The Dragon Witch eyes shot open, her body tightening with tension for a moment. It dissipated no sooner than it had arrived.
Jeanne' d'Arc arose within the bed, covers falling to her lap. She looked to the darkness of the room. A frown on her haunting face quickly became a smile. So, she's dead, suicide even. Inevitable I suppose, especially with how I made the madness enhancement affect her. She rested her head against the pillow, letting the finest silk sheets covet her pale, blemishless and amble body
The Patron Saint of Servants and Cooks had been a strong one, perhaps stronger than anyone would realize with the facade she wore for all to witness. So it was a strike to the strength of Jeanne d'Arc's forces that the Tarrasque's Tamer had been slain. Especially when she could summon a drake who could just barely rival the infernal saint's own pet thanks to his lineage.
Along with that, the satisfaction at feeling and seeing the anguish of the Saint as she fell to the depraved joy of slaughter was now lost to Jeanne. It had given her such a thrill, knowing she had reign of her former Master's son's most devout in her clutches–breaking her mind and drowning in despair that she couldn't possibly escape from unless death claimed her.
And the Dragon Rider realized that, which made the situation she had found herself in both extremely cathartic and exceedingly annoying given the facts of the situation. Martha had sought a sin to release her (ignoring that death didn't matter as much to a servant in the end), which she got–but it meant, Jeanne had lost a valuable pawn in her endeavors.
Though it was odd, in Martha's final moment–she was at peace. There was no torment, only slight regret. Nothing that told the Dragon Witch she had died in agony. She was relieved, like she knew something that Jeanne d'Arc couldn't possibly understand. Why do I bother trying to understand some God-loving sheep's reasoning? She groaned.
It would have been head splitting if she hadn't had two kernels that were a boon to the Hellish Saint.
One- she now knew her copy and that master was heading to Lyon to find someone who could slay her beloved Fafnir. And she wasn't an idiot, she knew exactly who those foolish good-natured dregs were looking for.
Two- she saw the anguish of that idiot. His hazel eyes tearing up, his features wrought with shame and misery. It made her smile, cheek to cheek within the darkness.
Now, only if she could have had the same effect on that blonde fool she thought despondently. But no, while the Dragon Rider had made the Saint of the Flag hesitant, she hadn't suffered, she only took the words as another burden she would have to carry to save the damned.
What the hell is wrong with her? Why does she keep trying? It's pointless—I've already won. But she still thinks she can win, that she can bear all the world's sorrow. That she's still responsible for those that let her die and killed her for their own hypocrisy! Jeanne's nostrils flared; a vein bulged. She had wanted her copy to be broken, a nervous wreck of depression like that master. But held she herself because…because…"DAMN HER!" she howled; he covers being on fire from her outburst.
I need an answer. she sighed, "Damn it" she went about putting out the fire, going to the cabinet to pick out another set of bedding that the help of the Nobility would have put on themselves. As she did this, a decision came to her, and she reached out to her most fervent follower. Gather wyverns, Sanson and that miserable black knight when morning comes—we are going to Lyon
"...I guess I'm just too stupid to take a hint"
Elbows resting on his thighs, his digits interlocked and pressing against his forehead–Doctor Romani Archaman, acting director of the Chaldea Security Organization, eyes were wide as he replayed the past few minutes in his head.
Apparently, their coms to Chaldea's Master and servants weren't as stable as originally thought. Though Chaldea could still receive the transmission from its operatives, the opposite was not possible then. So, while the organization's surviving technicians worked hastily to keep two-way comms stable–those not directly involved with that process were audience to the battle of Humanity's last master against the Patron Saint of Servants and Cooks.
And to say it was heartbreaking would be an understatement. The youth was struggling, that part was obvious to Roman. But I didn't think it went this deep…He cringed, feeling the pressing judgment of the caster who stood behind him as he sat in his chair.
"...I know what you're going to say, Leonardo," his tone was low.
"Oh, and what would that be Roman? That your insistence on him keeping his secret is potentially jeopardizing our goal? That it's causing friction with him and his servants…or that his stubbornness with taking a life will be the death of Mash and himself?" Her voice was as splendid as ever, but the acid still rang through. "Well, Did I hit the nail?"
The Doctor sighs, side-eyeing the renaissance artist who gave a critical glare beneath a serene facade. "What do you want me to do?" he whispers "Just throw away everything that keeps people like him sane–everything that keeps them going strong?"
"No offense, Doctor…that wasn't strength…that was desperation we all bare witnessed to" She pinches her temples "And I don't know who you're fooling…there is no secret, everyone in Chaldea knows that he's a metahuman at this point–maybe not which one…but you'd have to be an absolute ignoramus to ignore his feats of agility and strenght–even the creme of the crop when it comes to physically oriented maguses can't move in the way he can like it's second nature" With a raised brow she crosses her arms with a huff "The next closest being in our neck of the woods would be a dead apostle…but they don't usually stick walls, do they?" she says sharply, loud enough for everyone in the control center to hear.
The medic grits his teeth "You make it sound so easy–sure, let's just drop all pretense and say it, right? 'Heya Pete–oh I mean, Spider-Man, how's it going? Oh, Sorry for destroying that barrier that protects you and the ones you love!'" He laughs darkly and gets out his seat to face the servant "Because that will definitely make the situation just peachy! And it won't seem like we were also lying to him and tricking him!" he says sternly. He palms his forehead "–we don't know how that would affect his psyche because let me remind you–we still aren't able to read him with any equipment!" No matter what the technician, he or Da Vinci tried–their systems couldn't even tell anything about him except that he's there.
"Roman, we are all that's left…hate to say it…but anyone he loves is assuredly gone. I thought you realized that"
"I do" he retorts, his tone one of despair.
"Then why keep this up? Especially after seeing that!" She motions to the viewing screen as Peter cradles the dying rider-class servant. Mash held him tightly to presumably try to cool his nerves. "And don't even get me started on how this affects Mash…he's keeping himself distant for no good reason and that has and will affect her performance if it keeps up! Sure, he trusts Mash–but clearly, it's very little with him always jumping headfirst into a fight!"
"Would you expect anything different from him? It's in his nature to fight, to be a defender" the Doctor says staunchly. Though, the point of Mash–he also had no response. It was clear of the burgeoning feelings the girl had, and if her master didn't trust her in his entirety. It'd be the downfall of the both of them. He ran cold, imagining the lavender haired girl with no hope left and shell of her former self if this kept up. She's made so much progress since I first met her…He cringed
"I would say good on him…" she sighs, "...if he could finish a servant himself…or possibly allow another to do the job themselves…" The boy had a good heart, it was wasted within this side of the world.
Roman had no response to that, I'd thought Singularity F would have been a good indication of servants and how they worked. He allowed Singularity F's Nameless and Saber to be killed…what changed? The Doctor pondered.
"His thought process isn't wrong per se–I enjoy that he considers us people and not just tools to a magus's whims. It's very forward thinking, the exact sort of the mindset a leader would need…but as Saint Martha said–he's far too considerate for his own good, specially towards manifestations that have already lived their lives" Shaking her head, she relents a hard question "So what will it be, Roman? Shall I rip the proverbial band-aid off…or will Chaldea's Director?"
Roman looked away from her and towards the screen, Saint Martha having dematerialized within the singularity and a sudden shock running through the Doctor's spine. "How in the hell? Is that–"
"King Arthur?" Da Vinci finished.
Peter rose to his feet on a dime, knuckles bared, his features tensed and his entire body telling him to just lay down and hope to wake up back to his normal.
The King of Knights, still corrupted, staring at him with piercing yellow eyes that swelled with something vile and wickedly chuckled at his canter.
Attempting to approach him, before the brunette could react–the girl from Chaldea got between him and the black-clad tyrant.
The lavender haired girl wore a resolute expression, though her eyes were still fearful.
The saber merely smiled, "I wouldn't expect anything less…though I suggest you lower your noble phantasm, shielder, unless you want to receive punishment for going against a king"
Mash didn't back down. "Not until we can confirm you're not an enemy!"
