AN: Alright people, here I present to you the next chapter of Fate/Stay BLEACH! I'd like to thank you all for taking the time to read this little story of mine and everyone who helped me along the way with encouragement and ironing out the ideas, and... wow. 11,000+ hits and over 75 reviews? You guys are awesome.
This chapter was weird in that I knew what I wanted to have happen in general, but the devils in the details kept fighting me every step of the way.
Masked Machinations: Part I
The Master of Berserker was planning to fight the Saber so soon after his previous battle, she noted. If it were any other time, she would have compared the prowess of the magi of her era and the current one, but now, something more interesting had captured her imagination. It was her initial intent to simply spy on the Berserker and measure its abilities, but the boy with the hair color matching a day lily had drawn her attention the moment he split himself from his body. It wasn't the first time she had seen him, along with his Rider. In her mind, the key to victory lay in careful planning and discreet intelligence gathering to learn the strengths and weaknesses of one's foes.
To that end, she focused her efforts on each Servant in turn over the course of the week. So far, the Masters had sufficient defenses in place to limit her ability to spy on them, even if she was mostly limited to Servants and their immediate surroundings anyway due to the nature of her scrying spells. Lancer was a very mild threat, what with his speed and skill. However, she never planned on giving him the chance to use either if she eventually needed to confront him. Archer was an enigma, and thus was quite dangerous. Rider was the same way, especially with the fact that she had revealed nothing about herself so far. Saber was as impressive as expected, forcing Lancer to withdraw in single combat. Berserker, simply put, was a monster, a creature she would not be letting herself or her love face any time soon.
But these were all overshadowed by the Master of Rider: the black-clad swordsman took on a Heroic Spirit like Berserker and toyed with him. Sure, their physical strength was effectively equal, but she knew from watching this boy that he was unconcerned with Berserker. He knew something, and likely was holding back more than it appeared. She could see it in his movements and from his reactions, even after Berserker endured the white light. He was dangerous, too dangerous to face directly. She would need to plan very carefully so as not to be caught in a fight with him unless she had an overwhelming advantage or sufficient leverage. Having her guardian at the main gate was suddenly inadequate for her defense.
Earlier tonight, she had decided to harvest a few more souls to lessen the strain of constantly asking her Master for mana. She had already managed to find a group to feed on, when she was interrupted by someone. It was like the person was trying to trace her location, to which she reacted violently in a spike of panic. Immediately, she looked into the source of the disturbance and found, once again, Rider, her Master, and another black-clad being, the small girl she had seen traveling with them a few nights prior. They had come dangerously close to finding her, but she had barely managed to avoid that disaster.
It was not all bad news, though. They had unwittingly given her a new avenue to approach this War from: the masked, wraith-like monsters they exterminated, these… "Hollows" could prove useful, but she needed to capture one and study it more thoroughly. Also, his massive power seemed to linger for a prolonged period in an area he used it in. With the right tactics, she could likely make use of this leftover energy once she understood it more. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't genuinely excited by the possibilities. With a slight smile, Caster began perusing her workshop for the tools needed to begin her investigation, stopping only once her crystal ball showed her that Berserker had begun his battle with Saber.
Elsewhere, Lancer hopped down the bell tower into the church proper, astralized and thus unimpeded by the doors until he was in front of his Master. "Hey, Master. Did ya feel that?"
"What did you sense, Lancer? I am but a mere human," the grim figure replied, the barest hints of sarcasm in his tone.
"Some huge source of mana just swept over here all the way from the far side of the river. I don't know about you, but whoever or whatever put out enough mana to be felt all the way out here is worth checking out, right?"
A third voice joined the conversation, an unhidden mocking tone in it. "Ah, so the dog whimpers to its master, wishing to be let off the chain? How cute. Maybe if you roll over while you beg, he'd be more inclined to agree!" the man laughed, his posture completely at ease.
Lancer wanted to growl, but that would just egg the arrogant prick on further. Instead he glared at him, whose condescending, crimson eyes dared him to react in any way. Before the tension reached its breaking point, Lancer's Master finally spoke. "There is no need to antagonize him, Gilgamesh. He brings up a valid point, one that must be considered carefully. Lancer, I want you to investigate the estimated point of origin before dawn. If you can find any sign of what caused this mana surge, I want to know about it. There is a possibility that the Saber used her Noble Phantasm."
The newly identified Gilgamesh shrugged with a slightly exaggerated motion. "I doubt that. Her sword is much more focused and bright. A truly magnificent weapon worthy of her station. This surge of energy was far rougher, unbefitting of royalty; a plebian's weapon at best."
Lancer didn't stick around to debate the issue. He had new orders, and the chance to get away from this little hellhole that ironically took the form of a church. Speeding back into the night yet again, he silently cursed his numerous enemies. Would it be that much of an inconvenience to have their fights a little closer to the church? It took him about ten minutes to reach the bridge, and another five to find the rather obvious Boundary Field around the park. Under most circumstances, a person would have ignored it, seeing as that was its primary purpose; a removal of perception. A subtle suggestion niggled at him, trying to convince him to ignore this spot as well, but the artificial impulse was shoved aside by his innate Magic Resistance. Lancer smirked. Even if a dragon took a nap in the space, normal humans would walk right on by. Not a bad trick. While nothing that insane was within the field, it did keep the absolutely mangled park and playground from drawing attention.
Still astralized, the Knight of the Spear took stock of the damage: the ground was upturned in several places, gouged and blasted by an inhuman force. Several fissures were visible, along with signs of tremendous impacts. Whatever fought here knew nothing about restraint. That narrowed the suspects considerably. "So someone got squashed by Berserker?" he mused. "Poor bastard." Approaching one of the small craters, Lancer lifted an insubstantial eyebrow at the imprints at the bottom.
Footprints: two impressions of what looked like straw sandals or similarly patterned shoes were embedded in the ground, the immediately surrounding area uneven and cracked. Lancer might have assumed that Berserker had squashed the owner of the footprints, but there was no impression of a weapon or any blood. Add to that the fact that the magus in charge of that particular behemoth hadn't cleaned up the mess yet also hinted at the outcome.
