FATE/LAOCH GAN FINSCEAL
"Hero Without Legend"
Chapter 12: Lies of Love and Memory
Another dream.
This one was nowhere near as scary as the previous nightmare, but Connla found herself standing within a sea of beautiful glittering stars, completely isolated from anyone in the outside world. There was no one else around to keep her company, yet she didn't mind. She just stood there in a languid daze, feeling her spirit get lost in the marvelous imaginary space surrounding her. She thought about her parents and teacher, reflecting upon just what sort of influence they really were to her.
I asked Leonidas if it was okay for me to love Mother when she manipulated me so. After seeing Father become so rabid, I think I know my answer.
Connla held her spear before her, staring at the blade as it reflected the countless twinkling dots. Her haphazard feelings gradually concentrated themselves into comprehensible words.
Mother never loved me. Father has always seen me as an obstacle. Teacher only cared about my fighting prowess.
Tiny comets streaked by in the distance.
I am a weapon. A tool of destruction for others to use. I have no opinions or emotions.
Connla gazed into the distance, where a brand new figure materialized with her back facing her. The hair color and style were the same as hers albeit long enough to reach her legs, along with an identical of the leaf-bladed spear she held. However, this was a woman in about her early to mid 20s wearing a skin tight mint green bodysuit and metallic plates over her shapely spine, hips and legs. A white bolero covered her arms, and she sported earrings similar to Cuchulainn's. The mystery woman did not look back at Connla, yet she felt a strong connection to her.
So that was my future. No matter if I died at seven or 27 years old, I would have lived as a weapon. I doubt I would have even been allowed basic human rights – just fight, fight and fight until my body gave out. That's what everyone wanted me to be back then. That's what the World wants me to be now. My past, present and future are all the same thing.
Such thinking would have broken lesser men. For Connla however, it brought calm to her anxious heart.
What a fool I am. Here I was trying to look for love, and it never existed in the first place. It's just a fabrication to make people feel better. No one in my life loved me as a person. Mother and Father only cared about fashioning me into a fearsome warrior, and Teacher served to hone those skills further. Even now, Father still only sees me as an opponent to defeat. There's no concept of family between us whatsoever.
The adult Connla silently turned around to face her younger self. Even though their brown eyes looked different between youth and adulthood, the same chilly cadence was there.
If it's the truth, no matter how cold it may be, I must accept it. To deny it is to reject the way of the world, which leads to delusion and heartbreak.
The two walked towards each other. The adult kneeled down so she was at the child's height, and they pressed their palms together. They continued staring into each other's eyes, not saying a word.
I will reject the lie of love. Once I throw away what is unnecessary, I will be free of burden, and can fight without restraint.
The older Connla's body shone a bright green, then transformed into sinewy threads that enveloped her younger self like how a silkworm would wrap its silk into wads. The threads eventually disappeared, leaving the child alone in the void.
I'm okay now. My past and future are one, as they should be. Now, I must return to the present and perform my duty of saving the world from Father's madness.
Connla stirred awake and slowly opened her eyes. She found herself lying on an old wooden floor inside a familiar building. Her head pounded like crazy and her body felt like one giant sore, but she ignored the pain and shuffled to a sitting position.
"Oh, little miss! You're finally up!" she heard Spartacus exclaim behind her.
She turned around to find her comrades either standing or sitting in a circular formation. Sanson was busy healing Leonidas and Spartacus while listening to what Arash was saying. Once he saw Connla wake up however, the executioner hurried to her side and said, "Don't move. I've closed some of your wounds, but you had the worst injuries among us."
"Mm… I took Cuchulainn's Noble Phantasm head on, then used one of my own."
"You shouldn't have fought him alone."
"I didn't want to burden you all with adding a Servant to that mob of creatures."
"That's no excuse. None of us want you to-"
"I said I'm fine. Just heal me already so we can get going."
Sanson stopped pressing Connla when she retorted so sharply. He sighed in resignation and continued using his healing techniques on her. It would take some time for her to recover, so Leonidas said, "We were planning our battle strategy, Little One."
"Did you guys manage to defeat those monsters on your own?" she asked.
