10—Like and Unlike Minds

One advantage of the Servant-Master relationship is that indulging in carnal pleasure has its practical upside. When Souichirou Kuzuki had stumbled upon Caster in the forest outside the Ryuudou Temple just a few weeks past, he discovered this almost immediately.

Not that he was one to complain, given he was, and still is, very much a man, complete with a healthy desire for such things.

But hearing her unreserved request struck him as peculiar.

After all, they had just met, and she had regaled him with a ludicrous tale. There should have been at least a few steps between that and her forthright petition for, well, ludicrous tail.

It was not something she explained right away, given she was in no condition to do so.

Dispatching the man who had summoned her into this world, her less than worthy Master, had severed her supply of magical energy, and she was moments from simply fading into non-existence.

So when, unhesitatingly, Souichirou indulged her request, her stay was lengthened, and so began their strange, desirable relationship.


"Must you leave me so early this morning, Souichirou-sama?"

Examining himself, his attire, in front of their mirror, Souichirou straightens his tie, while he ponders how his present circumstances came to be.

Behind him, Caster, wrapped in their sheets and nothing else, puts a sly twist on her oft-asked question while she watches.

After rubbing out a spot of dirt from his dark green suit coat, he finds himself satisfied with his appearance, and he turns to face Caster, wearing his usual non-expressive expression.

Mouth pressed in a simple line, brow straight, eyes relaxed, glasses fixed in place.

But this morning, rather than answer her question vocally, or at all, he kneels down and leans forward.

Of course she's pouting, so it's that much easier for him to lean in and end her unserious complaining, sealing her mouth closed with his own in a long, deep kiss.

They've already finished their morning routine. The enjoyable experience of making certain her stay here won't be cut short by a lack of magical energy. So this is just icing on the already-eaten cake for the both of them.

Though it comes across as a surprise to her, and her eyes widen quickly at first, then gradually slip closed for the full length of the few seconds he holds her in place.

Finally, he withdraws, then breathes out a small sigh as he caresses her cheek, down to her chin before pulling back his hand.

"I will see you tonight. I'm looking forward to dinner."

Her eyes remain closed, slightly more stunned than yesterday for his taking the initiative.

Not just here, but during the time they spent together before now as well.

Yesterday morning, it was she who woke him, but this morning he'd turned the tables, and it was she who had woken to his tender attentions, red in the face and dampened all over.

Beyond that, the morning had differed little from most others.

They'd enjoyed each other's company.

He'd bathed himself, dressed.

And he now slides the door to their room closed behind him, snapping Caster from her blissful reverie.


By the time Caster has composed, bathed and garbed herself, leaving her hood down, so as to let her soft, sky-blue hair air dry, and stepped outside, Souichirou has already departed.

Across the way, toward the horizon scattered with trees, the sun has peaked halfway up in the sky, so she can at least enjoy that as she takes in the morning's fresh air.

Smiling and sated, physically and emotionally, she breathes a deep and contented sigh, then ponders briefly what to do with her time.

It seems such a waste to spend the morning harvesting. And it may do well to let the sheep recover…?

But her relaxed enjoyment of the morning, the sun, and the air is short lived.

There's something amiss in the temple grounds, and she's quick to pick up on it. And since there's no one out yet this morning besides her, she's free to move about as she pleases to investigate more closely the unsettling anomaly that's caught her attention.

As it's high over the ground, above the temple building, as far as she can tell, reaching it through mundane means would be impossible.

Fortunately, she's well equipped with a endlessly versatile array of arcane armaments, one of which she now employs.

The cloak over her dress flares out like a single, outstretched wing, and her invoked power breaks gravity's hold on her, allowing her to float and to fly effortlessly.

As she approaches the nigh imperceivable, unsettling trace of foreign magic, her relaxed brow draws tightly inward, and her eyes narrow sharply.

Someone was here… How did I not sense them?

The closer she gets, the more the fine hair on her arms and neck stiffens. Not out of fear or worry, but indignation.

A reckless fool to stroll so brazenly into my territory. But let us see what this is about, shall we?

High in the sky, and now close enough to investigate, her indignation gives way to curiosity.

And a measure of concern.

This… I've never seen magics of this sort. I did not think such a thing possible.