Closer inspection of the scene led him to three parallel lines carved into the ground. The center line was the most interesting; it was a deep, almost perfectly carved fissure nearly two feet wide and almost as deep as his spear was long that tapered into a point like a blade. On either side of the scar, two shallow trenches told the story of something large and heavy pushed back by the source of the fissure's advance. At the end of the furrows, small flakes of black material lay scattered about, ranging in size from no bigger than blades of grass to one chip the size of his hand. Crouching to give the piece a closer look, Lancer cringed at the smell. It was a small slab of burnt meat, roughly the texture of used charcoal and smelling of ash. Whatever made the trench was both extremely forceful and as hot as the flames of hell to do that kind of damage.
Given his suspicions on what might have transpired, the ghostly being inhaled sharply and muttered to himself. "Holy shit…" Whoever had fought Berserker was on the same level as that giant. Thankfully, his own bastard of a Master hadn't ask him to fight it, but he still saw the lead-skinned monster when its pint-sized Master had introduced herself as an official participant.
Speaking of whom, Lancer went over list of people to kill and/or enjoy a brawl with: his current Master and Gilgamesh both needed to die painfully, ideally with Gae Bolg through their chests, and he wanted several rematches. Berry Brow was last; he wanted an epic finish worth the risk. That succubus of a Servant he had was also on the list: their first encounter had no clear winner or even a real conclusion, a fact that needed to be rectified. Then there was that smug white-haired pretty boy, and most recently, the most outstanding of Servants: the Saber. "Damn it! At this rate I'll have grudges with half the city before the War's done!" he railed angrily while he headed towards the demolished playground.
While he continued his inspections, back across the river in a modest hotel Bazett Fraga McRemitz splashed some warm water on her face, taking a deep breath. She had gone to bed reasonably early, barely even 11:30, in order to get up at dawn in hopes of intercepting Tatsuki during her jog again. At the moment, though, her thoughts were elsewhere. Under an hour after she had gone to sleep, her slowly drifting mind was jarred to full wakefulness by an invisible wave of mana-like energy that washed over her from outside. Every nerve had jumped to full alert, and she nearly leapt into a defensive stance without thinking.
Confused, the Irish redhead tried to make sense of this feeling that had pressed against her less than an hour ago even as she washed her face. It was like… hell she wasn't sure what it felt like, but could most easily be described as some kind of pressure against her insides. She could move easily so it was not a physical interference of some kind, but this feeling of pressure always came from a specific direction like a breeze.
For about five minutes after it had started the feeling was nothing more than a vague tingle before another wave hit her, this one startling her with its greater intensity nearly making her stumble at the foreign sensation. She had nearly flown to her balcony in response to it and tried to look towards the source of the feeling, throwing open the sliding door and standing in the chill night air looking in the direction of the river where the pressure was coming from. For a second, nothing seemed amiss.
Then another wave had passed over her, this one obviously from the far side of the river, likely in the rough area of the city park she had passed through earlier that morning while tracing Orihime and Tatsuki's travels. Unfortunately for her burning curiosity and professional interest, the hotel was too far from the river for her to see anything through all of the buildings. The pressure on her abated then flared again even higher in a double-whammy that chilled her blood. She was getting dizzy from the barrage; especially the last wave that just hit her then seemed to pull itself away like an implosion. Her left hand had twitched at a slight jolt of pain at that last one, an obviously unique reaction that drew her eyes to it, but she could see no sign of anything happening even as the sensation faded. Finally, after one last wave, everything seemed to calm, the mysterious pressure abating. She had spent the last fifteen minutes waiting to see if any more strange waves floored her, but she had finally decided that whatever had happened was finished for the time being.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she asked it, "What's happening out there?" Bazett silently vowed to investigate the area in the morning as she staggered back to bed. She had a rough guess as to where to look, but whatever that strange energy was, it was completely outside her realm of understanding, a feeling she had hated for as long as she had been a magus under the Mages' Association. After flopping listlessly onto her bed, she rolled to stare listlessly at the ceiling while she waited for sleep to claim her again. The possible implications rattling around in her head of those waves made sleep a long ways off. It was like she was sensing mana, but that wasn't one of her abilities without rune magic, which she conspicuously hadn't used before going to bed. For that matter, even if she did suddenly have the gift, how could she sense it at such an obvious distance? Ever since she had been rescued, the world had been slowly turning on its head, leaving the magus confused and even a little afraid. "Maybe… it would be better to ask… what's happening to me?"
With another explosion of mana-driven power, Saber parried Berserker's killing strike. Then again, from this monster, every swing was inherently lethal. The giant silently swung the club randomly, his face set in an angry frown as Saber put her all into every parry, the attacks sundering the terrain, toppling power and telephone poles and ripping jagged fissures in the ground every time a strike missed. Even the nearby parked cars were sent airborne and/or shredded from the tremendous power behind the giant destroyer's swings. Between the storm of blows and the powerful shockwaves that followed each assault, Saber found herself battered about like a mouse in the paws of a cat. Her body screamed for rest, every bone in her body creaking from the assault, but her pride, her dream, made it impossible to stand down even against this juggernaut.
Shirou dodged a piece of shrapnel torn from the concrete beneath his feet as Berserker hammered Saber's guard again. He could see it, but he still couldn't believe it: despite the hopelessness of the situation, against all possible reason, the small girl continued to struggle against the giant, her blade meeting every swing sent her way, as if defeat was an impossible concept to accept. More bizarrely, her tiny frame displayed inhuman power, deflecting the worst of every swing away from her with uncanny prescience.
Something must have shifted in Saber's posture, as the formerly silent giant opened his mouth, a massive bellowing roar reverberating through the night air from within his throat. His next swing is different from all of the previous ones, an overwhelming blow physically incapable of being blocked. Despite Saber trying to parry the monster swing like she had all of the others, this one powered through her defense, barely if at all slowed by her invisible sword. With a sound akin to an artillery shell detonating, Berserker's attack finally ended, sending everything it had touched flying, including his relatively diminutive adversary. Saber sailed past both magi before finally slamming against the sidewalk and rolling heavily into a heap several yards to their left, a rent in her right side spilling blood violently onto the ground with every heartbeat.