"Of course. They had numbers, but our strength was greater than theirs. However, if we were to continue fighting such hordes on a continuous basis, we will not last much longer."
"It's because Area 51 is surrounded by cameras that monitor every mile of this desert," Arash explained. "The government went so far as to monitor all of the towns and cities in this particular state, all to ensure that no one ever got close to the testing site without authorization."
"Curses. If only there was some way of disabling their eyes over this whole place, then they wouldn't be able to know where we are at all times!"
"Hm…" the archer hummed listlessly. "It'll be fine. Those devices are controlled by a main satellite that relays all images back to headquarters. Taking out all of the cameras is impossible, but if the mother transmitter is destroyed, that will disable the entire network and render the enemy blind to our movements."
"You're using such difficult words, my friend."
"You learn quite a bit when surrounded by the technology of this era. In any case, I will see to it that the cameras are taken down for good."
"Do you have some sort of plan?"
"I do, but I won't say what it is just yet," Arash said with a strangely reassuring smile.
"Such coyness is unfitting for you, friend," Spartacus remarked. "I can understand the little miss hiding information, but you?"
"What do you mean 'hiding information'?"
"First she's not able to tell us her name, and now we have Cuchulainn mercilessly oppressing her for no apparent reason!"
"Oh, yes. To be honest, I'm just as baffled as you are about why he would isolate her from us."
Sanson murmured, "She told me that she doesn't know him personally," then faced her with a stony glare and said, "Now I see that you were lying."
Connla frowned and looked away, determined to keep her mouth shut.
"How do you know him? Please, tell us," the executioner urged. "If we don't know, we can't help you fight him."
"He's… my problem."
"In what way!?"
"I have some business with him. That's all."
"Even after you narrowly escape death by his clutches, you still refuse to say anything!?"
"I said I will take care of Cuchulainn. There are still other Servants that you four need to deal with, right? You should worry about them instead of my relationship with that man."
"Kgh-!" Sanson snarled.
Leonidas interrupted, "As hard as it is for me to say this, she is right about our priorities. Still, I cannot fathom the idea that that was the real Cuchulainn."
"Perhaps he was an impostor all along! You know, like one of those homuncu-things that humans make to serve as slaves for their oppressive ways," Spartacus suggested.
"No, it was him," Connla firmly interjected. "There's no mistaking those techniques. And that spear… It doesn't look the same as before, but it's definitely Gae Bolg. That man is, without a doubt, Cuchulainn."
Leonidas fell silent for a tense moment. "Although it is hard to believe, if she and Arash say that's who he is, then I have no choice but to believe them."
"Yes, that was Ireland's Child of Light," Arash repeated himself, "except he isn't the same as in the legend. For whatever reason, his heart has been warped and distorted into something inhuman, and the dark armor he clads himself in is supposedly a symbol of his mental breakdown. I honestly had no idea what would cause such a legendary Lancer to instead appear as a Berserker…"
He faced the stoic Connla and murmured under his breath, "But maybe she's the answer to that. Otherwise he wouldn't have specifically targeted her. I should ask for her True Name and-"
"It is futile to try," Leonidas warned him. "She's forbidden from saying who she is. Neither Spartacus nor I know what her identity is, so we have been referring to her by nicknames. Her determination to conceal her connection to that Berserker should also be recognized."
"She is forbidden…? Ah, she must have a geas. If she is related to Cuchulainn and Celtic mythology, that may explain it. That might also be why she never used a Noble Phantasm until now – she had to come up with one that wouldn't give away her identity. I suppose it can't be helped then."
Sanson finished healing Connla, and she stood back up with his help. He told her, "Don't push yourself. Some sores opened up as a result of excess stress on your body."
"That's normal," she assured, which didn't sound comforting to him at all. "Back when I was training under Mother, she expected me to fight so hard that I would bleed out at least once a week."
Now he was hopelessly flabbergasted. "What!? That's absurd! It's like she wanted you to die!"
"Maybe not to die… But perhaps to suffer because I was Father's child. She hated him so much that she must've taken it out on me."
"I don't understand," Sanson appeared strained. His expression changed into something fierce and grim as he declared, "If it were me, I would have had petitioned for her execution since she posed such a serious threat to her child."