Given her namesake, she should be intimately familiar with all things mystical and arcane. So that this proves false here is, to say the least, disconcerting for her.

As she glares at the space where the invisible, residual traces of power are fading moment by moment, she resolves at least to know its purpose.

Whether or not I've seen it before, it should be a simple thing to divine its form and function…

Her eyes slide closed as she clears her head, then reaches out with her mind to examine what is there. Gradually, it twists and forms before her mind's eye until its purpose becomes clear.

A… wormhole, of sorts? Unidirectional, naturally… But from where did it originate…?

She clenches her hand, held out in front of her, which glows with dark light akin to that from which the swirling aether vortex had been made.

Despite being a class of Servant fully mastered in all things arcane, it still confounds her efforts.

This magic… It is not of this world. Or if it is, it is not like any of which the Grail has gifted me, or granted me knowledge. What is this…?

She grits her teeth, pressing deeper into the space, trying to trace it back from where it came.

It takes more effort than she would have liked, but finally she's able to trace the path of the spacial distortion to its point of origin.

That church? But who, how, and why…? I do not like this…

As she fusses over the unknown, more vexed by her own lack of understanding than the presence of such a thing, more similar anomalies catch her notice.

A cluster of them.

Grumbling inwardly, she descends from over the temple proper, landing nearby and discontinuing her spell of flight.

No reason to continue letting it drain her, after all.

Her feet touch down gently, and her cloak, flared around her, comes to rest, covering her dress.

A cursory inspection of these anomalies reveals one to be like the one she'd just inspected.

This must be an exit point… What of these, though…?

The other two are distinctly different, and her hard and frustrated frown relaxes some, lifting into an expectant smile as she examines them more closely.

These are newer than the one above the temple. And they seem to be entryways, at least from what I can tell… Tracing back the exits would be cumbersome, but perhaps these…?

Again, her eyes drift closed as she holds her hand out, projecting her mind and scanning closely the older of the two residual entry portals. The one-way entry seems less resistant to her probing, and after a few moments of examining it, her smile lifts further.

More breaches in space, allowing for rapid transit from one point to another. How quaint. This one leads…

She can tell the exit for the one she's examining is close, which is perplexing. Why would someone use something so fantastic to travel such a short distance? But it's not long before she has her answer.

Underground…? That is where this leads? But for what reason?

Her eyes slip open, and she follows where the portal leads to find a headstone engraved with a name, date, and epitaph directly above the portal's fading exit.

They used it to access the grave site… Curiouser and curiouser… But given there's no desecration, I'd surmise the second exit nearby leads from within there. But what of this…?

She turns toward the last remaining portal and examines it as well. Then something occurs to her.

Well… I could scrutinize it, or… Perhaps I can force it open and confront the arrogant individual who dared step foot unbidden into my territory.

Holding her hand out to the space where the fading remains of the last portal exist, hidden from mortal eyes, she narrows her eyes and runs her tongue along her upper lip, anticipating the encounter.

Who she might find.

And what she might do to them once she finds them.


Sobervre lazes, floating through the void.

A void stretching on to infinity in every direction, as far as he can tell, yet at the furthest reaches, scattered like remains of a fantastic fireworks display, twinkles some strange, luminescent mist which casts its light throughout, making it possible to see.

Very much, it reminds him of time spent staring up at the unobstructed night's sky, far from civilization where no light could dull the view.

Yet he finds little solace in it, and instead mutters to himself for lack of anyone there to listen.

"Issues, issues, issues. That fake priest has issues, I have issues… Based on what I saw thumbing through his small mind, Hydaelyn's chosen whelp of light clearly has issues…" He sighs heavily, the sound carrying off into the darkness. "Maybe I should introduce the concept of therapy once I return."

The thought wrings from him a dry scoff and a wry smirk.

"Yes, because it's clearly done wonders for the people of this world."

Halfway through, his scoff changes to a scornful chuckle. The memories of the corpse he now occupies like a skin suit still flutter about like leaves on the wind in his mind.

Desperately, they scream for in-patient treatment.

Once he'd finished what he'd had initially planned for the past day, Sobervre had spent the entire evening, into the morning and until now, flipping through the tattered pages that comprised the mind of the man whose body he now occupies.

