Fate/Cataclysm Chapter IV
Archery Games
Does it need to be said? Fate/Verse ain't mine, is all in the hands of the mental minds at Typemoon.
Speaking of, I'm off to Melty Blood, to see what all the fuss is about.
Moving a golden chess piece, an intricately wrought Knight, into a Check position of a countering Platinum line up, he sighed as Gilgamesh's prana washed over the ruined Fuyuki in a tangible wave. Honestly, the wizened old priest considered to himself, pushing himself up with the help with a gnarled old piece of oak that he had smoothed and shaped into a respectably presentable walking stick, he made his way out onto the old church balcony, a stone number that had seen much better days but still did it's job with a somewhat apocalyptic grace.
Sighing once more into the golden night, he had to let out a little smile at his 'Servants' actions. If nothing else, Kirei admitted to himself, nothing was ever boring when Gilgamesh was around.
Raising his staff in a silent salute, he turned towards the balcony's door, eyes narrowing at the figure hidden beyond, wrapped in the shadows. "It as been too long Zouken Mato, may I offer you a drink." The grinning form of the Mato Patriarch stepped forward, an unarmored knight shadowing his movements.
"That would be fantastic thank you, Kirei."
Suppressing a flinch at the way the creature's skin stretch and writhed as he split out a grin, Kotomine walked towards the back of the church, gesturing for to Zouken follow.
The Broken Phantasm flew with an unreal speed, closing the gap between archers in a manner of seconds. It flew with such speed that most no one would be able to dodge the strike in time, so fast that most folk would be dead before they even registered the pain.
But Gilgamesh, the King of Kings, was no ordinary person, Heroic Spirit or otherwise.
In the split second before the Broken Cadabolg would have struck dead, the Golden Archer's hand snapped up, the heel of his palm slapping against the warped sword, shattering the projection to dust. "You would dare. You would dare to use my own treasures against me Trash?"
Archer paused uneasily. Cadabolg was a powerful weapon, even as a less than perfect projection of the weapon to see it battered away and broken with such apparent ease unnerved him.
Oh he knew that Gilgamesh was strong, absurdly so he remembered as such. But for him to swat away Cadabolg like a fly, that was a much different beast than any of his counterparts had tackled.
Gulping deeply, Shirou's eyes glowed as he manifested a pair of gauntlets, black and regal the Noble Phantasm was known as For Someone's Glory and had belonged to the tragic Knight Lancelot in a previous life. "I dare oh Golden King, not only that, but I dare to assume you will that not only will I escape here with my life, but I'll escape here with at least two of your treasures."
"A faker and a thief, you are doubly insulting trash!" Babylon burst open again, thousands of weapons painting the sky. "Your ego is unwarranted."
Instead of standing still and deflecting the onslaught this time, Shirou dashed forward, a black fog bursting forward from the traced gauntlets as the Archer class servant did the same, weaving in and out of the rain of steel with a practiced ease, only to find himself spinning back into their path as he was forced to dodge a swinging blade in the hand of the King of Kings, the Mesopotamian having deserted his perch overlooking the carnage he wrought and, instead, taken a more active approach. "Goodbye trash."
But, no impalement came as Shirou sprang on to his hands, feet spinning through the air and impacting the three blades that would have struck him dead at that moment, batting them away, the momentum pushing him to his feet, as his right hand grasped one of the deflected weapons, the other two continuing their course as they tore up trees and struck against more falling steel and bought it forward to bear, a burst of Prana from himself destroying Babylon's Volley as the Spear known as Heretic, the personal blade of King Solomon, cracked black and glowed with red veins marring it's pristine surface, leveled it's steel at Gilgamesh.
"That's one."
Snarling in fury, two vicious falchion burst from within Golden Gates and into the mans hands. "Fine, you've got some skills. I must admit that, but you should know this, trash." The Golden King snarled, spinning the blades at his sides. "No one steals from me and lives."