More amazingly, and more disturbingly to Shirou, the knightly woman slowly, painfully pushed herself upright, her blue dress and silver armor grotesquely stained crimson as more blood poured from the wound. With a strained grimace of mind-bending agony warring with iron-clad determination, she managed to keep her feet, her fists clenched around her sword, which was beginning to take visible shape from the blood running down her hands and tracing along its length in red streams. The blade was stabbed into the ground, her willpower the only thing keeping her from toppling despite the weapon's added support.
Shirou took in the sight, the image of her slumped, haggard form burned into his retinas for all time. 'Why? Why is she so desperate to stand up? She can't win; we can't win! It's like… like I'll die if she doesn't stand up even now…' his thoughts raced while his entire body went numb. Seeing her like this, Shirou wanted nothing more than to turn back time and stop himself from participating in this madness. Saber shouldn't fight for him, nobody should! His own life was meaningless by itself; if his life was the one at stake, he was the one who should fight for it! Servant, Heroic Spirit, whatever she was, she shouldn't need to suffer in his place! It was then and only then that the full weight, the folly, of his decision crashed down upon his shoulders.
Ilya smiled happily from the hilltop as her monster of a Servant beat the tar out of the "most outstanding" of the Servant classes with almost laughable ease. After her run-in with the scowling samurai boy, part of her was worried something was wrong with Berserker to be outclassed by the seemingly human enemy. Judging from the reactions of the other Masters, Berserker was still as powerful as she hoped, meaning that only Ichigo Kurosaki was an actual threat. His existence was an anomaly, not the standard to compare her enemies to.
After sending the stubborn Knight of Swords sailing, Berserker halted. With the smile of one who knew she was untouchable, Ilya addressed her captive audience with a genuinely excited smile. "Is that all the Saber can do? You'll never beat my Berserker like that. He's the strongest hero in all of Greek history!"
Rin gulped audibly while Archer cursed to himself. If only he could get a clean shot! "Th-that means…" the magus in red managed to say, her words painfully forced.
"Yes. My Servant is the demigod known as Hercules. Your Servants aren't even close to his league," she confirmed cheerfully. "Still, I was a little worried, considering the last hero I fought was so strong." Her words brought Rin's eyes to the Einzbern's own, confusion writ large on her face. "That fire-haired samurai Onii-san was able to match and even hurt Berserker!" The thought of another being taking on Berserker and actually matching this… force of nature at the Einzbern Master's command brought Rin's mind to a screeching halt.
"I wonder who he was…" Ilya playfully tapped her chin, thoroughly enjoying the horror on the Tohsaka heir's face. "Definitely Japanese, but with such bright hair, and that distinct sword of his… a cleaver blade of all things! Whoever he was, it looks like he's the only one I need to worry about. The rest of you are all pretty pathetic," she finished, her smile brightening. "No use in keeping things from the dead, after all. Alright Berserker, we're done. She'll regenerate if we leave her like that, so rip her head off to start."
Berserker roared in what passed for understanding, his axe-club lifting as he charged the helpless blonde. As he thundered forward, Shirou's legs finally seemed to free themselves from the grip of dread, lurching into action. Despite his logic centers and his survival instinct screaming at him to run the other way, he sprinted towards Saber with the speed only lent to the truly desperate. His desire to protect, his morality, and the sheer guilt of being too weak silenced those objections even as the gap between human and Servants closed.
In the next instant, several sounds hit his ears in rapid succession: the wet squelch of torn flesh, the crack of destroyed bone, a splat, and a thud. Shirou's mind went blank as it tried to comprehend that single instant. His plan had roughly consisted of "push Saber away, dodging the attack with her and go from there." Instead… his body hit the ground, his every attempt to breathe ragged and growing more laborious. He could hear the shocked and horrified voices of Saber and Rin, and strangely even Ilya was staring in confusion tinged with something else he couldn't recognize from the distance. For some strange reason, he felt… oddly detached from the world as he looked off to the side. Blood was there, sure, but along with the surprisingly small amount were several chips of white material, likely bone, along with, judging by the path leading back into his torso, part of his small intestine, his liver, probably at least one kidney and his stomach, not to mention the other viscera in too much of a mess to be recognizable, all splattered against the asphalt. "Huh. That was… rather stupid of me," he mumbled flatly. The lack of pain was welcome. He didn't think he'd stay sane if he had to feel what had just hit him.
He had successfully managed to reach Saber, but there was no time to even push her aside as that club arced around, so Shirou had just spread his arms and braced for impact. Now, his stomach was missing, blown into that vaguely recognizable mess next to him. Rather than cursing the fact that he was dying, the accidental Master could only berate himself for failing to come through in the clutch. His entire life goal remained unfulfilled, despite everything he had done. He felt dizzy, the blood loss probably catching up with him, but he could still see and hear everything going on around him, including the dazed voice of Ilya, who had yet to move.
"…Why?" she almost whimpered as she stood there, uncomprehending. A moment of silence passed before she looked to gather herself and gave a huff. "Compared to samurai Onii-san, this is boring. Maybe the other heroes will be more interesting. Let's go," she said, her Servant returning to her side silently. "Rin, the next time we meet, I'll kill you," she added, almost like an afterthought. The moment she left, Shirou's vision faded to white. Even without his sight, he could still hear Rin screaming at him for being such an idiot, and that she couldn't fix the damage.
Shirou, in his dazed, drifting state, almost chuckled at that. Who could fix this level of damage?
For a strange moment, he could swear his vision returned, looking down at his mangled corpse while a golden chain linked him to it.
Unlike the previous night, Rider didn't even get a dream before a pulling sensation drew her consciousness to full wakefulness. Again, she found herself within a sideways city, tinted red by the window before her. And again, the pale hand gripped her wrist, leading through to the man garbed in the coat of darkness. The figure regarded her critically for a second, his expression grim before taking a step forward, the red barrier crackling and hissing angrily at the attempted intrusion for every inch his arm pushed through. As if in reply, the shadows that made up his coat flared outward like black, tattered wings, the sudden, unnatural movement almost making Rider flinch into a defensive stance. Where the shadows touched the barrier, red magical energy coruscated against equal amounts of blue-white energy reminiscent of her Master's Getsuga Tenshou technique.
