance that favored her upper body over her lower, and drawing her hands closer to her neck.
"So you noticed?" asked the woman. Several of the things that were floating around her moved to intercept Saber's offensive each time she got close. They seemed durable, which puzzled Saber in that instant—few things could resist Excalibur's unleashed blade. "Truly the mark of a master swordsman."
"Why… why do many of you stand in my way!?"
"Personally," the woman said with a twitch of an eyebrow, leaning left to dodge a stabbing strike. "Because you're standing in my way Saber. As a being of holy sentiments I must see to the purification of all that is inhuman and anathema.
"Lancer!" the woman said loudly. "Why are you just standing there? Follow my Command!"
Damn! Saber had almost forgotten the other Servant in her urge to strike the woman down.
"I've had enough of this farce. Continue to slaughter yourselves if it amuses you," said Zouken. "I will see to the prize in my grasp first before I acquire you. Please ensure you don't die before then, but that seems to be easy enough to do for something like you."
The woman made a tsking sound, while Saber made a great backward somersault to stand immediately before Lancer. The two knights, seemingly recognizing the inevitability of it all, slipped into the posture of battle. Saber kept her vision fixed on her two opponents.
The tension broke, to Saber's consternation, when a loud, ringing laughter broke into the silence.
"It has been mildly entertaining watching you worms scramble and struggle. But the time has come for dawn: the time for worms to retreat into the sheltered darkness. And you, walking worm, must be the first to scurry away from this eminent gaze—lest the light of creation burns your soul from this and all other planes of existence."
Rin hissed in barely concealed irritation. "Another fire? It'll become harder to fight this War if the city goes on high alert from this."
Archer said nothing to that, seemingly absorbed with something he wasn't revealing to her. He'd said she'd had to be bound if something came up, but that something didn't seem to have happened yet.
Hiding out of sight and out of danger up here was, in a way, for the best. If the other Servants kept busy, she might just get lucky and some or all would die killing each other—leading to a quick win of the War with only the barest experience of actual combat. She only hoped that Shirou survived—though not for the reasons her Servant seemed to insinuate.
After a quick, totally embarrassing sound, Rin bowed her head, glaring at her traitorous stomach. As most of the adrenaline had left her system, she now felt the first pains of hunger.
"Rin."
She forcefully banished the heat from her cheeks. "You heard nothing! That wasn't—"
"Please listen."
"Huh?" the urgency in the Servant's tone made Rin immediately look up, only to have her vision obscured by the sight of Archer's armor.
"Archer, wha-"
"You shouldn't look directly at it," Archer said, and then she heard a strong, loud sound like distant rumbling thunder. Confused, Rin looked to her side, where she saw the unmistakable light of dawn burst through the rooftop. But it wasn't even midnight yet! How did that…?
"Archer..." she stammered. "Is that…?"
"No." her Servant answered. After a pause, he continued, "Though it's a no less annoying occurrence."
The sounds intensified into a grand crescendo of roaring, and to Rin it sounded like a million people shouting at the same time.
Has anyone ever felt such a feeling?
To hold the apex of all that elevated man and god above their respective creations, to be the treasure of treasures, a being that has tasted the end of infinity itself?
Few could claim to have achieved such splendor in their lifetimes—the gods died easily enough even in their might, and humans were too short and petty to ever aspire to rise above the mud.
He was born into a glorious legacy, and he had never failed to be worthy of his divine right and so deserved every epithet his people ascribed him: the truly great, the first hero, the genuine king, the protector of his kingdom, the slayer of his enemies, false lords and jealous beasts. In his time, to dare emulate his majesty was punishable by death, though he laughed good-humoredly at each attempt.
If one beheld him as he was then when the world was a much simpler, deeper place, one's eyes would burn right away from his brilliance, as if one beheld the god of morning. He was the golden beacon and Uruk's second sun, and certainly greater than any god who laid claim to the morning.
He knew secrets of this world that few people would glimpse in the bastard nations that followed in Uruk's wake. He'd battled many with a heart full of cheer and devoid of fear: titanic things, otherworldly things, things from the deep and the beyond. All that was precious in the world was his, treasures wrested from willing or unwilling hands.
Of course the truth of it all, surpassing the tales of gods and mediocre man, can never be truly described, even by those who were there to witness it all.
All that was left was the legend.
In Fuyuki, at the climax of the Grail War, the golden beacon flared to existence after millennia of absence.
It was an experience "he" had almost forgotten, a miscellany in the chaos of the last War and then forgotten when he'd become tainted since.
And as fate would have it, tonight, when he felt the very land churn and quake, when he could feel the uneasiness dribbling from every direction as from a cowardly warrior, he was then able to remember the thunder, the sun and the weeping of the heavens.
