Well, Merry Christmas everyone. And in the spirit of the holiday, here is the next chapter. Truth be told, I've had this done for over a week, but I decided to post it now 'cause it works out better this way. Continuing where I left off, horror (and still some humor) abounds.

Ah, let me say this first. Shakespeare's Master is not Kuzuki, but the magus who summoned Medea in canon. Just wanted to clarify that, since someone asked.

The Three T's of Victory

"Tekeli-li."

We were screwed.

It knew that, reveled in it, and grinned. That insidious grin, the sheer inhumanity of it pierced my very soul. The human body could not hope to keep up with the aberrant will driving such a thing, and it literally tore itself apart when it tried. Why had this happened? Was this my fault, for not being at his side when he was in danger? It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since I was summoned, and already this has happened. The one who reminded me so much of Roland, would I fail him too? Oh, Master, how could I free you from this?

My hard-won instincts flared up, alerting me to imminent danger. Searching for where the feeling came from, I saw that the red Archer had taken aim at my possessed Master with a fiercely glowing arrow nocked in a black bow. That weapon, I could tell it was Broken and thus, devastating. Even possessed, it was unlikely that Master could survive something like that. To my shame and disgust, I actually hesitated for a moment on whether I should intervene and save my Master. Although the situation hadn't yet become hopeless, and attempts to save him haven't been made, death may have been preferable to life as a monster's puppet.

I paid for this hesitation when Archer released the arrow, sending it streaking towards my Master. I knew I couldn't make it in time, though I certainly tried, and had to watch helplessly as it-

"N'gah shuggoth, n'gah."

-was absorbed by a tattered yellow cloth that slithered out from Master's shadow. Spouting off nonsensical words whose throaty sounds grated on my mind, the horrid creature laughed as his very presence began to pervert the world around him. With a motion of its hand, another tattered cloth, billowing like fabric yet somehow twisted into a form resembling a cavalry lance, emerged from the warp in reality and stretched towards Archer at a strange angle. Blocking the spear with twin swords that appeared out of thin air, the resulting metallic clang vibrating through my very bones, the other Servant cut the offending weapon to pieces. Pulling the remains of the weapon back by its woven tether, frayed edges spiraling into countless more pikes, the thing in Master spouted off more guttural noises as his form seemed to waver in unseen mists.

"Yah naflfthagn!"

This sequence of events repeated over and over again, with little variation, neither side gaining ground over the other. If Archer slashed with a sword, it would be deflected by a cloth emerging from Master's sleeves. If it was a thrust, rags emerging from the distortions in reality would divert the weapon. If the attack were a ranged one, the projectile would be consumed by the tatters emerging from his shadow.

If the thing attacked with one of the twisted spears, it would be shattered by twin swords. If it were a sweep with a coiled rope, silver knives would pin it to the ground. Attempts at entrapment would be met by blades emerging from the Servant's body, shredding the binding cloth to pieces. The whole thing reminded me of nothing more than the dance of the matador and bull. It was entrancing in its subtle unnaturalness, but I knew it could not be let to continue any longer. Despite the daemon's power, Master was slowly but surely losing ground. It wouldn't be long before a debilitating blow was struck.

Slapping my cheeks, I steeled myself for what I was about to do. I needed to stop waffling, to stop hesitating in front of the possible consequences. Thinking overmuch had never gotten me anywhere before. All I had to do was my duty, to protect my Master, everything else came second. So what if he was possessed by an unearthly horror? Master was Master.

Let's go.

Taking the distraction Archer unwittingly provided, gripping my blade with all my strength, I sprinted the short distance between me and my Master and smashed the pommel of my sword into the back of his head, knocking him flat on the ground. Possessed or not, my Master was still human at this point, and thus susceptible to all of their fallacies.

Like a concussion, for example.

Quickly hefting his unconscious body over my shoulder, ducking under a strike from the Archer, I turned on my heel and immediately retreated. I ignored the sudden sounds of protest from Master's sister and leapt over the dividing wall. Ilya would be fine, she had her Saber. And if not…Master's safety came before anyone else's anyway. It was just unfortunate, I honestly liked that house, but it wasn't safe anymore. The enemy, both Assassin and Archer, knew where it was. And while I knew that Master had things left in his workshop that his life depended on, his life also depended on me getting him away from that place.