The two forces competed for several seconds, the darkness digging into the red barrier in a circle tall enough for either entity to step through. Finally, the blackness carved its way deeply enough for a ring of the red barrier to be cut away, fading to nothingness in the space of the ring, revealing the man's pale form, his expression stoic despite the amount of energy he must have needed to unleash to enter this space. "Can you hear me, Rider?" he said slowly, his clear, baritone voice resonating as though he were in a vast, empty cavern.
"I can. Who are you?" Rider replied, noting that the figure had yet to release her wrist and that the blackness of his coat was visibly trembling to hold the red barrier open.
The figure narrowed his eyes as if slighted. "I cannot give my name to one who is unwilling to do the same for her allies," he stated tersely.
Rider's expression remained unreadable, but she tensed slightly, ready to spring to the attack. Where did this man (or was he a spirit?) come from, and what kind of introduction was that? "I do not know you. How can I possibly entrust you with my name?" she countered levelly.
If anything, the figure looked even more annoyed. "I am not speaking of myself. I speak of your Master whom you have sworn your loyalty to, yet have not given your full trust."
"How do you know my Master? What do you want?"
She took note that the hole he had opened in the red barrier was shrinking with every passing second. It wouldn't be long before they would lose contact, a fact that did not escape the taller man, as he looked square into her hidden eyes, his expression grim. "Our time is limited, so I'll keep this short for now. As Ichigo's partner, I am less than pleased with the turmoil your contract has forced upon him."
'Partner?' Rider remained stone still, trying to choose her words carefully. She heard him, but it was starting to get increasingly difficult to do so, as the smaller the hole in the barrier became, the more static-like interference began to muffle his voice. "How do you know him?"
Rather suddenly, the world dissolved into another room, right side up, she noted. "Later. For now, I want to impress upon you the length his trust runs, a trust I expect you to return. It begins ■ere: the night his w■rld chan■ed." Despite the connection getting worse, she understood enough to realize that she was seeing a memory, the two spirits standing as invisible spectators in the corner of the room. What kind of being has the power to show another's memories so clearly?
Rider watched as Ichigo leaned wearily against the closed door, pointedly ignoring the ghostly man hovering by him. He looked… less worldly, but more agitated. She didn't understand until Ichigo's voice, an echo of a thought, resounded through her mind. "Yeah, I've always been able to see ghosts. That's why… the existence of Soul Reapers… never crossed my mind." The words made little sense until a black butterfly flitted by Ichigo's head, landing on the wall above his desk, drawing his attention. And then, in the midst of white light, Rukia appeared, stepping off of the desk with unflinching focus, her steely eyes paying the boy no mind. Realization hit her hard, even as the black-clad man's eyes softened at the scene playing before them.
Rider was watching Ichigo's first meeting with Rukia.
The difference was mind-blowing. Ichigo had obviously changed, but Rukia… it was like she was a completely different person back then, more stern and professional to the point of stoicism. That thought dissolved as she watched the two have the first of their endless arguments, complete with the orange-haired teen kicking the girl in the backside for her intrusion and for ignoring him and the petite swordswoman locking his arms behind his back with a spell. Seeing Ichigo assess her drawings as bluntly as she had when she explained her duties was one sight that made the Servant laugh softly. Rukia hadn't really changed at all, and Ichigo had matured immensely while remaining the same person at his core. She would need to ask Ichigo about his father, who had attacked him minutes into his conversation, but was blown off like it was a normal thing: that man seemed completely insane, not to mention spiritually blind.
She watched as Ichigo took on the ogre-like Hollow with no powers, just determination to protect his family, only to be backhanded contemptuously as the Hollow tightened its grip on a small girl, one of two who addressed the teen as "brother." Rider winced and tensed to fight back the memories pressing their way forward within her own mind. Part of her wished this was more than a memory, that she could interfere and kill that Hollow right there. Then, as a memory of Rukia taking a vicious blow played out, she saw Ichigo make a life-changing decision with a girl he had met less than an hour ago, letting her stab him with her sword in the heart to gain the power necessary to protect his family, being blown from his body in his Soul Reaper form, an oversized sword on his shoulder in place of the familiar cleaver. Though he was obviously not as powerful then as he was now, he still showed no fear as he cut down the monster in the name of his family.
'All for his family…' Rider could only stare straight at where the deputy Soul Reaper's first battle had taken place even as it faded to nothingness and returned to the sideways city. She only just registered that the hole the shadow man had opened in the barrier was mostly closed. Ichigo was like her in a way she could scarcely believe…
"Ic■ig■ may be wilin■ ■■ gi■e y■u the b■n■fi■ of th■ do■■t, bu■ if y■u betray hi■, I will strike you down without mercy," the man who had been her guide threatened slowly as he applied just a little more pressure to his grip, his last words emphasized somehow to get through the interference. With that, he released her wrist, sending her mind straight to the real world.
As she stared restlessly at the ceiling of her and Tatsuki's room, Rider played over the scenes she had witnessed over and over again. Ichigo became what he is for the purpose of protecting his family, going from a spiritually aware but otherwise normal human to a swordsman which, according to Rukia, hadn't even been a full year ago. It was hard to believe someone could grow so strong so quickly. Hell, it seemed impossible, but the proof was sleeping in the master bedroom two doors down the hall. If he gained his power for his family, what drove him now? Did he have another reason for fighting? Sitting upright, she noted that it was almost two in the morning. Sighing somewhat, she slipped off of the bed. As much as it bothered her to admit it, the stranger in black who called himself Ichigo's partner was right. Her Master was putting at least as much trust in her as he did Rukia the day they met, and still knew nothing about her, not even her own name.
Stepping into the hall, she silently moved towards the master bedroom, her stoic expression and purposeful strides hiding her nervous thoughts. How would her Master react to who she was? Her past was a sea of blood and hate, and her name would bring all to the fore. Still, Ichigo had a right to know, and trying to hide it would only make it harder later. She paused briefly before his door before slipping inside as silently as a snake, Ichigo having not locked the door. 'Oddly careless of him. He must have been more exhausted than he let on.' Admittedly, it had been an extremely long day for everyone. 'No, it more than likely has to do with the amount of trust he places in his companions,' she corrected herself.