"Did you not hear me? That boy is my master, how can I possibly be an enemy to my own master?" She responded in a casual but all too deviously cold tone.
He finally processed what she had said, eyes wide, pupils shrunk, and he felt his heart skip a beat. "Master? No-no way…I–" his breath hollow, he did his best to keep his stance. This is a joke! A nightmare–no fucking way! He took a step back, the events of the past day hitting him all at once. His form shifted in and out of visible reality to the surprise of his servants as fear, as well as loathing, overtook him.
Martha's bleeding body in my arms, just minutes after witnessing her death.
Being confronted by the rest, my secret is on the verge of escaping.
Everything, losing everything.
Being a failure of a partner towards Mash.
This was the cherry on top, this was a slap to the face–another person that had tried to kill him in that infernal hell hole of suffering and depravity that was Singularity F–being his servant. She has to be lying! This has to be some sort of scheme to get revenge on Mash and I–but servants don't remember their previous summoning so–
His spider sense wasn't going off, his spider sense wasn't warning him about her–"What the hell?!" he cringed under his breath. He wanted to run, get out of here. He–he–
He felt the reassuring hand of the Saint of the Flag on his shoulder, gripping tightly. So that wouldn't lose his balance or probably more accurately–swing off again.
No words could escape his maw, he was choking on the pressure at this point, and it was goddamn obvious to everyone around him. He let his eyes shut and took a breath.
It was then that Romani Archaman re-established the connection "Hello–Hello! Do you guys read me?" The fluffy haired man's voice relieved Pete to say the least.
"Yes, we read you, Doctor" Mash answered, still standing as a barrier between the Chaldeans and the newcomers.
The Doctor let out a relieved sigh, his weary "Apologies about the loss of comms–apparently the system isn't as up to spec' as we originally thought." He gives a nervous chuckle, possibly as some attempt at decreasing the tension
The saber eyes turned to the holographic form of the Doctor and sneered, "What a pitiful sight you are" she said without so much as an inflection in her voice.
"Least he hasn't tried to kill us" Peter said disparagingly, opening his eyes
The Doctor squirmed, but continued "Brightside is that we never lost transmission on our end, so we were able…" He stops as Peter opens his eyes, looking towards him with a lowly, jaded features.
"So, is she my servant?" he asks, hoping, praying that this wasn't the case. "Because I only summoned Shirou and Nameless" he responded in a hard tone. "I mean who in their right mind would summon evil King Arthur?!"
"That's the King of Knights?" Marie said in awe, with Amakusa and Nameless sharing the same level of caution towards the newcomers.
"Huh, who would've thought the King of Camelot would be a woman–" The composer pauses to look at Jeanne with a quirked eye "Odd that you and her share features"
Ignoring the caster's comment, the saber tilted her head, and raised a brow. "Ungrateful, are you? My knight and I coming forth and saving you from an enemy servant that had you in her clutches. And, this, this is the thanks I get?" she scowls though in a mocking fashion. "Being looked upon like an abomination? A fiend?" she chuckles.
"You didn't exactly make a good first impression" Peter snarks, trying to pass Mash–but the shielder standing in his way all the same. "Mash…"
She delivers him a sharp but worrying eye. "Please, senpai…don't do something–"
"Stupid" Nameless finished, his gaze never leaving the black clad saber.
"We've met before have we? I don't recall" she said in a way that the Master from Chaldea couldn't divine if it was genuine or the king of knights just playing coy.
Tension ran through the air, "So you're an ally? And a fair one at that…though your mode leaves much to be desired" Marie spoke, breaking past the shielder's boundary at the consternation of Jeanne and chagrin of Amadeus.
She curtsies to the King, and smiles sweetly "I am Marie Antoinette, and I thank you most graciously for coming to our aid O King of Knights" the Queen of Lilies says earnestly.
"It's quite idiotic to reveal your identity to another servant–even if you're seemingly allied with my master" The King scoffs.
Marie doesn't let the insult dissuade her "I'm not a fan of secrets, they're unbefitting for a good person"
The tyrant grants the queen a sinister smile, "Foolish, but commendable in a way" She looks to the shielder and master. "No amount of crossed thoughts will deter me from the truth you two are ignoring"
Mash felt her master try to sidestep her, but yet–she got in his way. He doesn't need to be batted around again Mash looked her dead in the eye, the King of Knights returned the favor–her gaze making the shielder's skin crawl.
The saber shakes her head like the teens were but naive children. "Don't you have more pressing matters to attend to? Something about a dragon slayer to find?"
Peter gave a sardonic glare "Yeah that's on my to do list–But I'd really like to know if my leg is being pulled if you catch my drift–Doc?" he asked desperately, praying that the King of Knight's was lying through her teeth.
Romani, after taking a moment to presumably check the monitors, sucks air through his teeth with a wry brow full of confusion "Yes!? She is…what the hell? Da Vinci?"
The Renaissance artist appeared before them in that holographic form beside the projection of the Doctor "I'm as befuddled as you are, Doctor…" Peter swore there was some contention when she said that last bit "...my best hypothesis would that this is a situation similar to Nameless, where Peter did unknowingly summon her but in an incomplete state"
Why? a tempered frustration flowed through his being. "Just my luck I guess" he says sourly, attempting to build up some wall between him and this reality. "What about your pal over there? Did I also summon him–"
"You've failed, I'm sorry, but you're finis–HAGH!" she coughs blood and looks at her chest.
A blade shrouded by darkness had penetrated her back and gone straight through her heart. She looked over her shoulder in shock, but there was a hint of relief as she looked at her killer who was encumbered by shadow. "Thank you…" she mouths to him.
The Master of Chaldea cringes, a shallow breath escaping his lips Dammit…
The blade that had killed a servant who was suffering more than Peter could comprehend, engrossed by darkness, rested in its scabbard. The shadowed servant looked at him and said "..." nothing.
"Is that a no?" he asked, clearly annoyed. Taking another look at the guy, something clicked for him. It's a shadow servant Da Vinci had briefly gone over the concept during his lesson on familiars–basically they were heroic spirits that were summoned in an incomplete or degraded state more or less. Their level of intelligence varied depending on how much of the servant's original personality still dwelled within them or how much of a grudge they had. "Could you at least give me an idea who you are? Were?"
"..." The Knight merely bent down on one knee, bowing his head as if he was pledging his service to the boy.
"Okay, Arty–who's this guy…" He lost the words as he noted Mash.
Mash's gaze had turned towards the darkness-ridden individual; there was an audible gasp that escaped her maw. She froze like she had seen a ghost.
Snapping out of his sorrow for a mere moment, "Mash? Are you good?" The brunette tapped her shoulder, this made the shielder jump, startled. She looked back to him, her face red in embarrassment.
"I'm fine, senpai…" she said lowly. He finally got a better look at her, bags under her eyes and a downtrodden look. She looked as tired as Peter felt.
This reaction resulted in the saber servant smirking in a manner not unlike the Cheshire cat.
Peter snarled at this, "You're just all smiles, aren't you?" He palms his forehead, and tries to turn away from the king, only to face the rest of his group. And he couldn't allow himself to look even in the eye in any way, shape or form.
"His identity doesn't matter–it is better that way even. An identity not known means his weaknesses are a non-factor" She explained in a proud manner befitting a despot like herself.
In reluctance, he turned back to the tyrant with a sneer "...so you're working with us now–great, great" he pinched his temples. What's next? He asked, leaving his shoulders slumped.
The saber frowns at this "Still Ungrateful, even when told the truth–how very unbecoming. You're more in line with a loathsome dog that didn't get its bone, master"
The red clad archer quirks an amused brow–before returning to a more neutral position.
Peter says nothing at this. He could snark, yeah, but…he…he just didn't feel like it. "Doc, how close is that town Martha told us about?" he asked, needing, wanting, to just get a move on so he could ignore the pile of bitterness that was building up within him.