Despite that man having been dead for a sound five years, restoring his form was a simple task, complicated only slightly by the manner of his death. Some strange, fatal curse inflicted upon him ten years past, some five years before his actual death.

Accessing the body's memories was a trifle matter.

Sobervre didn't dwell on the manner of his death, or the past five years of his life. It was everything leading up to that time that most captured his interest.


From what he could tell, the man was a living, breathing contradiction. In his heart of hearts, he seemed honestly to yearn for a world filled with peace and happiness, sunshine and butterflies and candy-flavored rainbows.

And yet, despite that, the means through which he worked to achieve such ends would shake all but the most hardened to the very foundations of their core.

Yes, he lived and breathed the idea that 'the end justified the means'.

If the loss of one life could preserve ten souls, it was a decided deal.

Even if that one life was a doctor on the brink of a cure for cancer, if he was asleep in his car about to crash into a bus filled with pedestrians, the body of this man he now occupies, while alive, would unhesitatingly launch a rocket-propelled incendiary device, turning that car into a flaming pile of scrap, along with the poor, overworked doctor.

And his wife and child.

Of course, in his time picking through the man's mind, Sobervre never stumbled upon this precise happening. It's simply an example, and it's just the way the man's mind worked. For him, the idea of an innocent victim was a foreign concept.

At least, there was no victim innocent enough to tip the scales in their favor.

And as long as the majority got to continue living their happy, insignificant lives, he'd never lose a wink of sleep from his actions.

Even if his final act for the day was watching the news of his deeds with an impassive, dispassionate gaze as he dragged casually from the wet end of his freshly lit cigarette.

There may have been sound reason for his erratic behavior.

Perhaps it was his first love being corrupted into a blood-sucking fiend after a hapless run-in with his father's experiments.

Or it could have been how he'd had to put a bullet into his father's head and chest, after shooting him in the back, through the neck, for his crimes which brought the Church's Heretic Hunters down on the tiny village that went up in flames as a result of his actions.

Or how, with a heat-seeking surface-to-air missile, he'd had to destroy the plane occupied by his surrogate mother of sorts. A plane filled with the writhing corpses of the living dead, waiting to break free upon its landing and tear every living thing to shreds to feed their endless, insatiable bloodlust.

Yes, the man's life read like the sired progeny of a Greek and Shakespearean tragedy, which then, naturally, died in childbirth.


Most memories wouldn't have been worth his time, but thumbing through these, Sobervre felt forming a certain kinship with his new form.

Their goals were as different as night and day, yet they both viewed themselves as being in the right, and damn anyone who thought or felt otherwise.

And death to anyone who stood against them.

And there was, of course, the interesting fact that the person Sobervre now occupies seems to have a pre-existing relationship, of sorts, with the priest, Kotomine Kirei.

The man who guided him to it.

That couldn't have been a coincidence.

He smirks and chuckles, but they both quickly fall away.

The thoughts and memories continue tumbling around in his head, but by now he's grown bored with them, and another sigh escapes him as he flips over onto his stomach, tapping his finger on nothing, waiting for what, he doesn't know.

Except, that the time to act hasn't come yet. Not if he's to achieve his goal.

His reason for being here.

Like an infant fighting an imposed nap, he flails his arms and legs restlessly, then flips again onto his back, folding his arms and frowning.

"Well, whatever. Mine ilk must have gotten all the patience, since—"

Mid-complaint, something disturbs the 'air', cutting his bored mutterings short.

He never stopped to wonder how it is he's able to breathe in this space, very much like actual space, and given what's happening, he's certainly not about to start.

His eyes track toward the disturbance, seeing forced open what looks like a reasonable facsimile of his dark aether vortex. They then widen as the vortex collapses, vanishing into nothing.

Left in its place, a slender, feminine figure draped in a deep purple cloak.

A person with long, light blue hair, whose eyes he can't see for her back being to him.

What's going on?! How did someone even find this place, let alone travel here!?

Over his initial surprise, he now glares through narrowed eyes at the figure's back.

She flails briefly, then her entire form emits an invisible, ephemeral power which flares out her cloak, revealing the flowing yet form-fitting, purple dress worn beneath.

She breathes out a sigh filled with relief, though for what reason he can't say, then pulls her cloak back down over herself.