Unbeknownst to her, the door across the hall silently swung open, the sun-shaped face of Kon watching Rider as she eased the door closed behind her. 'Now WHAT do we have here?' he grinned at the images that could potentially play out behind the heavy door. Temptation overwhelmed his already fragile will, and Kon crept up to the door, noting that it wasn't closed all the way. 'Ah, how lucky! The goddess is not all-seeing!' Peeking in with the silent skill of a veteran, he hoped to catch sight of more of the lavender-haired goddess's inhumanly perfect form as she approached the side of the bed. Any second now, she would remove that lovely little black dress and boots. The images running through his head contorted his expression into a dopey grin mixed with the steely eyes of a sentinel as he watched.
Rider had no intention of fulfilling any of Kon's fantasies, looking down at her sleeping Master. A small smile made its way to her face. He looked… peaceful, a far cry from the unyielding scowl he always wore while awake. No wariness, no constant vigil for enemies both physical and spiritual invaded his sleep. He just looked like a normal, orange-haired boy free from the cares and worries of life… 'And the afterlife,' she mentally added. Seeing him so helpless and relaxed quieted Rider's formerly racing thoughts, and she suddenly found the idea of robbing Ichigo of his hard-earned rest a heinous crime. Soundlessly, she turned back to the door, her expression as calm and blank as always. She could tell him her name when he was well-rested.
While disappointed with the lack of fanservice, Kon had the presence of mind to leap up towards one of the decorative indentations in the wall when Rider began to leave, only to feel something jerk him back to the carpet with a squeak. "Huh?" As if by magic, he found himself lifted into the air, the uncomfortable sensation of something encircling his stomach accompanied a snake-like hiss from above him. Rider stepped before him, her hand appearing to hold something despite nothing being visible.
"Kon, did you honestly think it would be possible to sneak up on a Servant?" she drawled quietly after closing the door tightly.
In a remarkable display of inspiration, Kon had a believable excuse ready for this situation. "Hey, what was I supposed to think when you sneak into Ichigo's room in the dead of night? For all I knew, you might have been preparing to assassinate him or something!" he kept his voice down, but still pointed an accusing cloth claw at Rider's face, though he had his eyes focused on her voluptuous chest. It was times like this that he was glad he had doll's eyes: it was hard for others to tell where exactly he was focusing his gaze at times. Only a supreme act of willpower prevented drool from giving him away.
Rider's wrist twitched, and a nail-like dagger faded into view in her seemingly empty hand, the long chain at the end of the spiked loop at its pommel leading up to a hollow in the decorative arch before dropping back and wrapping around Kon's waist. The serpentine hissing was from the links of the chain grinding against the arch they were hanging on whenever the chain moved. "Oh? And why would you be awake and keeping vigil at this time of night? You weren't planning to slip into one of the other rooms, were you?"
Kon grunted, the thought too enticing (and true) to flatly deny.
"The fact remains that neither of us is supposed to be up at this time save in an emergency. If you return to your room and don't bring this up, I will do the same. Is that fair?"
Mulling over it, images of Tatsuki cracking her knuckles angrily filled Kon's little plush form with the cold dread of the grave, and he nodded. Instantly, the chain uncoiled, and he dropped back to the ground softly. "…Fine. But I'm watching you!" he grunted as he regained his feet.
"And Inoue-san and Kuchiki-san and Arisawa-san," Rider added dryly without missing a beat as she returned to her shared room, turning to make sure Kon retreated to the boys' room. Thankfully no one had woken up to investigate the situation. Rider's last thoughts before sleep claimed her were on how her Master would react to learning that his Servant was a legendary monster. Strangely, she found it difficult to envision fear or revulsion crossing his features.
Far off in the southern section of Miyama, ensconced amongst the western-style mansions of the more wealthy residents, a particularly fine three-story house, normally a quiet and pleasant-looking home known in the neighborhood for the extremely private master of the house, was giving off an almost palpable aura of rage like an angry flame within its confines. This house was the fortress of the Matou family, and the aura was centered on the basement where a single small figure brooded, a dark lord in his throne room. Shriveled, slim, and short, the pale man looked too frail to be such a beacon of power and rage, but anyone with the slightest sensitivity to the mood would feel nothing but fear at the black flame of disgust and anger the man was radiating.
This ancient magus, Zouken Matou, had witnessed the decay of his family's magic bloodline, growing more and more frustrated with each passing year as his dreams of immortality slipped through his gnarled fingers. Even with his skill at prolonging his life, he doubted he would live to see another War after the fiasco that was the Fourth, and then, miraculously, fifty years before he expected the next Holy Grail War to begin, the signs appeared for the next battle, a gift from heaven, it seemed. As always, he ensured that one of his family members participated, his adoptive granddaughter in this case. The girl's magical potential was quite impressive for her age, and he had no doubts that she had the skill to summon a powerful Servant, thanks to his rigorous tutelage.
Imagine his shock and fury when the summoning was hijacked by an outside force. As the girl chanted out the pact, an overwhelming cyclone of power pulled at the summoning circle from outside, completely and utterly drowning out the mana poured into the spell with its own strength, the gap in raw power so wide that even Zouken found himself breaking into a cold sweat. Whether by accident or by design, someone had completely taken control of the summoning ritual, the interloper's power and offering a far greater sacrifice than the Matou heir's own. As much as it galled him, Zouken could not rightly blame anyone for this unexpected twist, as no entity he had encountered in his tremendously long life had such raw power other than a genuine Sorcerer, and a magus couldn't usually oppose a miracle-bearer's will without sufficient planning.
However, this knowledge was of no use in quelling his rage, so he had quietly dismissed his heir and gave his disgrace of a grandson carte blanche to do as he saw fit with the girl. Combined with the pain of bearing the Crest Worms, her agony would be sufficient for the moment. He pushed those thoughts from his mind, instead bending the full scope of his intellect to the riddle of what he could do to regain control of the situation. He had contingencies in place for this War, but they were originally intended for in case of a complete failure by his representative.