Romani takes a minute, a hefty silence falling within the group. Amakusa attempted to try to draw the boy out of his shell. "It's not your fault? She was saved in a way, Peter, this is no reason to feel so…"
The teenage vigilante gives the priest a dry look, "...she's just another person I failed right?" he says in almost inaudible tone "one more mistake I can't take back" he says breathlessly.
Roman, paused his search "Peter, don't burden yourself like this–it's not healt–"
"She was a servant, master–there's literally no reason to be down in the fucking dumps" Peter hears Nameless chide "But of course, you'd feel guilty all the same being what you are…can't even cross the line when it doesn't matter"
"It's natural to feel guilty, monsieur–I'm sure I'd feel guilty as well if I were in his positi–" Marie's words faltered as the Master of Chaldea arms pulsed with electricity.
"Why don't you come out and say it?" Peter turns to him, a vicious anger in his eyes Calm down dude…you're about to– "I know that you know, I have no idea how, but for the love of all that is holy–just come out and say it before I beat the unliving crap out of you!" His palms sparked, and an instant regret washed over him. Aunt May would be so disappointed in me…
"Senpai, please calm down–you're not thinking straight" Mash warned meekly, her features disheartened at her master's downward state.
The archer merely smiled at the boy's reaction. A satisfied heh escaping his lips "Just beat me up, huh? That went very well for you the last time you tried…But just to make you feel better–I believe you could do that and just that." He whistles condescendingly "You really had that Saint on the ropes–then you choked…what? Did you forget who your enemy was? In the end, we're just walking/talking manifestations of dead people–we don't die if we are killed, remember. We just get taken off the board until we're needed again by whomever summons us next…so please for my sanity at least–get over these heroic ideals of yours. They never pan out and never will"
"Nameless, do we really have time for this? It'd be best to focus on finding the dragon slay–" The Japanese Catholic was cut off by the brunette.
"How the hell are you considered a hero? Ideals are there for us to aspire to–to be better. If not, we'd just be selfish, indignant, and only looking out for ourselves. And how would that be just?"
Jeanne tried to interject "While I agree with the sentiment, perhaps we should–"
The archer spoke "I don't know if you've noticed–but the Throne of Heroes also includes anti-heroes or are you too stupid to realize that?" He inhales deeply, "And here's a piece of advice I learned a long time ago, justice is for chumps" Though what he said was resolute, there was a subtle helplessness to his features that went by like smoke in the night's sky.
It took every inch of his being not to just go over and deck the red clad bowman–every single atom of his being told him to just let fists fly. And if Peter was being honest, he was at the point he would do just that. Screw this guy, screw this guy that made him fearful and wrathful for no other reason than his sanctimonious air. "I half a mind to–"
"Will you two stop bickering like children." The saber and Jeanne's in unison cut through the tension like a knife.
Jeanne's expression was one of grief and embarrassment "Why is it? That you two must always find a reason to argue? This isn't how a master and their servant should conduct themselves, or better yet–this isn't how comrades should treat each other…can't you two find any common ground?" The saint asked, her voice desperate for the bitterness to stop
"With him? No way in hell!" The Archer and his master replied.
With a huff, The King of Knight's gave her two cents on the matter "I did not walk miles upon miles to find my master arguing with his servants over petty nonsense that distracts him from his goal. So, if either of you make so much as another insult or something snide along the lines, I will make sure you receive punishment. One that you'll walk away from, but you'll feel quite sore for the days to come" Arthur's tone was inflexible and her yellow gaze like stone.
The archer crosses his arms, "Alright…Tch, I've had my fill" he says smugly. "What about you? Care to save this for later, master?"
"I'm pretty sure what you just said could be considered snide" He side-eyes King Arthur, who gives him a tempered yet vexing gaze. "*sigh*...but I got better things to do then go at it with you" He looked back to the worried visage of Romani and Mash with an embarrassed/reluctant expression "So Lyon? Where's that exactly?"
"Southwest-ish, about a 4 hour walk from here…though if I may advise. It'd be best to set out an hour or so after dawn. You know after a good night's sleep–and maybe another change of clothes in your case, Pete" Romani suggested, in a tone that tried its best to be cheery.
The brunette's attire had once again, along with himself, been put through the proverbial wringer. Torn, burned, ripped and shredded. While the boy himself looked dog tired, his body aching and bruised in some areas. God, I feel like shit…he thought to himself glumly. The adrenaline rush he had been receiving since he had left the campfire finally petered out.
Peter pursed his lips "Do we even have time for that? Nega-Jeanne probably isn't sleeping, and there's no telling how many wyverns are out there killing people because of her stupid vendetta" He knew he could be forced to stay awake; he had actually gone days without sleep sometimes. Bit him in the ass when he had to go to school but–it's not like I have to worry about that anymore.
"I would strongly not recommend continuing on while on fumes, Peter" Da Vinci projection came before him. "A good night's rest is sometimes the difference between a stunning success and a horrible failure"
"And looking at Mash's readings, even with her enhancement as a demi-servant…she's human all the same and could use a few hours before we continue on–you two have been moving from one fight to the next with only the slimmest time to recover" The Doctor explained. "And we'll need time to correct our system before continuing on–because I'd rather not lose connection again and one of you guys get…"
"...I get it Doc…I get it*sigh*" He rubbed the back of his neck. As much as he wanted to just get this over with. He wasn't flying solo–he had to consider Mash. What luck did she have to be partnered with me? He asked himself sullenly.
"You command, senpai?" Mash asked with a cute smile that pelted the hardened exterior of the brunette–breaking it for a moment.
"Head back to camp. When dawn hits–we'll go to Lyon"
After eating MREs, sleeping bags were summoned from Chaldea using the summoning circle. Peter put on yet another mystic and with that done the teens hunkered down for night.
Daybreak was fast approaching, but still distant all the same.
They slept beside each other; their form separated by the fabric of their temporary cots. The shielder and her master were too tired to even consider any possible embarrassment from the situation. Fou had once appeared from nowhere, much to confusion and then little care of Peter Parker. They went out fast–which left the servants awake and alert.
And this gave them time for just about anything–
Standing guard like he had been before–EMIYA's eyes weren't aimed towards the encumbering dark of the forest. Instead, they sideyed the Saber, who had apparently made a contract to the web-head in a similar vein that he had.
Artoria Pendragon was at the opposite side of the camp–facing away from him. Her tagalong servant was by the fire with Marie and Amadeus–the queen trying to engage with him in conversation, but the black-drenched knight didn't so much as reply. He merely nodded to any of her inquiries, which just caused her to ask more questions. The Knight simply watched the brunette, blackened fingers clasped together in presumably contemplation.
–But he didn't care about the tagalong (sure there was something vaguely familiar to him, his sword being the key reason. Though the thing was too unstable to read in the Knight's current state) –what enraptured all his mental focus was how the King of Knight's was here and in this corrupted state. The same state that he last saw her in, killed her in, when there was still red in his hair and some sense of hope still dwelled within him.
Saber, Artoria, shouldn't be like this. The only reason this form had even been possible, was because of Angra Mainyu's mud–a corruption that shouldn't even possibly be recorded by the throne in any way, shape or form.
'Course Alaya was one to collect just about anything, EMIYA supposed–but to think the throne would have a record of one of its greatest sabers like that was repulsive. It was a snapshot of a scenario where to she fell to depravity, her mind broken, her soul swallowed by darkness–so that'd she'd become slave to that Zorostraian son of a bitch's whims. Just like Sakura…and just like Saber, I couldn't save either of them…well, you can't save everyone. There's always a casualty in one way or another, an acceptable loss to get the job done.
He had learned that lesson plenty, in life and in death, even if he had tried to limit casualties when he still walked the earth–there would always be death on his hands. But at the end of the day, he did his job, he had helped. Even so, the path EMIYA had once followed had been built upon a foolish conclusion. He had believed in a false hope, that if the marvels of the current era were in his shoes, in the campaigns he had lived through–the death toll would be lowered, maybe even nullified.