I could always come back for the stuff anyway, if it became absolutely necessary.

I dashed through the streets lit only by the evening sun, my greaves hitting the concrete with a clacking staccato, carrying my Master further and further away from the conflict. I could wait until we had reached a safe place before I addressed his strange case of possession. I didn't know how long it would take Master to recover from my strike, so I had to hurry.

"Hippogriff!"

The Three T's of Victory

I was dreaming. I must've been, for what other reason would I find myself sitting in the coachman's seat of an old horse-driven hearse? The ancient city I was driving through was silent and dead, the only sounds I heard being the rhythmic clopping of the two horses' hooves as they pulled the carriage along the cobblestone road. The full roadside stalls and resulting detritus along the street showed that people had recently flowed through here like water, but there was no other trace of any living thing around. Not even rats, omnipresent in any human city, to eat up the scraps people left behind. Yet it wasn't empty, for I felt eyes upon me as I passed, staring out of the windows set in the old, squat European-style houses along my route. Just as I felt the eyes were also on the glass coffin in the back, its inhabitant as alive as I was. I knew not who he was, just that I had to take him to his destination. I knew not what his destination was, just that I would reach it at the end of this road.

The last I remember was cloying darkness, then endless white. Anything more slipped out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried to recall, much like sand through a child's fingers. This, however, could wait. I felt compelled to complete my mission, to deliver one of The Chosen to Him, wherever He may be.

As I traveled down the old road, the buildings started to become…strange. Of course, this was not all that surprising as this was a dream, and dreams rarely make complete sense, but it still sent a shiver down my spine. The houses, formerly stout-looking homes built out of quarry stone, were slowly replaced by twisted, almost metallic, towers that pierced the darkening sky where twin suns hung overhead. Unearthly texts wrapped their way around the almost-pentagonal spires, characters reminiscent of the nonsensical scribbles written by insane Magi in the ancient Middle-East, shifting along the obsidian walls whenever I set to read them. As I stared at these monoliths of nameless proportions, and listened to the ever-louder sounds of waves lapping against the shores of some unknown lake, an unfamiliar name came unbidden to my mind, for this was where the shadows of men's thoughts lengthened in the afternoon. What this meant, or if indeed it even meant anything, I had no clue, nor had I a desire to find out.

I could see the tallest spire approaching up ahead, bent at an angle where it should have, by all rights, fallen, and I knew then that it was to be my destination. Even twisted as it was, the top of the tower was the highest point in the city, the suns setting before its majesty. This was the castle that reigned over the city, the pillar that kept it together.

It was known to me that the being which resided in that tower, if truly called upon the Earth in all of His glory, would bring an end to all those near. Whether this was related to the so-called 'Unchangeable End' that was the undoing of so many alchemists before me, I knew not. Yet, for some reason, this knowledge did not bother me, even though a voice in the back of my mind said that it should. I should be serving another, it said, but the sight of the Sign inscribed on the tower's face easily drowned out its dissenting noises. I knew what must be done, though not why.

After summer is winter, and after winter summer. What once was, that is not, will be again.

This was the Him that I was delivering the man in the coffin to, He who was lord and prisoner of this city. He is who must not be named, lest you unwittingly garner His attention. For even though He is trapped, chained to His throne, His power knows no such bounds. Letting out a sigh, I watched as my breath formed bubbles in the air that lazily floated through the fog towards the sky above. Weird. Well, this was a dream after all, and dreams didn't have to make complete sense.

Like how I knew I was approaching the center tower, the old black-plumed hearse rattling along the pitch stone road, yet I seemed to not be getting any closer. To be honest, this was somewhat frustrating. Something was keeping me from doing my job. Had the one that seeks my passenger, not quite as helpless as I thought they were, caught up to me? Or had that so-called Purple Emperor seen it fit to interfere? Such things were not welcome in this city, for they had no place here. The whispers of the Phantom of Truth which stalk these misty streets shall find them, and they will all be justly dealt with.

I wanted to wake up. This...this was not me! This knowledge, this mission, it wasn't mine! A sudden migraine spiked through my brain as I crouched forwards to clutch at my head, dropping the reins I had clutched in my hands. The twin horses leading the carriage bulked and whinnied, tipping the hearse over on its side with a crash and the sound of glass breaking. As I was thrown from the seat to the ground, I knew the coffin had been broken and the inhabitant freed. Part of me said this was a bad thing, a very bad thing, but if that was the part of me that wasn't me…then I didn't know what to think.

