Fuyuki City, 12 days until the Fifth Grail War
Bazett sighed as she counted her remaining funds - she still did not fully understand why her Servant insisted on not using the Kotomine Church as a basis of operations. It would have been a much more cost-efficient option, and from a tactical perspective, the ability to observe all Masters who declared their willingness to participate would have been useful - especially since she could rely on her skills and runes to follow them later on.
"Unlikely. Magi reluctant to take risk personally, would have sent single-use familiars. No way to track them to their actual hideout that way." Exhale. "Mental picture of Kotomine … worrying. Not worthy of trust. Too cold. Too distant. Likely has ulterior motive. As Master in former War, likely unrealized wish." Blink-click. "Might attempt to kill you and take Command Seals." Flash-smirk. "Would oppose the idea. Things get messy. Better this way."
"You think you're pretty good at reading people, Mordin?" She did not mean the question to come out that sharp or that cold. Still, the salarian just flashed another smile at her.
"Have studied countless sentients from many races. Can be wrong about specifics, but get generics correct in most cases. Degree in xenopsychology helps. Also, worked with humans before, extensively. Gained insight into species psyche while still alive. Throne only improved on that." Flash-smirk. "Can read most humans like open book. Happen to enjoy reading, especially intriguing ones."
Bazett, who was stretching in preparation of her usual daily exercise, felt a strange urge to cover up - or maybe put a bit more emphasis on her movements? She did not know, but she put extra effort into the sparring session, forcing the salarian on the defensive several times.
Fuyuki City, 10 days until the Fifth Grail War
"I'll admit to be somewhat apprehensive about Kirei Kotomine." Liara smiled thankfully at Sebastian as he placed a platter of tea and biscuits in front of her. "I find it curious that the mediator assigned by the Church is a Master from a previous war. Admittedly, this could be a simple coincidence prompted by the irregular timing of the Fifth War, but"
"But you do not really think so." Luvia sipped demurely from her tea. Her eyes narrowed in thought as she looked at her Servant. "Care to explain why?"
"As a former participant, he must have had a wish strong enough to attain the Command Seals - yet he deliberately stepped aside, and supposedly sacrificed his own Servant." The asari's lips turned down. "And the explanations for his survival, as well as for the death of his father, the Overseer of the Fourth War, are rather sketchy." Orange screens opened in the air between them, displaying reports, newspaper articles, police statistics, medical records - a deluge of information that Luvia still found somewhat overwhelming. Her Servant seemed to have no problem with processing the flood of data. "I suspect he made a pact with at least another participant, and later a Servant, to ensure his win and survival - but he underestimated either the Tohsaka or the Einzbern Master."
"Why do you think he made a pact with a Servant? What could he offer to a Heroic Spirit?"
"That's what I'm not sure about. My first guess would have been incarnation, but sustaining a Heroic Spirit for a decade would require a notable amount of power. Nothing indicates that Kirei Kotomine possesses the required magical aptitude for that. There's no indication that he tampered with the leylines or resorted to draining mortals - and at any rate, either of those options would have aroused the suspicion of the Second Owner, no matter how young she is."
"So, no proof, nothing specific. Just a feeling." Liara nodded, clearly dissatisfied with the state of affairs. Luvia grinned. "Well, I think it would be wise of me to strongly consider the advice and instincts of my Servant, now wouldn't it? Why else summon such a magnificent Heroic Spirit, after all?"
Sebastian winced inwardly as both Master and Servant shared a demure, eerily identical chuckle. Yeah, he might have to ask for a raise next time.
Fuyuki City, 9 days until the Fifth Grail War
Sakura felt as if she was floating - then again, that was a persistent, constant occurrence whenever she was with her senpai. Standing close to his side, the two of them working as one to prepare another culinary miracle in the cutting-edge kitchen of the Emiya residence, she was honestly content.
For about a few minutes at least.
Then, she had to redirect a small portion of her focus and awareness towards her astralized Servant. She could almost physically feel the oppressive weight of his focused regard, and she worried that her senpai, dense though he was, would pick up on the preternatural atmosphere.
"Is there trouble, Rider?" Her telepathic enquiry was met with surprisingly less scorn than usual.
"Apart from the irritating obtuseness both you and your chosen mate exhibit towards each other, nothing." His mental voice filled with cold amusement at her sputtering blush, and she could only hope that nothing reflected on her face. "Neither of the two claiming relation to you are nearby; I believe that Shinji worm has learned to leave you alone, and Zouken is wary of pushing too hard."
"Really, Rider, Shinji's not that bad." Strange. Even in a scant week or so, she arrived at a point where she herself could hear the lie and self-deception in her words. "Anyway, something seems to have grabbed your attention, and I'd appreciate it if you informed me if senpai was in any kind of danger."
The Servant snorted.
"The only danger to him is his own ignorance. You really should just cut the chase short, and consummate a relationship with him." An exasperated grunt. "At least you two belong to the same species."
Sakura felt her face combust - and the images evoked by her Servant's words had an effect elsewhere as well. Perhaps that was why her mental voice gained a not-inconsiderate edge and heat.
"Javik..."
"Hrrm. If you must know, I am curious about those fish you use."
Kowloon, 7 days until the Fifth Grail War
The fluid-filled cylinders of reinforced glass shone with an inner light as their contents pulsed in time with the ritual chanting of the quartet of dolls standing at the four cardinal directions at the outer edge of the summoning circle. Their master basked for a moment in the steady flow of prana suffusing the air of the chamber, before he once again bent his focus towards the ritual itself, his baritone smoothly guiding and leading the choir of female voices. The blond magus did not care that the technically-alive girls within the tanks shrivelled and died, their essence fuelling the crude battering ram of his will as he battered at the barriers of the Throne to claim his rightful due.
A minute, dissonant syllable from one of his dolls stoked the fire of his wrath, he only held back on disciplining the wretch because of the already-delicate situation of the ritual. Coughing up scalding blood was no reason for any of them to break their concentration. It seemed that he would have to reinforce his will on the surviving dolls - if there would be any.
Atrum Galliasta focused his attention anew, drawing deeper on his dolls' reserves, uncaring for their physical state; after all, broken dolls were easily replaced. Four figures swayed in unison, before dropping to the floor, their flesh scalded from within as their circuits burned from the inordinate amount of prana drawn through them. Shadows danced along the walls, caressed the twitching shapes on the floor and in the cylinders around; their suffocating touch turning clothing, flesh and blood to the black of the void before consuming them without a trace.
The magus paid no attention to any of that, his eyes burning with unholy fervor as the vortex of prana above the summoning circle pulsed and darkened rapidly, before imploding with an eye-searing flash of riotous colors. Even before he regained his sight and hearing, he could feel the presence of the Heroic Spirit as a blade against a naked eyeball, as a caress of sharpened metal over the soft skin leaving crimson lines in its wake. The figure wore black and silver body armor, a strange double hexagon serving as an insignia on his chest. His coarse, shoulder-length black hair was unbound, his eyes hidden behind a half-mask or visor that seemingly was embedded within his face itself. On his back the man carried a short, straight sword - and Atrum had the distinct feeling that the Heroic Spirit possessed other weapons as well, hidden skillfully.
The Servant's lips peeled back in a smug, eager smirk of cruelty as he took in his surroundings.
"I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Master." There was perhaps a hint of mockery in the bow he performed. "Servant Avenger, at your service."