The swagger they had was infectious, the coda most of them followed was agreeable, and their results varied all the same. From Red Skull, Ultron to extraterrestrial conquerors, gods and beings beyond the concept of godhood that invaded earth (though the latter were blurry in his recollection, especially the entity who had been heralded). Even when the heroes won the day–there were always casualties.
Even as idiotic, stupid, and naive as he was in life–he realized a few years after his grail war, Gilgamesh killing Ilya, himself killing Saber and Sakura, putting a bullet in that fucking priest's head and Tohsaka keeping him around like a lost puppy…the heroes were imperfect. That did not stop him from believing they helped, he was a fan. As they did match closer to his original concept of what a hero of justice was–unlike the King of Heroes, Medusa and even that dog from Ireland. As they did save people, preached of a better tomorrow, they restrained themselves from taking lives. A lot of them helped with the aftermath of their battles, they seemed like good people…even after everything he went through in his war, there was still hope that he could be what he promised the old man he would be…
But the superhuman civil war was the opening salvo for the degradation of his hope in a way. He didn't pay much mind to it at the time (he heard about the tragedy in Stamford and rumblings of pushback to the superhuman community–but due to many maguses disdain for capes he didn't hear much more than that). Instead, he worked jobs, doing anything he could to help his fellow man.
And after a job with an associate of his that worked for the Burial Agency, one that wasn't especially noteworthy. To sum it up briefly, they had to kill an up-and-coming dead apostle who had been a mutant before his change. Short, hairy, had metal claws and was a pain in the ass to take down. His regenerative abilities were insane
Point is, Ciel and he had taken down the vamp and went their separate ways that day in Westchester, NY. And on that very same day he heard about the death of Captain America. And more importantly, the damage caused by the pro and anti-registration sides going at it.
Plenty of people were lost, killed or injured in irreparable ways. And from the ashes of that, men like Wilson Fisk came like vultures to feed and get fat on the misfortune of the world.
It disgusted him, it made himself doubt his mission for a moment–but at that point in his life. He knew terrible things got through the cracks of justice, and that even good people could be corrupted into acting out of their alignment. He soldiered on and figured he could help a little bit. So, he took aim at the kingpin…
EMIYA eyes drifted away from Saber; he couldn't take another moment looking at her. How could he? He had loved her from the first moment he had laid eyes on her, learned from her and loved her…this, this before him was some sick joke. Another one to add on to the pile he supposed, inwardly cringing, pinching his temples to steel himself. This was unbecoming of him, why did it matter if she was like this? He knew the truth of the world; how despicable it could be.
So, what if Artoria had fallen, this woman who had wanted utopia, who never knew the simple pleasures of a normal life, who had yearned for companionship, who had looked at him with a desolate joy in her eyes as he finally he had killed her. She had been human, and humans…humans, heroes, no matter their ideals–even ones as noble as her …always…he couldn't let himself finish the thought. He sighed. "Fuck…" he cussed through his breath, the composer looking to him with a wry brow.
He really wished she hadn't been summoned by his idiotic master. But too late now, just his luck really. What's next? Were Gilgamesh and Cu Chulainn going to drop from the fucking sky? No…I don't think he's that lucky, the archer reasoned. And if that did happen Golden Boy would be supremely annoyed by the webslinger so maybe that would be a good summon. It'd give him a few chuckles at least.
He let himself rest against a tree, closing his eyes and taking in his surroundings via his other senses. Somewhere in the distance, a town was under siege by the Dark Jeanne's legion of the damned–he couldn't know for sure. But he would put money on it. Instead what he could hear, was the crackling of the fire, the chitter chatter of Marie and Amadeus, the subtle hum of power that radiated off the saber class servant, the sleeping moans of the teens as they tossed and turned (knocking Fou off Mash, much to his frustration) and the tail end of the prayer that emanate from the lips of Amakusa Shirou Tokisada and Jeanne d'Arc, who had at first been reluctant to join him.
The Red Bowman opened his eyes as the rulers approached him. "And what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked crassly, arms crossed, guarded and eyes steeled with a cocksure grimace.
The Ruler looked over her shoulders–Amadeus kept the Queen of Lilies distracted with talk, while the saber and shadow servant took note.
Amakusa asked the question flat out, "Are you planning on fighting Peter, Nameless?" his voice hushed.
"That's up to him" he replied calmly "He's the one barking at me like a rabid dog for just making simple comments"
"Comments that are clearly meant to stress him out and gauge a reaction" Amakusa frowns before letting out a sigh. "Taking that into account, I ask why you still accepted a contract with him?" with a steely eye, any persona of a kind and gentle holy man left him as he stared down the Archer. "Even a blind man can see the loathsome tension between you two?"
"He attacked me first, remember? I didn't instigate anything–how was I supposed to know he couldn't let bygones be bygones with a separate version of me?" He snickers. "It's like he doesn't understand how heroic spirits work? Oh, wait–he doesn't"
"That doesn't answer my question, Nameless" Amakusa pinched his temples.
"Yeah, because my reasons are my business and mine alone…maybe I just like seeing our master in torment. Maybe I'm just applying pressure so he can buck up, shut up and get the job done"
"That's quite harmful, especially to someone who's still a chi–" Shirou retort was cut short
"A child? Seriously? How old were you when you died? Shirou?" He looks at Jeanne "What about you? How old were you when you decided to just throw away normalcy?"
Jeanne gave the archer a stiff glare. "Nineteen. But I heeded the Lord's call, and I accepted what I would leave behind. I have no regrets" a guilty and doubtful expression formed upon her angelic features.
"Apparently not–since you have a doppelganger running around killing people…no one's perfect, right? Seeing what the path of justice leads to, this is the inevitable conclusion"
A mild distress rolled over the Saint, but she stood steadfast regardless.
"Ignore his comments, Jeanne–he's rather derisive from the short time I've known him" Amakusa let out a sigh "And to answer your question, I was seventeen when I was executed–but that is beside the point. I put myself where I ended up, because I had faith and understood what had to be done…Peter over there was here by a mistake, he didn't volunteer this burden onto himself. He isn't like Mash, Romani or anyone else at Chaldea, he didn't know maguses even existed. He was nor–"
"Don't kid yourself. We both know he's not a normal human!"
"Maybe not, perhaps he's a mutant" The priest reasoned (Jeanne giving a odd quirk of her eyes at the term), the master the Third Rider from his war in Fuyuki being one, and later calling others of his kind to combat the Matou Girl's onslaught of the city. It was her brother if I remember correctly…but this was beside the point.
Jeanne became puzzled by this term, Mutant? she mouthed still stuck on that word.
"Mutant? So, you didn't know about the Avengers–but you know about mutants? A subspecies of humanity that was a rumor at best until the turn of the millennium. Strange, maybe I'm not the only one keeping secrets around here, Choir boy" he smirks.
"We both know the Throne is inconsistent with information"
"True, but it's odd you know what that is"
"Right back at you…you really seem to know a lot more about the present than you're letting on. Key example I've been reflecting on–your nonchalance at the Avengers and Annihilus!" The tanned young man responded accusatively.
"Why do you bring that up again like you have me? I just wasn't impressed with a bunch of self-righteous do-gooders in spandex–sue me" he quips.
"You're one to talk, I mean look at your garb…wait a second?" A suspicious glare enraptured the Japanese catholic for a moment. Isn't that something Ciel had?
"We're getting off topic" Jeanne frowned at the archer and her fellow ruler, "Why do you loathe heroism?" she asked. "Specifically, why do your best to shake Peter's beliefs"
Never one to be nonplussed, "Because they're an idiot's guide to life. You can't save everyone. And focusing on saving the wrong people, those who are already lost or are in the way of actually doing something worth a damn–is just a road to hell" He adjusts his neck "Tonight should have proved that to him but he got cold feet"
"While yes, his dealing with Martha was less than stellar–can you really blame him? The boy isn't like us, he hasn't taken a life before. And we are as lifelike as it comes, even with the understanding of a heroic spirit being no more than a familiar" Amakusa reasoned.