As it drifts to a rest, hiding her fair figure, something else catches his notice.

Wait… Those ears… Is she…?


On exiting the vortex, Caster's instinct at what she sees is to hold her breath.

She then looks down, and her eyes gape at finding infinity beneath her feet.

She doesn't fall, yet still she flails with her arms and legs, trying to find something to grab.

But there's nothing to be found.

Yet as she moves about desperately, she can feel something odd and unexpected.

Air, moving past her hands, between her fingers.

For all the world, she feels like she's in space, but given the breath hasn't been forced violently from her lungs, and the air she's surprised to find is almost balmy, it must not be the case.

That, or every drop of knowledge the Grail gifted her on the subject is wrong.

Particularly the part about space being a near-perfect vacuum.

But it's still difficult to move, given there's no ground beneath her feet. Yet what aided her in investigating the first of these strange vortices can now aid her in moving about in this strange and unexpected place.

Quickly, she evokes that power, which again flares her cloak out behind her.

Relieved to now have agency over her trajectory and velocity, she lets her hand rest at her chest, and breathes out a full sigh as she pulls her cloak down over her dress. Finally, she takes a moment to gauge her surroundings.

Perhaps it would have been prudent to first scry into the vortex. Yet this is breathtaking. Almost literally…

As she gazes into what must be an endless sea of stars as far as her eyes can see, a man's voice, filled with surprise and curiosity, commands her attention as it sounds out to her from behind.

"An Elezen? Here, of all places?"

She spins so quickly she nearly overshoots her target, and her cloak doesn't stop with her, instead twisting around her body. Her arms snap out, and before she's even finished speaking the incomprehensible words necessary for her spell, her fingers weave that spell's power.

A fine mist shoots from their tips, then winds itself into threads as strong as steel, projecting toward the source of the voice. A hooded figure shrouded in a dark cloak, adorned with silver and embroidered with purple.


Before Sobervre has time to care, he's bound in a cocoon by the woman intruding on his solitude.

Frowning, he breathes out in an annoyed huff.

"Was that necessary? It's not like I was thinking of prodding those fine ears. Not since the last time…" Recalling something unpleasant, he rolls his jaw, then winces as it pops. "Okay, that was weird… It's not even my jaw."

Despite having him bound and immobile, Caster keeps her distance, floating a fair distance away, holding him fixed in her withering glare. Sobervre returns her glare with his own, deepening his frown into a harsh scowl, both hidden behind his red mask and shadowed beneath his hood.

"So is that it, then? You're just going to float there? Trying to murder me with your eyes, Ms. Nameless Elezen…?" Suddenly, his hard frown softens, and his furrowed brow eases. "No… No, you're not an Elezen at all, are you? The ears had me fooled. Pointed, but not long enough. Though the rest of your fair, fine feminine features would well suit any of them, for a certainty."

His statement, a casual, observation-filled opinion, is delivered in a perfectly even tone, matching well with his brow and mouth, both pressed into fine lines. Yet, on hearing them, Caster's eyes narrow further, sharpening her glare framed by her tightening brow and deep scowl.

So this is the fool who dared tread…? What nonsense is he speaking? And who, precisely, is he? I do not sense a Servant's power within him, but clearly he is no mere mortal…!

Sobervre tilts his head at her displeased expression, then sighs despondently.

"No need to be so guarded. You clearly have me at a disadvantage. Or were my words offensive to you, somehow? I merely spoke what I thought and meant nothing more. Besides, I'm already spoken for…" The corners of his mouth twitch up in a slight grin. "Or perhaps that is why you took offense? Mayhap you're already spoken for as well? In which case, I'd have to say your man is a fortunate fellow."

Despite being bound, he gives a stiff shrug.

"Or lady a fortunate woman."

Caster's only response for the moment is a slight eye-twitch, and Sobervre tilts his head to the other side, now.

"What's the matter? Did the cait steal and seal your tongue?" He sighs again, his grin dipping into another small frown. "You know, you've shown pretty terrible manners, invading my space, then wrapping me in this—"

"Will you SHUT YOUR MOUTH, you INSUFFERABLE SIMPLETON!" Pushed past her patience's limits, Caster yells in frustration. Eerily, though her voice carries, it projects no echo. "I am trying to think!"