The "self" he'd forgotten came to him piecemeal, like so much flotsam and jetsam, in a torrent of revelation. And even still there were many fragments, many things yet forgotten.
But even an iota of the hero that had been far outmatched the shades of each hero that had come after.
His form, purified of the unsightly magics that had incarnated him into a lump of flesh, arose glorious in the night, the butterfly expanding its wings from its ugly chrysalis.
It was unfortunate that no gods remained that would recognize the divine glow that briefly illuminated the earth—only the mindless, enduring, unsleeping, neutral force that was as old as the world itself was left to witness it, and to that he remembered once smiling to defy that totality, even if it had inescapable chains.
His form was incomprehensible to any who looked upon him in that moment, forced to be mere vermin lowering their heads and shielding their eyes from true power.
But as for those present who could claim to be heroes: what little their minds were able to comprehend formed for them a concrete, lucid form.
His armor covered him from head to toe, gold as the sands of his time, when the desert was a thing easily befriended. Each inch of it was inscribed with symbols that no one would ever identify, each telling a story untold that when combined formed the entirety of his being, completely describing the whole that was him.
A dozen dancing jewels, each facet adorned with an ancient word of majesty, floated in waiting about him: mere extensions of his power. Three were the size of an obelisk, five the size of a lamp and four little smaller than the earrings he'd worn.
A halo of gold radiated from his shoulders, pulsing repeatedly like a star's heartbeat. A gleam of red shone through the eyes carved on his helmet, and that gaze was now directed at the worm magus. The darkness that he'd seen once pool and persist around the husk seemed to have fled from his glory, as was right and proper.
"Heed well, worm," and the voice he heard was no longer his, but then he remembered it has always been that way: high and muffled and majestic. "I am bound by laws beyond even me to cease the distortion that you are letting fester beneath your pathetic sleight of hand. Take those worms and begone, or be dust."
There was a general buzzing that he heard then—after all, in this form all he could only hear now would the voices of the gods and the challenges of worthy enemies. But he was still able to understand the general message, like the hunter who hears the fawn's desperate bleat: refusal.
"Dust it is then." And with a snap of gloved fingers, he opened the Gates.
An even impossibly greater brilliance formed around the battlefield as space shimmered and rippled to reveal the Gates, bristling with unbridled magic only held back by his will. The Gates cut off all chances of escape, appearing in the sky and the ground, one even formed directly above the walking worm.
The worm is too pathetic for him to even contemplate using the contents of his treasure room. And so, he opens the gates through which peered his birthright: once stolen and then returned—a glimpse of the fires of creation.
With a second snap, the Gates let loose: and Fuyuki was bathed in brief, unexpected sunlight. Uniform beams of golden light fired from each Gate to converge upon one point—the magus. He wasn't satisfied with one barrage, and so each Gate fired again and again, vomiting the destructive light of heaven repeatedly upon the presumptuous worm and all the darkness around him.
And when he saw, after sealing off the Gates, that the magus held on as a small lump of squirming flesh attempting to escape his sight, the King was seized with fury.
"Such insolence! Return to ash you impudent worm!" Drawing upon the largest jewel close to him, he tore open a Gate, larger than the rest, a small sun born underneath the magus' squirming remnants. The resulting attack was a dazzling light stabbing into the sky, and for a moment it was a pillar connecting heaven and earth—a beacon that signaled the beginning of the War's end.
It was not an unfair thing to say that Saber was not awed or intimidated—though, she held little fear for the enormous power that she felt the golden being held. But she respected it nonetheless, for it seemed a positive force, god-like but not malevolent in nature.
And it seemed that from that one's efforts, the darkness around her Master had been dispelled; and Saber dashed immediately to the side of Emiya Shirou who lay prone on the ground still glimmering with residues of golden light. Her Master's small form was riddled with blood, her clothes ripped and torn through in places.
"Wha…?"
"I'm here Master." She helped her light Master up and held him by her side, her other arm flaunting Excalibur. Shirou's body felt warm and stable, which was reassuring.
"Is it really you… Saber?" Her Master's eyes fluttered open listlessly, head bobbing from side to side. Saber began making a few steps forward, her eyes squinting through the light –tinged battlefield. She would have to make a quick getaway in order to let her Master rest.
"Yes. It was a long, tiring battle—and now we need to withdraw, Master. We need to rest for the night."
"I was looking… for you… waiting… I called many times… why… didn't you…?" Her Master's words were interspersed with pained, ragged gasps, and she endured a flash of murderous rage at all those that had impeded her from him.
"My deepest apologies, Master. I should not have let us fight for far longer than we did."
"Answer… me…"
"Master?" She could feel the heat rising from her Master's body. And it was only when she stopped to take a closer look that she realized the sound of metal scraping against metal hadn't come from her armor—it was a steady rhythm coming from her Master. What was happening to her Master? "Please calm down, Master. You're safe now. I'm here."