"Sounds like an excuse to keep his hands clean–but if he's a normal human, he shouldn't even be able to get close to dirtying his hands…so it'd be better to have us take care of it. But I think we both know he's not going to just stand aside"
"And why wouldn't he?" The Holy Maiden Savior inquires, crossing her arms
"Two times now, he took the initiative to go one-on-one with a couple of dangerous servants. Both times he lost handedly…or more presumably and definitely, couldn't stomach what he was about to do. It wouldn't have been smarter to have one of us fight your copy or Saint Martha–but he said fuck that…"
"I saw him in action, saw his face when he batted Martha away from me…he's overwhelmed by this and I don't think less of him for that" The blonde holy woman palmed her head in consideration "Best course of action is talk to him, not confront him, but reason with him–"
"That's never gonna happen. People like him are so set in their ways that even when they see a surefire answer to their problems–they just rip it to shreds because it goes against their morals"
"That's everyone, Nameless–I'm sure you have some lines you won't cross at the end of the day" Amakusa retorted.
"Do I" he caustically smirks
"Yes, yes you do! I truly believe that. And I am very sure someone like the facade you put on, would have already killed him if you two really weren't aligned with each other"
"I just like seeing him suffer"
"Well, that's rather plain in all honesty, and disappointing. You didn't strike me as a sadist, just someone that's lost to his own misery"
"You do not know me, Shirou" His features contorted into an acidic sneer "…hell, I don't know myself, remember?"
"You know enough to fundamentally disagree with your master. That says this, Namelessness, is false…I've met plenty of liars in my fold. From small lies as simple as taking more than one's own share of food, to lies that broke those who served with me. And I have to ask, do you hope he fails? That he can't overcome this task before him and let untold numbers die?" Jeanne asks, her tone begging for some measure of human decency to be drawn out from the counter guardian.
Amakusa was less merciful. "If so, may I put you out of your misery?" His tone is passionless, cold. He held the hilt of his blade.
"Amakusa?!" The Saint of the Flag's reaction was less than pleased with her ruler's threat
EMIYA smirked at this, "Finally, it's a pain in ass, right? When someone doesn't get the memo–makes you really wanna just kill them and let it be–"
"I don't want to; I am merely giving you an option. Besides your arguments with Peter, you have been a valuable ally to us. You've helped save a lot of people and listened to his orders without hesitation" The Japanese Catholic explained with a calm rationale.
"I'm a loyal servant, what can I say"
"So, if you're willing to listen to him but still go out of your way to see him pissed–what actually irks you about him? Because I'm only hearing half-truths"
Jeanne nodded at this, "Yes, as am I…why?"
The archer rolled his eyes "That's for him to find out when he's ready…but to feed your curiosity, he reminds me of a real dumbass I knew in life. Someone who kept failing and failing but stood steadfast all the same with each consecutive failure. It was his ideals that kept him going and in the end the fucker broke, mind, body and soul…" he says sourly "...he's going the exact same route, so what will happen when he come across your darker half? Huh? When that kid jumps headlong into danger a third time, maybe gets her into a corner, and when he has the chance to end it–wimps out?"
The blonde martyr, the saint and savior nodded at this "Then those who have the stomach to do what's needed, will have to be the ones to end her suffering…I may not know which of us is true, me or her. But I refuse to let anyone burden themselves with my mistakes. Peter won't be the one to face her, it will be me. And whoever the Lord deems as honest in their beliefs–shall be the victor"
EMIYA frowns at this, he sees her face before he had to kill her–her grateful face as he extinguishes the only girl he'd probably ever love. As per usual, he quickly slips on the persona `That's a tad dark, Holy Maiden Savior—but at least you understand the gravity of our situation in the end…" he looks to Amakusa, who has composed himself "What about you, Choir boy…going to pick up the slack since your mast–"
The Pseudo-Priest answers promptly "I'd rather do that than continuously see him suffer. Him or anyone, so yes, I will. That's a servant's job is–protect their master and win. If he can come to his conclusion with a helping hand, I'd be more than willing…but stubbornness is a roadblock, a roadblock that can be leveled. It takes time"
"Time, tch…yeah, tell me about it" The archer admits painfully. He looks back to the Saint of Orleans "I don't want him to fail insofar that the human order being incinerated would be bad news for all of us. Our master is a means to an end, but if he folds…I wouldn't have any regrets"
"You really are a troubled man, Nameless" Jeanne says sorrowfully, making Archer roll his eyes. "But I don't hate you. Peter and you are very similar in that manner…and I shall fight to save you both, such is my responsibility"
EMIYA shakes his head as Jeanne departs from the Pseudo-Priest and the archer. Where does she get off? I don't need saving…"what are you still doing here?" he asks Amakusa. "Got any hollow words for me, Father? Any more threats?"
"Were you like this when I first met you, Nameless?"
"The hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, that's for you to find out and for me to reveal" he snickers to himself in good humor, "…I pray we all come to an understanding. 'So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.'-Isaiah 41:10. But the thing about strength, is that though God may give you it–it is up to the individual to use that strength to deliver themselves from evil. So will you deliver yourself from your pride and extend a hand of friendship to one that has called for your help? A call of help that you accepted" he raises his hand to EMIYA as a sign of a possible peace.
"Yeah, no" Amakusa Shirou Tokisada was probably the second most irritating priest EMIYA's ever met–he radiated the same smug self-assurance Kotimine had. But if it was any consolation, the Counter Guardian was sure the Japanese-Catholic hadn't fed orphans to a Babylonian Tyrant.
"Suit yourself, enjoy your night Nameless"
The archer groans, returning to his resting position against the tree. And even as he tries to stare out into the darkness of the forest, his eyes still drift the King of Knight's, and the regret and longing of her visage makes him almost rethink his words. Until he reminds himself of the wasteland he's made for himself. Too late for me…
The Girl from Cheldea's eyes stirred, the night air making her shiver for a moment as her now conscious form adjusted to the world around her.
She felt a warmth hit her lips, her cheeks–it made her body tingle. Her eyes found the source close to her face. The sleeping boyish features of her master just inches away from her own bonny one.
She bit her lip to hold back a whimper, a deep red running over her. While logically speaking, Peter and she had been in close proximity plenty of times for the short duration they've known each other. The sensation the boy caused was something that still thrilled her to say the least, though it was not at all rational. Nevertheless, the tickling nature of this reminded her of her novels–though on a more extreme scale.
Consoling herself, closing her eyes and trying to remember the cold reality and definitive reality of what she was–she, almost, calmed herself down just enough to not wig out internally. This left her with just studying her senpai as he slept.
He's… His features twisted and contorted. Though he didn't toss and turn, his body shook, dried tears on his cheeks. Is he having a nightmare?
Without thinking (perhaps she was too tired to realize the boundary she was crossing), she unzipped her sleeping bag and jostled herself closer to her master (making Fou grumble as she shifted). She reached for her senpai's bag and unzipped his. And without any hint of hesitation of embarrassment, she reached her arms around the brunette and nuzzled against him.
The boy shook against her body in a version of retaliation, but eventually he accepted the warmth–wrapping his arms around her and nestling into the girl.
Their chest pressed against each other, their heartbeats evening out into a calm rhythm "I'll be your shield…senpai…" the lavender haired kouhai promised, her voice dreamlike. "...trust me…" a subtle sullenness drifted through her voice as she returned to slumber.
This was seen by the only Amadeus, Amakusa, the shadow servant, Jeanne d'Arc and King Arthur–who had one form or another of pity, sorrow and derision for the fate of these two.
I see light, vast and deadly—it hurts me, (at least I think this is me).
Reality rushes past me like water in a raging river, it only stops when I hit the ground.
My arms, (these are my arms, right?) are broken and I can't even muster the strength to move.
I find myself in darkness for what seems like forever.
No sound,
A shy breeze that brings no comfort,
And the regret and confusion of why, (what is this?!) Why was I rejected?
I thought I was doing the right thing,
I thought I could make a difference,
I thought I could help,
(This isn't me, is it?)
And when sorrow turns to something other, when it becomes hate–
(She's…she's beautiful)
Between golden locks–
"Why do you tread where you ought not to…"
I look into the face of death
"...little spider?"