"Oh, so she can speak! Gods be praised!" He chuckles, his frown lifting into another grin. "I was afraid they'd gifted me a mute as another cruel joke."

Again, her eye gives a single visceral twitch, her lips parting, revealing her tightly clenched teeth.

"So, Ms. or Mrs. Not-An-Elezen, what brings you barging into my humble extra-dimensional abode?" He arches his brow, his grin dipping down into a curious frown. "Actually, how did you even manage that, anyroad?"

"Humph." Caster smirks smugly. "It wasn't that difficult. You left traces of your brazen trespass everywhere. All I needed to do was coax one of them open and pass through it."

Sobervre's full brow now arches.

"Well, well. I must say, that is quite impressive. I'd give you a round of applause, were it possible." He smirks. "Speaking of, mind doing away with this? It's rather cumbersome, and quite itchy. Like some sort of poorly knit sweater…"

"No, I think not." Her smirk chills a few degrees, and she narrows her eyes. "I rather prefer you this way. At least, until I get some answers."

"Eh? Fine, suit yourself."

He shrugs again.

His shrouded form then emits a sinister glow as he draws in a full breath.

Caster's narrowed eyes slowly widen as he continues to draw in an impossible amount of air, stretching the steel threads, causing them to twist and fray, sounding much like dried leaves being crushed underfoot.

Finally, unable to bear the outward force, they shred and scatter like so much discarded tissue paper. Casually, he picks the fragmented remains from his cloak, tossing them down into the void at his feet.

"I was only asking to be courteous, anyroad."

Before he can do or say anything else, Caster has her hand raised upward.

Crackling, purple electricity runs the length of her body from her feet to her outstretched fingertips as she intones words which fill the darkened void. Words Sobervre can neither repeat nor comprehend, but he well understands their function, based on the glowing sphere of light stationed above her, forming from the static discharge arcing into it from her body.

He sighs, shaking his head.

"Now, there's no need for that—"

The light compresses into a singularity, then vanishes, reappearing over his head and erupting downward explosively in a directed, violent blast of violet lightning which illuminates the surrounding dark space as far as she can see. The roar of the blast carries for some distance, yet like every other sound that enters this place, there is again no echo to follow.

Caster breathes out a relieved sigh, then smirks triumphantly as she waits for the blinding glare to fade so she can admire her handiwork. When it does, she spies his charred outfit smoldering, a bit of fire burning at the tip of the hood, as he floats limply where he'd been standing.

She lets out a smug laugh, then glides across the space to survey the damage. When she's close enough, she peeks under his hood and spies the intimidating red mask concealing his face.

"Damn shame…" she laments, shaking her head. "While he seemed an insane fool, I'd have liked to get some information from him. But I fear he forced my hand. Or perhaps I reacted too harshly?"

The flame flickering on his hood burns a few seconds more, then extinguishes itself, leaving little but a trailing wisp of smoke as it takes with it some of the surrounding light. Caster prods her chin, turning away from the still-smoldering corpse as she tries to get her bearings.

"Well, he won't be treading on my territory again, that's for certain." She sighs, then smirks again. "And with that, I suppose…?"

Disappointed, yet satisfied, she turns her back fully to the still smoldering stranger as she lets her eyes drift closed, searching her vast arcane kit for what would permit her leave from this place. A place far more unusual than, and, from what she can tell, quite some distance from where she'd come.

Perhaps, even outside that place's very space.

Whatever method he used to arrive here goes far beyond mere spatial transportation. If that's the case. I'll have to trace back the path he used to get here, if I'm to return…

Her form glows as she scans for the exit vortex by which she'd arrived.

On finding it, she holds out her hand, then twists her fingers, opening her own similar, swirling vortex which glows a deep lavender. Carefully, she directs the path she creates to flow parallel to the one she'd used to travel here, then shows a contented smile at feeling the path's exit arrive at where she'd started.

"Farewell, strange fool. I'd offer you words of advice about meddling in the affairs of others, but given you're not able to appreciate them, I'll save my time and breath."

She lets her haughty laughter fill the surrounding space for a moment before slipping through the vortex, leaving Sobervre's charred form floating limply.

Precisely where it had been when she'd channeled into it that devastating blast.