Chuckling, forcing down an impulse to fall to his knees and beg the man's pardon, Shirou spun Heretic and responded with a come hither gesture, both Arher's tensing in anticipation.
Lancer shivered with familiarity as she watched the golden night from a small cave overlooking the Fuyuki Ruins.
That was the Gate of Babylon, the Doors of Eden that she had been thrown from so long ago. A servant had managed to ensnare that to their own desires and whims? That was terrifying and, considering just who she was and what she had faced down that was saying a lot.
Turning towards the restfully sleeping forms of her Master and his sister, she let out a sigh. As a Lancer there was no way she could take on someone with the power to control Babylon.
Bet perhaps... Yes, that could work.
Gently shaking Nia awake, she raised a finger to the young girl's lips. "I've got something I need you to do Nia, but you can't tell Atei. Can you help me?"
"Will it hurt Atei?" The young girl asked through a haze of fatigue.
"No, I can promise beyond a doubt that if anything it will help him more than anything."
With a bright smile, the young girl nodded and Lancer led the girl to the cave mouth hand in hand.
Assassin was such a handy servant to have, not to mention fitting for the way he had made his fame and fortune in this, the world after the Cataclysm.
But even so, she didn't seem to be quite as handy as she would like to think, after all, she had still yet to notice the small button he had shifted into her cloak, the small bit of plastic internally wired with sound and video recording devices, devices that were, right now, offering him a front row seat to a battle between, unbelievably, two Archers.
It should be impossible, the Grail having only offered the standard 7 servant roles to 7 predetermined Masters, people worthy to inherit the world for their own wills and whims, to become the Very Root and Void of the World.
But his eyes weren't deceiving him, this was in fact happening and as such, he would have to alter his plans somewhat.
Unhooking an old army radio transceiver he fiddled with the tuning dial for a bit, and spoke into the receiver with a calm, almost unsurprised, tone. "Two Archers, request old Clocktower records. Authorization Delta Jaguar King and Queen."
Nothing but dead air replied, but even so the pudgy man unleashed a wicked smirk.
He stared hard at the small chain link Caster had handed him with an intensity impressive before twirling it between his knuckles a few times and even biting down on it once, he returned to staring at it.
"Do you see it yet?" Caster asked with patient curiosity, as his Master continued to play with the proffered chain.
"Trace amounts of Magic ingrained into the actual metal, but that isn't anything special." Luce responded bored. "This whole dead city is absolutely saturated with Prana, I don't see why this tiny little chink of metal is any different, hell, I don't see why this is any more important than going to watch that epic fight over the horizon."
"Ah, but it is not just the chain, although that is the easiest thing to make the distinction from." Caster replied, blonde beard quivering in amusement. "Now extend yourself to the Temple's borders and then just slightly outside."
Quirking an eyebrow at his Servant's forwardness, Luce did as Caster asked, the man was obviously seeing something he wasn't but he didn't, or more likely, couldn't just give Luce the answer, the very idea going against everything the man was as a Scholar and Scientist.
So, Luce did as he was told, wrapping his prana down and around his circuits before sliding them to the naturally formed Bounded Fields of the Temple, Prana that had and would continue to, always build up around places of worship and faith, powered by the believers.
His magic slithered its way through broken stone and over rotting wood and around stale air, all the way to the shimmering edge of the temple grounds. "Okay, sure. The Fields seem oddly powerful, but this place looks old, the wards might just have been epically powerful, especially being on such a junction of Ley Lines." Luce spoke, a little off guard at just how much strength the Bounded Fields still had after so long of being disused.
"That's true Master, there are some very ancient Natural Fields that can last eons without people to worship at their centers." Caster agreed, the chink of metal now floating above his palm as it warped into indistinguishable shapes. "But, you've got one more step to go, reach out, just outside of the Natural Fields and tell me, what do you feel?"