And she laughs at my misfortune
Her senpai was shocked to say the least when they were awoken–
He yelped, quickly releasing Mash from his embrace and slipping himself out of the bag to get away from her "Mash, I am so sorry!" his voice high, face read, eyes wide and embarrassed to all hell.
Much to the amusement of Amadeus and Marie.
Amakusa, stifled his laughter, "Apologies for the sudden wake up you two–-but it's daybreak. And we best be heading off"
Peter was gob smacked, "But uh…wha…" he palmed his forehead in red faced consternation. "What the heck?!" he whispered under his breath.
Mash rubbed her eyes and yawned. Fou nuzzled against her ear before jumping off her to go and be an audience to Peter's shielder looked over to her master with a sincere smile as the vaguest of memories of the previous night rolled into her psyche. The lavender head immediately blushed, placing her hands over her face to hide the embarrassment. What was I thinking?! She slowly removed her hands, "It's–it's okay sen-senpai…" she said her tone in speech pattern in line with her master. She inhaled deeply, cringing. She wanted to bury her head somewhere. This was totally crossing the line, right?
After a quick meal, their supplies were packed into Mash's shield (apparently, it had some sort of pocket dimension in it that could store items), and the chaldeans set forth towards Lyon.
It was a strenuous trip mood wise, Mash's master keeping his eyes forward towards the direction Romani pointed them. Any time, he met eyes with anyone within the convoy he shifted quickly, made a quick quip if applicable and kept walking.
It was Marie who kept any semblance of conversation within the group, with Jeanne, Amadeus, Amakusa, the Doctor, Da Vinci and Mash adding to it. Sometimes, the King of Knights would grant her thoughts on a topic, though the opinion was usually geared towards tyranny or cold-blooded violence. And sometimes it was cold indifference.
The King's words, actually anything she said–made a chill run down the shielder's spine. She isn't right, this isn't who she's supposed to be, Mash thought to herself and then chided herself for casting judgment over someone who had actually done more than the girl from Chaldea could even imagine.
Marie attempted to get Nameless and the Shadow Servant to enter whatever topic of conversation the group was currently on. But, the archer only laughed it off with some grim sarcasm while the shadow servant looked at the Queen of Lilies blankly before shaking his head in what seemed like melancholy.
Why do you make skin crawl as well? The demi-servant asked herself when her eyes looked at the smokey figure. Perhaps, I knew you? Or whoever lended Lord Chaldeas knew you… she pondered. Is this a warning? This question would go unanswered.
Peter also shared in this avoidance, claiming that he wasn't in the mood and just needed to think about stuff. Which Mash believed wholeheartedly, but that does not mean she necessarily agreed with the decision.
No amount of coaxing from Marie, Amakusa, Romani, Da Vinci or Jeanne broke through to him. Just when I think we're making progress, Mash lamented as she walked beside him.
Fou rode atop her shoulder with a vexed ire directed towards her master.
"Calm down, Fou" she whispered to the fluffball, who merely mewed dryly in response.
How do I go about this? She wondered; how can she break the ice with him? I want to talk to him; I need to talk to him…I could try now but…this is all so perplexing!
Though it surprised her that Jeanne or Amakusa weren't trying to ask about his abilities as they were last night. As well as his quite frankly, poor effort at subterfuge.
Perhaps they came to their own conclusion, or they thought it was better to keep the topic taboo thanks to the Master of Chaldea's reaction at being prodded.
His tone, his features that night, his rage and desperation at having his own beliefs and sense of self tested–she didn't like to see him in torment like that. But some part of her knew he needed it.
The girl from Chaldea had been a master candidate herself before the incident, due to Chaldea's demi-servant project seemingly bearing no fruit. Mash Kyrielight had been raised to understand the mission and the sum of its parts. The cold reality of her fate, she had accepted what she was, and she had been made to do. And even then, she had failed.
The purpose of her existence had proved null-in-void. She was basically an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. Her placement in Team A had been a last ditch effort by the previous Director Marisbury to try and draw out the servant she was supposed to be bonded with. It worked…at the cost of everything else…she reasoned in a sorrowful manner.
Back to the point, she realized what her role was, and she just wished the boy would just open up to her and begin to accept it. Though she had some semblance of understanding as to why he just couldn't.
If only he'd stop being so…so…emotional she lamented, shutting her eyes, a small cringing pout washing over her doll-like face as she decried the very thing that interested her about Peter B. Parker. The fact that he was so unencumbered by the minutia of magecraft, that his views weren't skewed by the same cynicism and ambition that made the modern mage.
Of course, she didn't have much reference for maguses except for what Chaldea had provided. And even then, when a few did grant her some kindness–Mash didn't feel like she could really believe it. She didn't hate these people, she respected them even but…
Romani was an exception. No particular reason, she just felt safe with the medic. Even if he was a bit scatterbrained or lazy at times. There was no air of orderly conduct with him that someone like Ophelia or Peperoncino had, they were maguses through and through, though kind all the same. Even with that said, there was a separation of her to the rest of humanity Chaldea had cultivated.
But Romani wasn't that, just like Peter, they were both so human–in different ways as one would think. It helped that the Doctor introduced me to authors like Tolkien or the Brothers Grimm…he gave me a window…and made sure I was okay, day in and day out.
The shielder didn't know when she'd have the chance to talk to him, one on one. It was driving her crazy in a way. She just wanted to be there for him, understand him better… she had promised, like he had promised. We are partners? Right?
She hated that this question kept coming to her.
Amidst the mindless chatter of Marie Antoinette, Artoria observed the pair that was the shielder and the master that had contracted her.
These two were a poor lot, so confined…much like I was. She smirked. Peter Parker and Mash Kyrielight shuddered if they so much as looked at her. Their eyes judging her and submitting themselves to fear and loathing. Good.
This is what it means to be a paragon, to be a terror to lesser men and women. Showing them that they were nothing compared to one such as her. They were just bootlickers who should bow down and lick her dark black–does it even need to be stated?
The Knight of Camelot was aware thanks to a brief back and forth from the night before. That the two had already met another 'corrupted' incarnation of her in a place called Fuyuki. That they had, with assistance of the Hound of Ulster, defeated her.
That was memorable, she had thought to herself. The memory of her defeat in Fuyuki came to her as the oaf with the fluffy hair explained the situation. That dog and shielder had made a fool of me. The girl standing against me (I know it shakes her resolve, seeing me–he was as loyal as they came) and that lowly mutt jesting while she attempted to kill them both. It was unbecoming to be defeated in such a manner. He stole Excalibur from my clutches, tossed me in the air as if I were a child's plaything (unexpected for someone who claimed to be a 'mere human'), and with that girl in toe. Attacked me in an effort to distract me while Cu Chulainn manifested his noble phantasm–-I was beaten to a bloody pulp and I had accepted such an insult…intriguing yet annoying
She held no grudge, that was another her. And if she truly believed in karma, she would have thought her contract with that dog and girl was a chance to repay their 'kindness' to her. And she would, pets must be punished for biting the hand that feeds them.
As they were now, distrusting, flakey–unassertive in the girl's case, and overly emotional for the dog. She wayward road ahead of her, things would break along the way, but they'd become perfect in time. Killers who sought their goals without hesitance for their consequence, they'd fear her and perhaps if she was in a good mood–I'd treat them, she smirked at the joke, causing her nostrils to flare in excitement.
The archer and her darkened knight noted this as the chatter droned on. Nameless as he was called, face was caught off guard–she couldn't understand his features, releasing the hold of the steel-cast guard he had since the night before. But it was amusing.
Her knight merely looked at her in what could have been…what could it be? Perhaps shame? Even through the darkness that overtook his body. He had tells that expressed his mood, even in life. Of course, he was a character, a jester of a noble that had been knighted, much to the chagrin of those like Sir Mordred when having learned of this fact.