"No! Even now knowing what her true feelings were, I still would never want that!"
"That's because you have been brainwashed into thinking her abuse was affection. If she put you through such horrors without you realizing it, then she never really loved you."
"How would you know what love is? You don't know what Mother was like."
"Believe me…" he fell silent, then put his hands on her shoulders. "I know. When you have the duty of cutting down an evil that is growing within the ones you love and admire, you start to understand what it is you loved and why it is painful to have to sever its mortal coil. I do not know much of your past, but it sounds like your interactions were solely limited to your mother's guidance. From my perspective, it is a twisted form of maternity that exists only to inflict suffering upon the ones she gives birth to. An evil like that should never have been allowed to exist, and I would have gladly ended it for your sake."
"… What are you trying to say?" Connla murmured.
"You don't need to live up to her ridiculous expectations anymore. If your body cannot handle the stresses of full-fledged combat, then don't suffer in silence. Tell us, and we will do everything we can to keep you safe."
"That won't be easy. I've been told all my life that I need to fight as a one-person army. That's why I trained so hard; not just to please Mother, but to also be self-sufficient as a warrior. I know I can fight Cuchulainn again. I won't let him escape next time."
Sanson let out an exasperated sigh. "The scars on your body are telling me otherwise. If you were 10 years older, then you would be capable of living up to such high standards. Right now, you are much too fragile to even think about fighting such battles against Cuchulainn one after the other. There's only so much I can do to heal you. The rest depends on you knowing your limits."
Connla didn't say anything in response. She had never heard anyone say such kind words to her before. It was always, "Push yourself. Surpass your limits. Go until you can go no further." She wasn't sure what to make of the executioner's advice.
"That's enough," Leonidas interfered. "I second your opinion about the Little One's safety, but your opinions about her mother are uncalled for. Such harsh words are poison to someone who loves her parents unconditionally, even if we believe they are horrible people."
"I understand," Sanson said. "It isn't like I can do anything about it anyway. I just wanted her to change her way of thinking so she could last longer in this war."
"You could be less abrasive about it. She is not as experienced with the ways of the world as we are."
"I apologize. I will watch what I say around her."
"No," Connla suddenly said. "You can be as blunt as you wish. I know the truth. Nothing that anyone says will scare me away from it."
"… Little One?" Leonidas whispered, finally noticing the drastic change in her attitude.
Spartacus exclaimed, "If the little miss is ready, can we get going already? There are villains that are waiting to be put in their place!"
"Before we leave this place, I must prepare for taking down that transmitter," Arash said and went outside first, then jumped onto the roof. The others weren't sure what he was up to and followed him.
Cuchulainn returned to Area 51 and leaned against the wall to keep his balance. He had lost more blood than he thought and was feeling rather woozy.
Phew… That was quite the Noble Phantasm she discovered. She had the rage and frustration of countless forgotten souls contained within her spear. But I'm happy. Now she and I can fight on equal terms.
He entered his chambers and fell upon the bed, relieved to not have to trudge about anymore. He stared at the drab grey ceiling tiredly and focused on his breathing for a few quiet minutes.
"Welcome back."
Cuchulainn widened his eyes when he heard the unexpected greeting and sat back up. Hidden in the darkest corner of the room was a familiar grey-haired gentleman, who gave the Berserker a bow.
"What do you want, Archer?" the spearman growled. "If it's something stupid, I'll kill you without second thought."
"Come now, there's no need for such hostility," Moriarty defended himself. "You did quite well against a Noble Phantasm that history has never been seen before. I just thought I'd congratulate you on surviving something so unforgiving and deadly."
"That's not why you're here. What do you want from me?"
"Hah… I suppose there is no point in trying to fool you. Like Agrippina, I've been growing rather curious about the young lady whom you lost against. Despite all the information we have on the other Servants, she miraculously still remains anonymous. I wouldn't say it's Presence Concealment from a Lancer, but something close to it. Furthermore, I could not help but notice how her fighting style is virtually identical to yours. She does not possess Gae Bolg, but her god-like speed and spear techniques more than make up for such a shortcoming. Then again, if she had that weapon, it would mislead others into believing she is a version of Cuchulainn as a child. After all, did you not kill a canine beast when you were around her age? It'd be bad if the world was mistaken in identifying her True Name as yours."