Dammit! This was no time for en existential crisis. This was just a dream, an illusion! Nothing here was real! All I had to do was wake up, and-!

You are me, and I you. I…I was He, and He me. We are now as one, for you wear your face as the Pallid Mask. My face a mask, pale as the light of the twin moons. There is no waking from this dream, no escape from the streets of Carcosa.

The Three T's of Victory

Despite the urgency of this situation, flying through the sky was as exhilarating as ever. I surprised, but thankful, that Archer didn't pursue or try to shoot us down. And although it took me longer than I had hoped to locate a safe place to hide, in the end I found a nice cave deep in the mountains. While it was quite deep, deeper than I would've thought the norm for the topography of the area, there was a strange feeling in the deeper areas so I stayed close to the surface. And although the olid scent of primitive moulds and stagnant water assaulted one's nose, the area seemed to sooth my Master, as his unconscious struggles lessened once I carried him into the cave. That was why, despite how foreboding the place felt, I decided that it would make a good place to hide out.

Laying the body of my Master against the cave wall, I saw that the demonic transformation had already begun. His face had gained an unearthly pallor starting from where his mouth had torn open, a sickly yellow tinge spreading through his skin, while his clothes were starting to unravel at the edges and pale. That it was happening this soon after the initial contact was definitely not a good sign, it practically confirmed my feeling that the monster possessing Master was a creature of unnatural disposition and power. The strange aura of corruption that seemed to hang over Master's body, fell black winds stirring the otherwise stale air, certainly supported my assumption.

This thing was no mere 'imaginary being', that was for sure.

To be honest, I had no idea what I should do at this point. With the creature already changing his body, the methods I had thought of to save Master, pretty much just calling on the power of the divine through a few varied ritual chants I had learned, were already useless. I could've attempted a full Christian exorcism, though I had my doubts on whether that would work or not. Besides, I didn't have any of the materials needed save for my silver crucifix. And even if I did have the materials, ignoring my inability to procure them on such short notice, I wasn't sure I could recite one from memory. The Grail sure didn't provide me with the needed information. I'd considered taking him to that church we went to yesterday for such a thing, but the priest there was a neutral observer and wouldn't help us. Even if I surrendered, he had no obligation to help my Master beyond offering 'sanctuary'. And that was only if he just didn't try to kill Master on sight to get rid of a threat to the city, as was the Church's duty.

But maybe, just maybe, using my Super Anti-Magic Book of Doom™ (its actual name eluded me for the moment, deal with it) on him would do something. It had worked wonders with that Rin girl, after all. Calling the Noble Phantasm to my hand with a mental command, I struck Master upside the head with it.

Thwack.

Letting out a groan, my still unconscious Master slumped to the cave floor, unchanged save for a purpling bruise on his otherwise ashen face. Well, it was worth a shot.

Maybe…once more for good measure, just to be sure.

The Three T's of Victory

Honestly, it was kind of disconcerting, Luvia thought, to have to stop her Archer from giving chase to the retreating Rider (and possibly killing everyone along the way) with a command seal. He nearly lopped off her own head when she had stood in-between him and the vague direction where his target had headed. The Servant even had the gall to refuse giving an explanation on whatever came over him, brushing her off with barely a word. If she hadn't just used one of her three command seals to subdue him, Luvia likely would've forced him to spill everything right there.

Saber's Master, an Einzbern homunculus of all things, thankfully didn't send her Servant pursue Luvia upon her retreat. Admittedly they both were shaken by the unfortunate fate that had befallen Rider's Master, and that said 'fate' had the power to hold off a Servant didn't help, so any desire for combat either had quickly soured. Unbeknownst to the young homunculus however, Luvia had left a pair of familiars behind, disguised as nesting birds, to keep watch over the manse. If that demon-possessed boy or his Servant returned to the house, she'd know about it.

And, Luvia swore, she'd be there to take care of it. But first, there was much planning to be done. Demons never went down easy, after all.