Even more infuriating, he couldn't initiate any of these plans until the War took its first casualties. He knew of secrets to become a Master himself, but he needed a slot among the active Masters. The night the ritual failed, he had called Kirei Kotomine, and was rather frustrated with what he learned:
"Kotomine, my representative was unable to summon a Servant. It seems that one of the Masters generated a stronger presence and took control of the summoning at the moment the offering of a symbol was to take place. How many does that make?"
On the other end of the line, the priest shuffled through some papers, likely his records on the Masters that had checked in. "Six. The only class yet to be filled is the Saber. However, I doubt that your representative would be able to handle such a summoning."
"What are you implying?"
"Simple, old friend," the mediator drawled with thinly veiled sarcasm. "The last Master has already been chosen by the Grail. Unless you can find him or her and take control of their Servant or make them dance to your will, you are going to have to make due as a spectator for now."
"Unacceptable!" Zouken had roared, his familiars slithering jerkily in reflection of his black mood. The slight chuckle from the other end made Zouken wonder if he was going to have a stroke from how hard he was trying to control his flagging temper.
"I never said you wouldn't be able to participate eventually, Matou-dono," Kirei soothed. "Normally, there would be nothing I could do, but there is a loophole you could exploit. Even though there are six Servants at the moment, there are only five human Masters."
Zouken's wrinkled face dropped into a deeper frown at the revelation, but all he said was, "Go on."
"The Assassin is currently operating under the command of the Caster. Should either of those Servants fall, the fact that a human Master was denied a position means that another human magus would immediately become available to take over the vacancy."
"Ah, the 'Seven and Seven' failsafe." Among the many of the Grails failsafe traits was a rule that prevented Masters from simply summoning multiple Servants to reduce competition. As such, the Grail promoted balance by requiring seven Masters and seven Servants. A Servant in control of another Servant did not count as a Master for this failsafe, meaning that if the Servant lost control of its own Servant, then a human Master could enter in their place to bring the final count to seven Masters. "If that is indeed the case, it would be best to prepare right away."
"Do not rush, my friend. As eager as you are, you can't interfere until the vacancy opens. Have patience."
The priest had gotten rather good at pressing other's buttons, the old magus noted as he bit back the temptation to go blast that man's church into a smoldering wreck. As cathartic as it would likely be, Kirei was still a trained exorcist of the Holy Church, and thus had the skills and equipment to kill him, or at least tax his old bones and Magic Circuits beyond what he was comfortable risking. "Do not speak of patience to me, Kirei Kotomine," he growled lowly.
"Apologies. If it will lend you some comfort, I can arrange for a representative of yours to receive the services of… an old friend within the week."
Zouken understood immediately who this old "friend" was and his weathered face twisted into a parody of a smile. "Make it so. I will NOT be denied any longer."
While not necessarily bad news, the conversation essentially translated to the Matou family head spending an indefinite amount of time sitting on his hands with no say in the outcome of the Fifth Holy Grail War, a frustrating outcome. Without a Servant under the Matou family's command, they were ineligible to take the Grail once it was complete. With a scowl, the magus head of the Matou line made his decision. He would spend the opening act behind the curtain until the chance presented itself. To make up for the lost time, Zouken knew he would need to work quickly, and for that he needed a vast amount of mana and, more importantly, a ready vessel for the Grail's spirit. He had access to both, but now it was time to begin preparations. Until then, he would let his grandson play the dangerous role of Master to keep him informed, even if he was generally useless.
More of his oily black familiars slithered about, his will drawing them back to this dank basement. While his worms were quite low on the scale of power compared to other potential familiars, his mastery over them allowed him to harness thousands upon thousands of them, each able to store minute amounts of mana for his use. Once they were all pulled from their hiding spots, he would begin the plan to destroy every last obstacle, and finally, finally claim the prize that should have been his so long ago.
Morning came too early for Ichigo and his nakama. Sleep was one of those few things to draw any semblance of peace for them anymore, but duty called, and one by one the group convened in the kitchen, Ichigo being the first up and moving. The orange-haired warrior felt more refreshed today than he had the last few days, as his dream was relatively peaceful, though he still could make little sense of its meaning. Unlike the last few dreams, this one was done from a different perspective, that of a man visiting a temple of some kind, an open-air, stone structure reminiscent of ancient Mediterranean architecture.
He always kept his head down once he entered, praying to the three goddesses of their lands to bless the fields for a good crop. He was rather surprised when one of them, the tallest of the three, offered to accompany him to the fields personally. Such an honor would never have been granted to the followers of the other gods! The dream was mundane, with the quiet but gentle goddess (whom he did not permit himself to look upon) watching him work, her own hands helping till the soil despite her greater standing. Her kindness touched him, and he vowed to worship the three for the rest of his days.
Snapping his thoughts from his dream, the Soul Reaper switched gears to the current dilemma from last night. With Ichigo having been attacked, a bit of a meeting was called over breakfast. Sitting down with their respective meals, Rider watched in a mix of awe and revulsion as Orihime devoured the bizarre mess in her bowl. "Inoue-san, what are you having?" she asked, slightly afraid of the answer. The rest of the group made sure to swallow their current bites before the brunette replied. In all likelihood hearing the dish would cause them to spit out or choke on whatever was in their mouths.
"One of my favorites: a hot bowl of soba mixed with mustard, sliced banana and red pepper, shredded Swiss cheese, and topped with a dollop of sour cream!" she explained happily, turning the majority of the table's occupants greener with each ingredient. Only the comfort of not having to eat that culinary catastrophe soothed their stomachs enough to let them continue their meals. "Anyone want a bite? It's really good!"
Each politely declined, carefully tiptoeing around the girl's endless generosity while trying not to sound too eager about it. Orihime didn't mind in the least, slurping up more noodles with a bright smile. Rukia coughed into her hand to get the attention of the group. "We need to discuss our plans in more detail. First off, I should be receiving a reply to my first report early this evening, so we should have more specific instructions on how to handle this situation then. More urgently, last night Ichigo encountered another Master and Servant team."