"Get to the point already, you old fop."
"I believe I shall. I did some research into your background and wanted to confirm something with you. I believe the young Lancer is indeed someone you know quite well, rather than an alternate version of yourself. Am I wrong in assuming that her True Name is Connla, the bastard child conceived between you and the Scottish warrior woman Aife?"
The mutated Celtic hero said nothing. Moriarty continued, "She is a seven-year old child bound to three geasa, trained under Scathach so she fights very similarly to you, sent to your homeland so you two may clash in a death match duel due to Aife's hatred of you besmirching her honor. There is no other person who fits those criteria."
"… Let me make one correction to your theory."
Cuchulainn faced the mathematician, and riastrad kicked in as the Berserker's face contorted with creases of anger.
"She is no unwanted bastard. I chose Aife to bear Connla because she was a magnificent warrior who could give me a child blessed with such skill. I waited in anticipation for Connla's arrival so I could pass my legacy to her. Continue to use such parlance around me and your head will part ways with your neck."
"Oh, my apologies," Moriarty delivered another bow that hardly appeared humble. "I did not mean to offend you. I simply wanted to be sure that my deduction was correct. So, am I wrong?"
"No, you're not. That Lancer is indeed my daughter Connla. I would say I'm surprised you figured it out, but knowing who you are, I believed you would be the first out of anyone to understand."
"Please, good sir, I deserve no such praise. All it took was some simple research into your background. Granted, a large part of the girl's history has been lost to time, but reading between the lines is a skill I have come to acquire over the years."
"So what's the point of you asking me something so redundant?" Cuchulainn demanded. "You trying to find some sort of leverage over me, Mr. Criminal Mastermind? Don't bother trying. My spear only exists to clash with hers in battle."
"No, no, no, please don't get the wrong idea," Moriarty stopped him. "I only believed it was proper to dispense with this charade and clear the air about our intentions."
"Intentions?"
"Since you have confirmed her identity to me, that poses another issue – namely that the Throne of Heroes has not recorded her name, yet she is here as a Servant. The only way to bypass this is to make a wish upon the Holy Grail, and the only one who has any sort of connection with her is you. Therefore, the only conclusion to such logic is that you are the one who wished her to become a Servant who would challenge you. But no matter how hard you may try to subvert the law of the Throne, eventually she will return to the realm of oblivion, for she has all but been forgotten by the world. One who accomplishes nothing is not a hero, but a passing curiosity."
"Is that what you think?" Cuchulainn snarled. "You saw her Noble Phantasm, did you not? Those who have been lost to time gave their collective strength to a hero to represent them. No one is more suitable to be the face of the forgotten as she is."
"Yet that strength will be wasted if she does not stop you and save this world. If humans do not remember her for any sort of accomplishment, the Throne likewise will not. If such a wish does not come true for you, what will you do?"
The dark-armored Berserker sighed. Moriarty had him completely figured out. There wasn't much point in trying to conceal his desires to the criminal gentleman any longer.
"Humans are so disgusting," he murmured sullenly. "They consciously extol the lives of the righteous and noble through saccharine propaganda, which is fine in itself. But in reality, they have a better time remembering those who lived depraved existences, going so far as to hail them as 'heroes', which in turn ascends them to the Throne. Such creatures like Carmilla, Gilles de Rais, Caligula, and even Medb have escaped the clutches of obscurity even though they are the most horrible human beings to have ever walked the face of this earth. Even I am no honorable hero, but a killer who just happened to survive for as long as I did. All 'heroes' are the result of such bloodthirsty tenacity, are they not?"
"So they are. How wise you are for recognizing such hypocrisy."