The Three T's of Victory

Time passed into the night, and my Master's condition remained dire. Trying to take his bloody clothing off turned out to be futile, as the cloth had somehow fused itself to his flesh. I was surprised he hadn't woken up by now, what with an otherworldly horror eating away at his soul and all. Though he did seem to have a moment of near-lucidity, muttering unintelligible things about a city full of obsidian monoliths and domes in his sleep, showing that, while the influence was still strong, the daemon's full control over him back at the house had likely passed for now. How long this respite would last, however, was not looking good. With the rate that his body was degenerating, the possession would likely be complete by morning.

At this point, there was nowhere we could go. Going to the church wasn't an option, and taking him back to the house was right out; that Archer or his master likely had the place staked out. It seemed that it was the end for us here. The daemon would likely eat me when the possession was complete, as I was literally made of energy. But I couldn't just leave Master alone, nor could I bring myself to kill him. As I couldn't save him when he needed me the most, the least I could do to make it up to him at this point was to be food for the demon he would become.

Looking back over at Master, I saw that the flesh of his hands had partially unraveled, exposing the bones beneath, and become one with the scalloped tatters of his sleeves. His clothes had reached what I surmised to be the halfway point in their transformation into surprisingly baroque, yet equally ragged, robes that wouldn't look unfit on the time-worn corpse of a king. Well, if the king's body was also made up of the robes, yellows and purples blending seamlessly with the skin in layered rags. A large part of me tried not to notice the unhealthy paleness that his face had taken on and the movement of strange objects beneath the achromatic skin, stitching up the wounds in his cheeks with slithering feelers, and failed.

Throwing back my head with a sigh, I stared at the stalactites hanging from the ceiling. There was nothing to do but wait, spend my last moments with Master, I suppose.

All of a sudden, I heard the rustling of leaves outside the mouth of the cave. This night was a windless one, so the sound was unnatural in the otherwise still forest. Probably sensing the emanations coming from deep within this cave, even animals steered clear of the area. This meant it was most likely an enemy approaching, come to take advantage of our situation. Drawing my sword and pulling myself into a crouch, I prepared to face the intruder. Out of the gloom stalked the figure of whom I least wanted to see, the one who had put Master in this situation in the first place.

"Assassin!"

Did it come to finish Master and me off when we were at our lowest? If we were to die, it would not be at the hand of a thing like this! As if hearing my internal question, the twisted Servant began to laugh. The grating sound echoed off the walls, causing my Master behind me to moan in his sleep. After a minute of this, the killer reached into his cloak, I tensing in preparation for the inevitable appearance of its knives, and pulled out-

"Eh!"

-an assortment of bottles filled with a myriad of different liquids, a large glass beaker, a rather beaten Bunsen burner, what I guessed to be a portable battery, all kinds of silver utensils, a rock engraved with strange symbols, and a bunch more objects that I hadn't thought it would be able to fit underneath that cloak. These…these were from Master's workshop! All of this, this was what he used to make that medicine of his! How did-?

"Ki. Kikiki." Laughing at my befuddled and skeptical expression, Assassin used put its good hand up in a gesture of surrender. Horridly distorted and raspy, its voice failed to sound placating. And even that half-hearted attempt was offset by the toothy grin that peeked out through the sides of the Servant's skull-like mask. "WorRY not, my Master sleeps. I have a propoSItion for you."

The Three T's of Victory

"Ehehe, yer absolutely right Miyuki, a man like… like… like that is no good!" In the gloom of the night, broken only by the light of the streetlamps, three women made their way across the roads of Fuyuki. They had just come back from a company mixer, and Miyuki, the one at the head of the group, felt that she had been drinking too much. But, on the other hand, there were no good men among the mix, so there was nothing to do but drink. Thankfully her two coworkers lived in the same apartment complex she did, so they could all stagger home together. There was safety in numbers after all.

"I mean, come one. Did'ja see the way that idiot Kouji kept on starin' at Reiko's tits? It was so obvo… obuvu… obli… yes, yet she didn't even notice it!" Misaki, the woman to her left, said with a laugh. With her tie all crooked and shirt unbuttoned, Miyuki thought she looked the very image of a drunken, young office woman. To Miyuki's chagrin, the loud drunk continued began to poke at her side, before her attention was (thankfully) drawn to the third, and least inebriated, member of their group. "Do-don't gimme that look Mikoto, he was starin' at your giant knockers too. Then again, ahahahahahahahic, I can hardly blame 'im! Why, I aughta teach… teach… huh? Hey, you guys, whozzat over there?"