Sir Tristan mocked it, saying it was because he was her distant cousin. That she had only allowed him to be in her court because of some sappy mix of pity and familial kindness. But that was apparently just as laughable for someone like her, someone who couldn't understand such concepts. In the end, he deemed that him being knighted, was her attempt at a lark.
Nonetheless, they never knew that he was the dark knight that kept Camelot safe while she conquered and waged war with the rest of the Round. He had filled the streets of Camelot with blood many times as invaders came, destroyed cottages in his battles and was feared yet praised for his handiwork. An obedient knight that was too late with his aid…
She shifted her sights to the Saint of the Flag, Jeanne d'Arc–someone who was thought peerless, without fault, without hate. And yet, one with her face and name had materialized like a bad sickness in this singularity. Her other wasn't hampered by her previous morals, in fact she was overwhelmed by vengeance and hatred for her end as Artoria had learned. Deciding to make do without the vaunted ideals of a sinless savior and become savage and hateful to all around her. Much like me, I suppose. To think I'd have a chance to meet 'alter' like myself Her lips curved in anticipation
After a few hours of travel, the group had set sight upon Lyon. A settlement that had begun when the Roman Empire still held the reins as civilization's pillar. It would become the banking center of France, embiggened by the silk trade, even renowned for it and eventually the third-largest city in the country.
With the Saone and Rhone rivers converging at the city's center. Two large hills from the West and the North binded it to become a peninsula with a plain Eastward for which the Chaldeans trekked upon.
The city was half the size of what it would become in the present, and from the looks of it–had been untouched by Dragon Witch's thralls.
"From the distance we're currently at, there's no indication of a servant in the city" Romani informed Mash and Peter.
Thank God Pete's guarded posture had loosened with a heavy sigh.
"How do you want to go about this, Peter?" The Doctor asked, hesitance in his voice–a sly wince of worry on his face.
"..." The brunette turned to the group but did his best to not look at anyone in particular. Call it nerves, but he couldn't get himself to face them. You sound like you're paranoid, Pete…you have a good reason to be, right? His eyelids clenched and inhaled. Holding it for a little less than a mere moment. He went through his options for how to best sus out the info they needed. Best to ask, keep it simple. Have them go around and ask about a 'dragon slayer' or better yet, anyone who looks odd He quirks his brow, most servants seem to standout in a hypothetical police lineup so if they say 'yes', it's good chance that it's our guy…or just another servant…
"Well, we're waiting, master" The Archer's deep voice putting the teenage vigilante on edge as it always did.
Dammit He did his best to keep calm "Simple recon, Andrews–" his tone was sharp, bitter "-we ask the locals if they've seen anyone odd. As in servant odd (no offense), Amadeus you go with Marie, Amakusa you deal with our resident stick in the mud, and I'll be with Mash"
"And what of me, Peter?" Jeanne asked, a tad perturbed that she was left out.
"Likewise," King Arthur asked coldly, though there was no hint of anger or confusion.
The Shadow Servant gave not hide nor hair of his thoughts.
Why her? He coughs to regain to his cool, (only Marie is convinced it's real) "...You three will stay here," he motioned to plains "to keep an eye out for, and be the first line of defense against any wyverns or enemy servants…also, I'd rather avoid the locals running away in fear because…"
"Because we share a face with the Dragon Witch?" The Saint of Flag asks disheartedly, her lips curving into the meager beginnings of a frown
"Yeah…" It hit him like a punch to the gut "...sorry"
The Saint nods, nonetheless, "It's a smart decision, I'll do what I need to if any trouble comes our way" she says with a resolute tone and a smile that told him, not to worry
The King of Knight's opinion was expectedly dissenting "If I come along, the information you are looking for would be found in a matter of seconds. We just need to show those whelps in that city who's in charge." With a cold serenity on her haunting face, she summoned Excalibur and revved it with dark power. "We must show them who they must truly fear for their salvation to be realized"
This made Mash jump slightly, she grabbed his hand and squeezed. Peter didn't stop her, instead, unthinkingly, he squeezed her as well.
With that show of force granting her a reaction she wanted, the King rested her blade.
Peter slipped his hand out of Mash's, a blush rolling over him that didn't recede as he eyed up Arthur. "And that's why you're staying here" he gifts her with a sardonic shrug.
She crossed her arms, clearly displeased with the reply. "Do you doubt my reconnaissance ability? Or are you just letting cowardice overwhelm your decision?"
"I know zilch about you, and if I were to you know, look back on every popular iteration of you from any piece of media–the state you're in now throws it out the window–same goes for the walking silhouette over there. And considering your appearance pretty (for the lack of better word) more Nega-Jeannie than our Jeannie. AS WELL as what you just said" He snapped a finger at her "-I'll take what is wyvern lookout for eight-hundred?"
The King is taken aback, "Eight-hundred? Eight hundred what?!"
He rolls his eyes, "Clearly the Throne doesn't show Jeopardy" He hears the Doctor chuckle, "Basically you stay here, swing your laser spewing sword if any flying lizards show up and don't be a…can't believe I'm gonna say this–menace"
The air changed on a dime as tension arose. The blackened tyrant's posture became imposing, her armor clinking as it pulsed with power.
"Senpai, maybe you should step back" she raised her shield, and the rest of the group braced themselves. Raising their respective armaments and venues of attacks.
Arthur frowned, approaching him with a low glare "It's unwise to mock a king" the shadow servant clutched her shoulder, but she brushed him off. The pale tyrant looked up at him, just a breaths length away from the limber brunette.
Peter simply smirks, lowering himself to her face "Would not be the first time" He boops her on the nose condescendingly. His exterior held only cold confidence with the promise of retaliation, though his eyes told another story. I honestly don't know if we can take on her and her lackey–Mash and I got lucky last time, and unless one of them can summon a wooden mech…me and my big fucking mouth. He knew he couldn't back up this threat, and he knew his servants would have to be the ones to actually go through with it. Plus, she agreed to be his servant, whether he liked it or not–she wants to help save humanity? But what if she has a scorched earth approach to it? I–I can't take that chance…but you can let Dark Jeanne run away, allow Andrews to piss you off and keep letting your so-called 'partner' down. Face it Pete, you're a bad gambler…
Seconds pass, bated breath,
Muscled tensed,
All gathered, ready to for a possible fight to break out.
But–
King Arthur smiles with something sinister gleaming in her yellow irises "Fine, as you command, my master"
Peter is generally taken sideways by that response "...really?"
"Of course, do you have a problem with my master's decision?" she asked the shadow servant.
The shadow-encumbered knight gave a noncommittal gesture that Peter read as him agreeing.
"Well there you have it…" she gave looks to him condescendingly, "...but be warned, there are always consequences for a dog going against its master–-even if said master finds their pet's blunders amusing" she then smiles in a manner not unlike the cheshire cat, smug and tricky "Look forward to it"
The delivery sent a shiver down his spine "I will not" he lets out a breath "okay, with that over–let's head over, split up, search for clues and try to find someone who can kill a dragon…simple enough" he lets out a hollow chuckle to exercise some of the nerves.
"Before that…" Jeanne approached him "...may I speak to you for a moment?"
"Uh sure…what's up, Jeannie?" he asks almost dreading the question for one reason or another please don't bring up last night, please don't bring up last ni–
"I mean way from the group, if that is fine with you"
"I…I don't know why it wouldn't be" he forced a smirk. Everyone could tell it was fake.
A pitcher's throw length away from the group, The Holy Maiden Savior faced humanity's last master who still couldn't look her directly in the eye.
"So…" he swallowed "...you got a confession or something" his canter of speech attempted to be light, but Jeanne could tell he was nervous, maybe even ashamed. "Cause I'm pretty sure Shirou would have been a better option–I mean he's actually a priest (more-or-less)" his features flushed with instant regret "Sorry, that was probably out of line"
"No, you're quite alright–in a way, I do want to confess" She rubbed her nape, "I want to apologize for my conduct the previous night"
The brunette queries his eyes, seeming at a loss "Your conduct? Um…if you mean how the fight went last night–that's more on me than anything" he admits sullenly.