"Couldn't move… couldn't fight… tearing, turning—you won't…" Whatever Shirou had endured, Saber felt she needed to make sure he was in a secure location to begin recovery.
"Oh my, it's good to see we weren't too late," said the woman's voice, and Saber tensed, pointing Excalibur's tip forward when she and Lancer stood before the two of them.
"You shall not harm my Master," said Saber, her mind already calculating the moves she would have to do to ensure she and Shirou got out safely. Her eyes strayed especially to Lancer, who had his weapon tip pointed straight back.
"Have no fears, Servant Saber." The woman smiled, clasping her hands behind her and speaking calmly as if they were but people chatting idly on the fields. "For the time being, it is satisfactory that he has been freed." She tilted her head, eyes wandering over to Lancer beside her. "Aside from that, my Servant here has been commanded to take good care of your Master—isn't that right, Lancer?"
The man's eyes strayed to the woman then back to Saber. After a beat, he lowered his weapon with military promptness, stabbing the end onto the ground.
Saber didn't relent, even at the sight of his apparent peaceful intentions. Relaxing one's guard now would be death. Beside her, Shirou had begun mumbling nonsensical words.
"I would have never figured you to be a hero, priest. Did you not prove it to me, all those years ago?" A burst of light, and the golden one descended slowly to the ground near them, as if carried by unseen strings. It landed with barely any sound, as if its armor were as light as a feather.
The woman turned to regard the radiant being, seemingly unaffected by its blinding presence. "And I on the other hand, had formed my theories about you not too long ago." Her face broke into a half sneer. "It seemed evident, but you must understand if I held some reservations. The legends were never clear and you weren't so forthcoming; and I also never was able to look deeper into that senseless Contract."
"Who…?" Saber began.
"Ah, my little precious. Tell me, does it not seem a heady feeling, gaining all that energy from that newborn grub? It is as if you were drinking blood straight from the world's heart—fresh and powerful. With it, you were able to vanquish that pathetic monster and triumph over that brute."
"I have not had the—" Saber mastered herself. She could not shake off the feeling that she knew this entity, somehow. "I thank you earnestly for saving my Master. But for now we must withdraw from the field."
"You'll be withdrawing with us, I should hope," the woman said slickly, her arms open in invitation. "I have the necessary skills to help your Master recover more efficiently."
"That won't be necessary," said Saber, her gaze hardening. She could feel her Master's hot, ragged breath on the fabric of her arm. "Though again, I express my thanks."
"You can't leave us yet, precious."
"I am NOT your—" It was then that her Master moaned hard, and an instant later, energy surged from his body in streams of light.
"Master?!"
"So that's the event it was screaming would happen…" The woman sounded like she were describing a curiosity.
"What the hell?" quipped Lancer.
"That was certainly foolish of the Contract to find something with clear distortion."
Saber, utterly perplexed by the sight, suddenly lost feeling in her legs. The connection had suddenly begun pouring a large amount of energy into her, flooding her consciousness with more than she could handle. And when she fought to steady her will against the foreign river raging within her, she found herself unbearably overwhelmed, until she was swept away into a nothingness of pure white.
Archer cursed, quickly holding out a hand to hold Rin back before she could make the next leap and clear the distance between rooftops.
"Gyaah! What gives, Archer?" she asked as he placed her down gently on the rooftop's surface. She peered clumsily over the edge, her magus instincts clearly telling her something major was definitely going on over at the battlefield.
"It's time for me to bind you Rin. I'm so sorry, but there are stupid rules I have to follow." His eyes sought hers, and she caught in there a gleam of guilt and desperation.
"Archer." That one word carried the weight of many questions.
When Archer still refused to elaborate, Rin bit her lip, looking towards the magical disturbance before nodding at her Servant. As the owner, she had the responsibility over all things related to magic in the land. But this—this felt something far beyond her, loathe as she was to admit it. Something told her it was beyond even the War, though she couldn't be sure.
"Okay… Okay! Okay. I trust you, Archer."
"I'm very thankful – Rin," he said, genuine gratitude evident in his voice. And then, wasting little time, the white-haired Servant murmured something Rin couldn't hear, and after a wave of his index finger, all the girl could sense of the world was an absence of it.
The overwriting—for that was unmistakably what was happening there—was quickly blossoming into a full-fledged rewriting of all localized reality.
And the sight of it was so familiar that its cause was also unmistakable to the Archer who knew it best out of all humans that ever were in existence.
"…primary analysis complete. Shit. It's definitely a bound field." And it was expanding. Fast.
Under normal circumstances, he would have solved this situation, accomplishing two goals at the same time, by slaying the source of the expanding bound field.