Luce's gaze snapped hard into place, eyes falling onto his Servant in abject disbelief as he did as told. "No fucking way." He whispered sharply. "How the hell does that even work?"
"Who knows, but the fact stands, that apparently, it does." Caster said with a gleam in his eye, the metal link now stretched and wrapped around his left index finger in a spiral shape. "The question we need to ask ourselves at this juncture Luce, is just what this means for us?"
Swallowing hard, the young Frenchman had no reply.
Each Archer shifted their weight, blades in their hands more suited for those of Saber or Lancer origins, but these two titans intensely uncaring as they sought to kill or at least wound the other.
In the skirmish, Shirou had managed to make good on his promise and had liberated another phantasm from Gilgamesh's command, the original Cadabolg, and all he had to do in return was almost lose an arm, because either way, Gilgamesh had not let Shirou do as he cared to do without leveling a king's ransom in return.
"I gotta say Gilgamesh, I knew you were strong, but to think that 60 years manifested could do something like this to your strength? I gotta say, that's kinda scary." Shirou chuckled, Cadabolg sliding into a projected harness on his back, Heretic doing the same, but across the small of his back instead, the actions drawing the King of Kings' surprise.
"You're surrendering?" The Golden King let out in disbelief, Enkindu spiraling coiling around himself in caution.
"Surrender? Hardly." Shirou laughed with a snort. "Wait, don't tell me you can't feel it?"
"Feel what?" The Golden Hero growled, only to stop as a burst of Prana wrapped around him, pulling at his very essence. "Damn it Kirei." Staring hard at Shirou, the man just nodded slightly, before vanishing in a shower of golden light.
"Of course it isn't over Gilgamesh." Shirou replied to the statement within the nod. "This doesn't end until you're dead."
"You've let yourself go Kirei." Zouken laughed as Berserker pinned the aged Priest to the wall on his blade, bloodthirsty growls rolling off the Servants tongue. "To think, you were once the Greatest Contractor the Church ever employed, hard to believe isn't it Berserker?"
No reply was given.
"What's wrong Kotomine? You aren't replying, that's no fun." Zouken pouted, the effect ruined by the twisted and flailing of the excited Crest Worms beneath his skin.
"He doesn't do fun too well." A voice interjected from the back of the room. "But I suppose I make up for that." Gilgamesh growled, glaring into the shocked Zouken's eyes.
"How... how are you still here?" The unnatural man stammered, beckoning Berserker to stand in front of him as a Shield.
"No Zouken, the question is, what are you doing here? Because you know what it looks like to me?" Gilgamesh growled viciously, Enkindu flashing through the air, tearing through Zouken's right shoulder, separating him from his arm. "What the hell do you think you're doing touching my property?"
Howling in pain, Zouken screamed. "Kill him Berserker, kill them both!" But before the carnage hungry beast could move, Gilgamesh was in front of the Knight, his hand grasping the Servant's face. "I am not an official member of this war Zouken, therefore I do not give a damn about the trash within and don't find myself too willing to interact with them. Not unless they decide to get involved with me first, are we understood Mato?"
With a tentative nod, Gilgamesh smirked, his wrist flicking and Berserker flying through the rotten walls and out onto the overgrown courtyard. "Do not let me find you here again." The King of Kings crowed as the Patriarch of a Dead House ran from the building as quick as his decaying body could run.
Turning towards his Master, Partner... eh whatever the hell he and the Priest were, Gilgamesh let out a sigh as he carried the old man over to his bed and set to dressing the now unconscious man's wounds.
The KireiMesh Fans are going to make a mountain out of this chapter's ending, I just know it.
Chapter four, spun out for you all on the biting insistence of Rabla who, fyi, is writing a killer Black Rock Shooter story, so if you're into the BRS mythos at all give it a try, is called Worlds End Heroes and it updates far more frequently than this story and I cannot recommend it enough.
/Rabla, you owe me advertising money.
Jordan out.