"Yet for each person remembered, how many more has the Throne consigned to be tossed in this world's equivalent of the garbage bin? Out of sight, out of mind, out of memory. Their successes, failures, emotions, and legacies mean nothing to the Throne, even though they may be more deserving than the monsters that have been recorded. Connla may represent those lost souls, yet she too is as forsaken as they are. If she cannot fulfill my wish and overcome the Throne's – no, humanity's blatantly skewed bias…"
Cuchulainn put his hand over his tattooed chest. Something seemed to shine beneath it for a second, and Moriarty raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
"I will erase it all," the Berserker murmured. "A world that tosses aside the innocent ones in favor of immortalizing monsters is a world better off destroyed."
Moriarty ran his fingers through his swept bangs in admiration. He smiled slightly and said, "Well, well. This quite the surprise, Sir Cuchulainn. I did not know you harbored such feelings for this world. Yes, I see that you have thought this through quite carefully, even though none of it is for your benefit. Or is it? Perhaps this is all naught more but a way to sate your ego by displaying your long-lost daughter as your worthy successor. She is like your trophy, if you would."
"Ego? Successor? Trophy? Don't be ridiculous. I simply repressed those thoughts for too long, and now they have finally come to the surface to control my actions. All I want is for her to become a Servant. If this entire world winds up denying her what she deserves, then I will show everyone the horror of being lost to time forever. I couldn't care less what happens afterwards."
Cuchulainn closed his eyes and thought of something sentimental that he would never say to Moriarty;
No matter what the outcome is, I'll be by her side… So she won't have to be lonely anymore.
"I see," the criminal mastermind murmured. "I understand you very well. We humans are cancerous beings who thrive by devouring those we deem lesser in value, and the Throne is simply a reflection of this. Humans have the power to pick and choose who they want to remember, especially in this age where there are so many people in this world that the value of human life has dropped drastically compared to the ancient days. We are creatures of convenience, bound to use what is most efficient for us, whether they be tools, machines, animals, or fellow humans.
"Yes… I have a newfound respect for you, Sir Cuchulainn. Just like you, I acknowledge the evil festering within myself and this putrid world. What good is it to keep things as they are anymore? Just as a doctor excises cancerous tumors, we monsters have a responsibility to cull this world's hypocrisy."
"I thought you were only interested in starting wars to rake in the profits. What gives with the genocidal attitude?" Cuchulainn wondered curiously.
"Hoh hoh. Perhaps it is the result of being summoned in this timeline. Does it not affect you as well? This world, bursting to the seams with more humans than ever before, is just as barbaric as the days of Genghis Khan, the Spanish Inquisition, the Holocaust, and much more. It just goes under a more colorful banner as the War on Terror. This false peace will soon crack, and there will be millions more slaughtered in the name of petty desires. What good is amassing a fortune if all the spending in the world will not fix humanity's repeated mistakes? Better to just clean up the place and start from fresh."
"Hmph. So what are you trying to say? That you'll cooperate with me? Or are you trying to find some way to make sure Connla fails so you can see your planetary destruction to its fruition?"
Moriarty let out a hearty bellow and clapped a few times. "My, my! You understand me so well! I had thought of that, but in honor of your keen insight into my black heart, I will refrain from interfering with your affairs. I will allow everything to happen according to your story, for it is a very well-written one. I feel it would do such a fine tale injustice if I tried to meddle in your authorship."
"So you're saying you know everything, but won't butt in. Could've just said that right from the start."
"You know how hopelessly loquacious I tend to be. All I shall say is that if something goes horribly wrong and you are unable to unleash Armageddon upon this world, I will take care of things in your stead. It is the least I can do for a fellow psychopath."
"A gentleman's agreement? Whatever. Stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."
"Of course. I look forward to seeing the conclusion of your daughter's legend-in-progress. My, if only Shakespeare were here. He would have loved to partake in such creativity and imagination."
They heard an alarm blaring in the hallway, and Agrippina's voice suddenly exclaimed over the intercom, "Cuchulainn! Moriarty! Come to the commander's room this instant! We've got trouble!"
"Oh my. Looks like our resident toxic empress demands our presence," Moriarty said, calmly adjusting his glasses. "Shall we see what has the lady so flustered?"
"Where the hell is Xerxes in all of this?" Cuchulainn asked.
"Deteriorating into a pitiful state of sickness and madness."
"Expected nothing less from that domineering witch."