In fact, that would still be the knight's course of action, if "it" had not begun railing against his mind, screaming an insensible, incomprehensible reprimand, commanding him to cease, forcing his very thoughts towards another purpose, his magic circuits already being primed.
He was the tool, and it was the Master, and he would cut and swing and crush and play to the tune of each being he'd ever contracted with, in payment for a favor made a long time ago.
"Tentative assessment—signature confirmed. Interfacing with self identification matrix. Confirmed." Archer blinked rapidly, pushing back the strains of a headache. "'Crumbling Flawed Blade Works.' Damned if that isn't a mouthful."
The area about the fire was overflowing with energy, the base components of the immediate environment being consumed, converted and formed into the ideal set by the field's caster. And that ideal seemed to involve a cracked, barren wasteland, as if afflicted by an intense, enduring drought. Swords of all shapes were planted every few feet about the land, their hilts barely peeking above the ground like the stems of a root crop. The distant rumbling of a steam engine and screeching, rusty gears echoed from nowhere.
Alike and yet unlike.
What did it have to accomplish by enforcing the field to form? Did it feel some semblance of petty human caprice by allowing Fuyuki, and possibly the rest of the world, to be reshaped according to "their" inner ideals? Did it find that prospect amusing?
How could he stop it?
He had to rebel. He had to fight back, for the sake of "his" Fuyuki—"his" people. He had to go beyond his duties as a Servant, to alter the course of fate.
And if direct intervention wasn't possible, then something indirect would have to do.
"A body of swords."
Initializing… initializing counter-force…
Insufficient energy. Failed to recreate.
Archer cursed. He had the vision, but the energy required to summon it exceeded Tosaka Rin's reserves. It required more than what she could ever hope to gain at the height of her power.
Then a thought occurred to him. If it was proving to be capricious, then maybe it wouldn't object to one more hero reporting for duty.
Not that he'd ever been a hero, even on that long ago hill of blades.
But the power he'd obtained so late in his life was theoretically still there—a link forged with a tired man making his final ascent to the hill's pinnacle. A link that probably endured even in his current form, all in accordance with its will.
The Contract had come too late to make a difference.
But he would use it here.
A flash of smoke, and a transformation that stretched muscles he hadn't thought were sore, and he was ready.
With a smile of self-derision, he regarded his Master. He was thankful she was bound. He didn't want to guess how much she'd blow her lid if she saw him now.
Concept stabilized.
A bow was in his hand, simple and sturdy.
He nocked something against it, and turned to aim upward. (He was almost tempted to use a different arrow, and aim somewhere lower and ahead)
Holding the dread image steady in his mind, he murmured a low chant and begun a spell that then sucked all the energy from his body at a rapid rate. He held firm, holding back the natural instinct to pull from his Master and drawing upon his own Contract with the world.
He smirked. How fitting that he'd use its energy against its own unfathomable scheme.
He breathed out one burst of air, before releasing the nonexistent arrow.
"Fleeting Apocalypse: Damocles!"
A titanic, sword-shaped crystal, red and menacing, formed directly in the skies above Fuyuki, eclipsing the moonlight with its sheer bulk. It floated, wreathed with a modest dress of clouds and a palpable sense of dread and impending doom.
Would it fall?
What would happen if it did?
Would it embed itself into the world, a genuine curiosity?
Or would it obliterate everything, in one brief flash of red?
How much would one pay
To let it fall/to not let it fall
(Decide thy fate)
Predictably, with its arrival came a chorus of screams that reverberated throughout the entire city.
Archer gazed up at his handiwork, taking many deep breaths to calm his raging circuits.
The projection was a monstrous undertaking, though it filled no combat use whatsoever. It would fade in a few minutes—it required a planet's worth of energy to make it persist long enough to fulfill its duty.
It was traced from a battle he'd fought and lost many lifetimes before.
He remembered the maddened screech of the cultists, the gathering of Many, the city being leveled, and then that ominous shape, appearing in the sky.
Failing to prevent it, they instead worked to save as many as they could.
And so did he engrave its massive, portentous form into his soul, to always remember that heroes could fail.
The coin had flipped to one side.
The sword had come down.
Archer shook the memories away. He turned back to face the distortion.
"A worthy scheme, Servant Archer."
A break of sunlight.
"I never thought someone else would have the jewels to flip that thing off. Well played, little counterfeiter. Well played."
The broken girl stood tall, in her shortness, against the black-hearted woman and the golden demigod.
"But honestly, Servant Archer. Do you have any idea what you've set in motion? You've made it very, very angry." The being beside her chuckled, as if greatly amused.
He glanced at Rin, who was still bound, and then at the distant distortion, which he saw had disappeared. He didn't care what the priest said. Mission accomplished.
"It's no trouble," she declared, tilting her head boldly and brushing off dust from her dress. "I can piss a lot of people off without even trying. What's one more?"