Ichigo nodded and retrieved Kotomine's book from the coffee table and sat back down, clenching his toast between his teeth as he flipped to the page on the madman that had tried to squash him like a grape. Passing it to Chad on his right, each member of the group took a moment to take in the data within its pages, with varying reactions. Uryu visibly grimaced at the description of God Hand, while Tatsuki just looked as lost as Rukia had been last night by the ranking system behind everything. "Berserker's all power and still damn quick, but can't even think straight, just swing that club around. As near as I can guess, he's easily got as much raw power as Jidanbo, even more if he could focus on something other than killing. The real issue is the speed of his swings: he swings as fast as I do in Shikai, and the guy just never gets tired," Ichigo elaborated once the book had started changing hands.
"What's his Master like?" Tatsuki ventured.
Ichigo's frown deepened once he finished his glass of milk. "It's like some maniac crossed Yuzu with a Hollow with that girl. Spiritually aware, too."
"Do we even want to know?" Chad asked, looking rather unnerved at the image, not that anyone outside this group would have really been able to tell.
"A little albino psycho who asked me to play with her in the middle of the night. When I said no, she tried to literally have her Servant land on my head. Guy dropped out of thin air, probably hiding as a spirit on a rooftop."
"And this 'God Hand' ability?" Uryu pressed.
"Took a Shikai Getsuga Tenshou at half strength but didn't drop. He healed over in seconds, so I'd probably need to go all out in Bankai to beat him all twelve times. If I don't take him down all at once, he'll likely be immune to the Getsuga Tenshou by the time he gets to his last life."
Rider drew everyone's attention when she added her knowledge to the group. "Berserker's Noble Phantasm is not that straightforward. While Ichigo's sword is an A-rank, don't assume matching that output will pierce his protection. It seems that you might be using the raw power behind an attack as a measure, but Noble Phantasms do not follow the standard rules of reality."
The group looked at her blankly, silently prompting her to continue. "A Noble Phantasm follows its own rules. Since those rules state that an attack must surpass B-rank to do damage, this means that even if you have a technique as destructive as a Noble Phantasm, unless the actual rank of the attack is A or higher, it won't matter."
"What determines an attack's rank, anyway?" Rukia asked.
"Several factors: power is one, but so is the significance of it to the user, the strength of the weapon's legend, and its Authority."
Uryu adjusted his glasses in interest. "Authority?"
"A method of measuring the significance of a weapon or ability. Weapons forged by gods are always superior to those forged by man even if their power is equal, and those that channel a user's willpower will trump an equally destructive ability that simply unleashes energy. Sufficient Authority can even silence a power with greater destructive force."
Uryu crossed his arms as he considered this particular angle. "A peculiar way of classifying it, but it makes sense." The real question was how strong the Authority behind their own techniques was.
"There is no real easy way to measure the Authority of a technique unless you know the history of the weapon and where it draws its power. Just be on guard if you must meet a Noble Phantasm head on."
The assembled teens plus one Soul Reaper all nodded. In other words, matching the fury of an attack wouldn't guarantee an equal outcome. If a Servant's legendary weapon had greater Authority than their own will, they could still be overpowered. "Well on that cheery note, what now? Patrols haven't really gotten us much so far," Tatsuki pointed out.
"On the contrary, Arisawa-san. We have several locations to investigate in greater detail, as well as a feel for the physical and spiritual activity level of the city in various areas at most hours of the day and night. While we may not have encountered any enemies aside from the occasional Hollow, now we have genuine, accurate information on our battlefields and some of our enemies, something distinctly lacking in our last battles," Uryu replied. "The question is how we intend to handle each area. The biggest two points to investigate are the forest south of Shinto, and Ryuudou Temple in Miyama."
Rukia shook her head. "Later, once we have more information. Our primary concern should be the Masters and Servants who are feeding on souls. The mission is to protect Fuyuki's souls, so we need to shut down the Servants' feeding options if at all possible. At least one of the Servants can feed from a distance. Its spirit ribbon was caustic to other ribbons, using them to pull souls out of their bodies and absorb their spirit particles. Trying to track it via touch caused violent backlash that nearly melted my hand, so that method is out."
Orihime paled while Tatsuki clenched her fist in barely restrained anger. The tomboy remembered all too well the feeling of a soul being involuntarily ripped from its body, having barely survived Yammy's soul-sucking technique back when she was just starting to learn what Ichigo was doing when he up and vanished. The rest of the group shifted in their seats, their eyes steeling like the hardened warriors they had forged themselves into.
Uryu spoke up, his tone measured. "Last night there was also a brief release of spirit energy followed by an implosion of the same energy." As he explained, the Quincy retrieved a map and a pen, circling a small section in northwestern Miyama. "The sheer intensity of the distortion caused by the implosion combined with the distance made it impossible to pinpoint, but I believe another Servant has been summoned somewhere in this area. If we are looking for another Master and Servant team, this area would be our best bet."
A little light went off in Ichigo's head and he snapped his fingers. "So that's what that was. I felt that during my fight with Berserker. The Master must have picked up on it, too: she called Berserker off immediately afterwards."
Nodding, Rukia stood up. "For safety, we best split into only two teams today. With the Masters beginning to make their moves, we can expect more conflict, and we need to be able to defend not only ourselves, but bystanders," she suggested. It was a sound plan, and now came, in Ichigo's mind, the "fun" part: who went with who? While the logic of Rider being Ichigo's Servant and responsibility solidified her position, that still left at least one other person to tag along with them, maybe two. Uryu, being the second fastest, and Chad, being the second strongest, would be on the other team, leaving the three girls. It was eventually decided that Orihime and Tatsuki would accompany Ichigo through Shinto, while the rest would cross the river to Miyama, where Uryu and Rukia could track the signatures of the summoning and the battles with their greater skill in that field. Hopefully this would also keep Berserker and his Master from spotting Ichigo again and picking a fight in the middle of the street.
With the agreement to meet up at the Verde, a shopping centre barely a fifteen minute walk from the Shinto side of the bridge for lunch, the group departed the penthouse. Kon was stuffed into Ichigo's knapsack in case things got out of hand, no one begrudging the boy for not wanting to carry him around openly, nor the girls for being leery of the mod soul. The toy had protested mightily… until Tatsuki silenced him with a stomp to the stomach, driving the wind out of whatever passed for lungs in the perverted plushy.