Looking in the direction indicated by Misaki's shaking finger, Miyuki was taken aback by what had shocked her drunken friend. Standing underneath the light of a streetlamp a few meters ahead was something that wouldn't have been out of place in one of her shoujo manga (that she most definitely did not have hidden in her briefcase). A tall woman garbed in a fancy Victorian-era ball gown, most of her features hidden behind a peacock-feathered masque, regarded the three with an empty smile.

"L-looks like someone got lost on their way to the geek convo… conbu… meeting." Bending over in laughter at her own 'joke', Misaki missed the warning looks her two coworkers sent her. After rubbing her head in embarrassment, Miyuki strode forward with the intent to apologize for her friend's behavior, only to be interrupted by more peals of drunken laughter as said friend staggered towards the strange woman. "Where'dya get a dress like that anyway? Did Snow White sell it to ya?"

"Hey, Misa, there's no need to be rude," Mikoto said with agitation visible in her face, beating Miyuki to the punch. Walking towards her wayward friend, she interspersed herself between the drunk and the strangely-dressed woman, who had not moved since this altercation began. "We don't have time for-"

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a trio of slimy tendrils, erupting from below the bell of the strange woman's dress, wrapping around her face with enough force to make her jaw crack. Miyuki could only give out a piercing shriek in place of her friend, who was quickly being wrapped up by more and more of the whip-like appendages.

"Wo-wo-wo-whoa, w-what the fuck is goin' on here?" Misaki so eloquently put. She reached forward as if to try and free her bound friend, hand shaking both out of fear and intoxication, but was stopped by another greasy tentacle from beneath the woman's skirts wrapping around her wrist. Tugging frantically, the drunken girl tried to free herself from the horrid thing's grasp, but could not escape as more tendrils wrapped around the limb. With an wet-sounding crack Misaki's elbow was snapped almost completely in two, upper and lower arm kept together only by frayed tendons, her humerus exposed through the torn flesh. The woman would have continued screaming, if not for the tentacles that had made their way down her throat preventing her from even crying for help.

"Ah... ah…" Frozen in terror, Miyuki found that she could do nothing, a warm trickle down her leg indicating that her bladder had failed. Seeing this, the woman, no, the monster laughed. To Miyuki's ears, the sound was completely unsuitable for such a creature, a light and dainty laugh that could easily be heard anywhere. This couldn't be real! She just drank too much and passed out, that was it. That had to be it! She would wake up, having been dragged home by her two friends and coworkers, and they would share a laugh at the absurd nightmare. So consumed was she in her own delusions, she could only stand by helplessly as her friends were dragged thrashing underneath the strange woman's dress. A fate she herself soon shared.

And it wasn't long before the night was taken by horrible slurping noises.

Smiling to herself, the elegantly-dressed woman began to dance with an unseen partner to an unheard band, quietly singing the words to the unknown performance. She vanished into the night, the haunting melody a dirge mourning the end of all things.

"Songs that the Hyades shall sing,

Where flap the tatters of the King,

Must die unheard in

Dim Carcosa."

[Break]

Aaaand done. Shirou is now showing the detrimental side-effects of possession. If his body wasn't already all kinds of strange, he would've died from those changes. Well, for those of you with some Lovecraft knowledge (or knowledge about cosmic horrors that predate his own) it should be obvious who is possessing Shirou right now. And, for those of you who aren't aware, I'll just go and save you a trip to google. It's the King in Yellow, The Unspeakable One, He Who Is Not to be Named, the Magnum Innominandum, or, as you probably know him, Hastur the Unspeakable. Well, to be exact, what's possessing Shirou is only an aspect of the greater being, Hastur's herald and avatar The King in Yellow. (And the tentacled bat-thing that assaulted Shirou earlier is another avatar, the Feaster from Afar.) If the whole thing took up residence in Shirou's body, he'd likely explode or something. And, from that, you can probably ascertain parts of Shakespeare's goals, and some of the reasons why the plot turned as it has. (The book with he held in that last scene with him was a copy of The King in Yellow play.) Most of the stuff here is based on Chambers' pre-Lovecraft book (which I have read) rather than later aspects added by later authors (which I have not read much of).

Also, I had intended to put gibberish where the R'ylehian is, but FFN does not allow consecutive symbols. Not fun.