While the Karakura team prepared to track their elusive and numerous foes, Illyasviel von Einzbern opted to stay inside her castle that managed to stay hidden from the residents of Fuyuki despite its enormous size and being only a few miles away. She wasn't terribly concerned about missing anything; her familiars were scattered throughout all of Fuyuki City, and she could easily access their senses within her own mind the moment one of them picked up on anything of interest. So far, no tell-tale shocks of orange hair had snagged her attention.
Currently, she was swinging her legs in an overstuffed, high-backed chair as she flipped through another of the large tomes within the castle library, several more sitting on the wooden desk before her in several stacks each nearly two feet tall. From the moment she woke up this morning, her mind had been racing with thoughts of the samurai teen that went toe-to-toe with Berserker and clearly outmatched him. With the vast repository of lore at her disposal, she had no doubts that the boy's nature and its weaknesses could be found within one of the books. With an order to her maids to bring her breakfast in the study, she set to work.
Much to her chagrin, wherever the secrets to the orange-haired swordsman's nature lay, they were well hidden. Having gotten up shortly after sunup, Ilya had devoted several hours already to her study, and hadn't found a single thing. Quite frankly, the girl was more than a little edgy from her lack of progress, half-tempted to yank on her hair to keep focused. Strewn about the massive room were more stacks of books that had contained nothing of use, and now her two maids had been tasked with re-shelving them and fetching any potentially relevant volumes.
She tried looking up samurai legends first off, wondering if Ichigo was a reincarnated spirit of a hero. No matches or even similar heroic figures.
Then, she tried looking up records of magic and lore around his "Getsuga Tenshou" spell or Noble Phantasm. Her family's library was severely lacking in that department as well.
Currently, the Einzbern Master was leafing through a treatise on the nature of Guardian Spirits, but she was having a hard time placing Ichigo in that category. Most obviously supporting this thought was that the swordsman lacked the animal-like qualities that defined such spirits. "Sella-chan, fetch me Volume 4," she called out.
"Yes, Ilya-sama," the slimmer of the white maids replied. Both of Ilya's maids were red-eyed women of pale complexion, much like Ilya herself. Dressed identically in long white dresses with a black undershirt visible in the shape of a spade over their chests and stomachs, the two maids could only be distinguished in their uniforms by the curly strands of pale blond hair poking out from under the hood of Leysritt and their respective builds. Sella, Ilya's magic tutor as well as a maid, was slender, almost petite and tended to have a stricter countenance despite genuinely caring for her master's well-being. Her partner, Leysritt, took a sisterly role and focused more on Ilya's happiness and protection. While still slender, she had a much larger bustline, even larger than Orihime's. With a normally relaxed, almost sleepy expression, the girl was warm and kind by nature despite being physically as strong as a Servant and a skilled fighter with her halberd.
While she waited for the tome, Ilya threw her head back and groaned, her small hands scratching the sides of her head in obvious irritation. "Gah! This is so boring and FRUSTRATING! There has to be something about the kind of spirit Berry-oniisan is!"
Sella placed the heavy tome on Ilya's desk with a "thump" and picked up the book Ilya had slid aside. A dozen yards away, Leysritt quietly picked up a four-foot stack of books and moved to the wood frame behind the desk to reshelf them like they were nothing more than a handful of feathers. In her quest for knowledge, Ilya had gathered texts of all kinds and ended up scattering them all about the library as more and more leads dissolved.
After placing the book back on the proper shelf with its series, Sella returned to the little girl's side. "Ilya-sama, shouldn't you be focusing on the Holy Grail War? Whoever this boy is, he's distracting you."
Ilya puffed her cheeks at the older-looking woman, clearly annoyed. "But that's just it! He's a Master, but he didn't even need to bring out his own Servant to take on Berserker! He's the biggest threat to winning by far, so I'm completely focused! "
Sella nearly lost her balance at the information. It certainly explained why her mistress was so dead-set on this matter, but still… "Are you sure he wasn't a Servant himself?"
"If he was, I'd have found something in the legends of this country about a fire-haired samurai. Still, I don't think anyone can just swallow a pill and split into two people. Not only did he do that, but the normal-dressed one wasn't acting like the same person, but almost like a familiar. It felt like the swordsman that he became was one huge Magic Circuit that never stopped channeling prana!"
To Ilya's credit, Sella couldn't think of any spells or tricks with familiars that fit the description, even with her almost encyclopedic knowledge of spell mechanics. Still, the maid offered an alternative, if not a very good one. "Maybe he was just releasing a large number of pre-cast spells at once?"
"I know what I saw, Sella-chan. He only used one technique that could be called a spell, and it was more like a Noble Phantasm. I checked though, and I can't find anything on a 'Getsuga Tenshou' as a spell or a legendary weapon," the magus pouted.
"Pretty name. 'Moon Fang. Piercer of the Heavens,'" Leysritt commented as she returned to Ilya's side opposite of her partner. Despite her intelligence, a strange but oddly endearing speech impediment kept the bodyguard's sentences short and halting. Ilya didn't mind, so neither did Sella.
"Isn't it?" Ilya beamed in total agreement before returning to her thoughts. "Anyway, Onii-san was crazy strong and even acted like he wasn't bothered by Berserker's God Hand! If we don't find something to counter him, we'll have a rough time winning the War."
Both maids nodded and returned to the shelves, seeking more information on this mysterious enemy. Ilya poured over the book Sella had retrieved for her, but soon found her thoughts wandering, likely from having to focus on something for so long with no progress. 'Ichigo Kurosaki… you're making things much trickier for me. With you wandering around, I can't just send Berserker out to pound everyone without risking my chances. Still, that just makes it more fun… right, Berserker?' After a moment of silence, a small smile made its way to her face. 'Well, he was pretty cool… his eyes were so pretty and intense, and he was handsome; his hair was so bright like a flower, too. Even his scowls were cute! He wasn't like anyone I've ever met; he didn't fear Berserker, and was so much fun to play with! I'm looking forward to seeing him again… Berry-Onii-chan' Unbeknownst to Ilya at the time, her cheeks had gained a slight tinge of pink.
Elsewhere, Ichigo suddenly sneezed. "'Scuse me."