"No…" She closes her eyes tightly for half-a-moment, before opening them "...I let suspicion get the better of me and scared you off" 'Holy Maiden Savior', would someone so profound be on to fall to their own wariness she thought to herself reluctantly "I haven't known you for long…"
"Yeah, and our first back and forth could have been a lot better" he coughs, still not looking her in the eye.
"...I shouldn't have expected you to lay all that you are to me. I should have taken into account the situation Mash and you came from, along with the story you told your era's heroes. It would make sense for you to be guarded and be afraid. So much loss so quickly, trust wouldn't come easy. And I am sorry any if semblance of trust we had may have been shattered"
"I–it's fine, Jeanne. Water under the bridge," Peter Parker says, voice calmer but the tone still has that edge to it. His hazel eyes still did not meet her amethyst.
Then why don't you look me in the eyes? "Yes, water under the bridge…" she accepted reluctantly "You best be heading off, may the Lord bless your search, Peter"
She heard his knuckles pop as he tightened his palms "..." he mouthed out something "...I am out of my depth here, and I-I don't know what I'm going to do when we have to face her" he admitted, looking down, the posture he held, was one of defeat
"I don't either, for all I know…she may very well be right"
"Tch, no she's not." his voice derisive, he raised his head and finally met her gaze "she's angry I get it, who wouldn't be"
Jeanne bites her lip, feeling discomfort at the fact I don't feel anything like that
"But to go on an actual genocide? Just because of what happened to you…it's–it's irresponsible and fucking petty" He groans, "She's taking out people who have nothing to do it–that's worse than just killing the people who were there and for what? To prove a point on how bad humanity is, give me a fucking break" Jeanne sees him seethe. "I just don't understand how a psycho like that can think she's in the right" he says staunchly
"She is me; do you think I'm a psycho?" the blonde asks sorrowfully. "That I'm some fake that was only brought here a vein hope of the land?"
"No, no I don't…whatever the hell caused there to be two Joan of Arc's, my money's on the one trying to help save humanity. Because whatever is flying around calling herself The Dragon Witch is a henchwoman of some jerk in green!" he crosses his arms.
"But you don't know that for sure"
"...admittedly, I don't." he shrugs, subsequently resting his hands on hips "I'm not sure of a lot of things since I got this command seal–" he raises his right hand, pointing to arachnid-esque mark "-put on me."
"And yet you keep moving forward"
"I got nothing else to lose…" his gaze escapes hers
He's lying again "So when we do finally face her, what will we do? What if in reality, she is the truth, and this is all for naught?"
"I...I don't know…because…I don't know *sigh*"
"You don't know because you don't know?" she repeated back to him with a raised brow.
"I don't know if I can go through with being the one to kill her in any case"
Jeanne's eyes went wide "Why would it be you?" She tilts her almost like an older sibling when their younger kin are at a loss. "It's a servant's job to defeat another servant–not the masters. I don't believe it'd be even possible for a magus to successfully defeat a servant unless they had some extraordinary magecraft though she still understood
He whispers something under his breath 'it's my responsibility and this is all my fault' "...I don't think I need to beat around the bush with this. I am able to keep up with servants," he professed disheartedly "I'm not a mage, in any way, and I am able to fight you guys…Martha believed I could take out Nega-Jeanne, and thanks to last night…I think that might be the case" his voice was hollow.
The Saint of the Flag remembered the boy, electricity sparking from his arms, the impact of his fists loud even with the torrent of sound from the drake Martha summoned. His speed, reaction and strength being more than any human of her own time would be able to do. "I take it you don't want to?"
"I'm not a killer, but I've been close a couple of times in my life" he confessed.
Jeanne takes pause at this "...you wouldn't be killing though"
"I know, unfortunately, servants match what I consider life" he shakes his head. "I don't know how I'd live with myself if I took it, even if you guys are spirits–I've said it too many times to try and convince myself it is okay to just let it be and let go." He lets out a desperate and sardonic chuckle "Hell, I think I might be reluctant even for you guys to–"
"Don't be, please, you needn't burden yourself with thoughts like that."
"Easier said than done…"
"You're not the only one lost in this campaign…" she braced herself, "...I believe I've made clear at this point that I'm not sure if she or I is the truth. I don't feel the same vitriol she does for how my–our life ended. And it makes me consider my persona for a lack of a better word." she inhales, let's go of the air "Would a girl who died like that, thought a witch, a trader, had stones thrown at them and dying so painfully–hold no vindication for her killers and the land that raised them up…I mean, I don't forgive the people who did execute me but I don't have this vendetta she has and I still don't regret how my life turned out…at least that's how I thought before I met her and now I can't help but think I'm incomplete or unwilling to accept the harsher side of me. And I wonder, should I just relent to what she says…but would that lead the world to ruin if I did?"
"Evil clones" He simplified with a dark quip "–can't say I understand what you're going through. But let me tell you something a really cool dude told me at JFK international" he clears his throat "Doesn't matter what the press says. Doesn't matter what the politicians or the mobs say. Doesn't matter if the whole country decides that something wrong is something right. When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world–No, you move"
"That sounds nice in concept...but couldn't she say the exact same thing or have the same thought process?"
"Nega-Jeanne buckled under the pressure. She's just going with the story; she doesn't have an original decision in her head but to be everything bad people said about her. Villains like her always do this, just defaulting to their own negative press, their worst vices–without thinking of the consequences or if their plan even makes any freaking sense!" His voice held a stern passion, his hazel eyes as solid as steel with his loathing.
So, he is cut from the same cloth, but that isn't my main concern "The future is still hazy but thank you. And for whatever happens, I hope the Lord grants us the strength to do what must be done"
"Yeah, but the big man upstairs doesn't always throw bones that easily" Peter glances past her, Jeanne follows his eyes to Mash approaching them.
"Best you get on with the search, I'll think over what we've discussed, and I'll do what I can"
"That's actually all we can do sometimes" his tone was still defeated, still confused, his eyes still full of pain and loss. And it'd took Jeanne all the strength not to take the boy in her arms and tell him everything will be okay
'Too considerate for your own good'-Jeanne pondered this as she watched Peter Parker and the rest (besides her, King Arthur and the shadow servant) depart. Is that such a bad thing? If it meant the difference between something valiant or something cruel, between life and death. What am I to do, if we-NO-when I finally face 'her'?
She didn't know if it'd be right for her to call upon his guidance even if she had partaken in Amakusa's prayer early–it was more so him leading it.
I know he wouldn't truly abandon me…nevertheless, I'd still appreciate a morsel of an answer for what I must do so that my home remains steadfast to the future. So that the denizens of said future can have its marvels, those to keep striving for a better tomorrow…how do I save a world when I can have my own reflection staring back at me, and telling me I'm wrong? Can I truly hold my ground and tell her she's 'false'?
Jeanne looked to King Arthur, who viewed her master's group with cold indifference. Then she turned to her when she finally noticed her gaze. She smiles "I look forward to meeting your copy, Holy Maiden Savior, she should be an interesting fellow to see–seeing another like myself brought down and arisen from the entropy of the world"
Jeanne says nothing, she didn't have a response to something like that.
The morning Sun shined down upon the Dragon Witch in her darkened regalia, cape flowing slightly due the breeze of the desolate city of Orleans–approached the resting Fafnir.
The black dragon had taken it upon himself to make a nest from four buildings.
His sleeping breaths were calm, not unlike a resting canine. If she were to admit it allowed–the silently beast snoring was rather adorable. But unfortunately, his reprieve would have to end for now "Fafnir!" Her voice is strong and wicked.
The drake's piercing yellow eyes opened on a dime, he raised his head and moved it to her. She couldn't help but smile.
Patting the legendary beast, one that had been killed by Sigurd and Siegfried, he made a delighted groan. "Good boy…" she whispered, "...we have work to do, sinners to burn and hell to raise."
Fafnir growled in delight at his master's wishes. His mark glowing with the promise of retaliation towards those that denied her darkest desires.
Gille should already have the assassin and berserker ready with their drakes She climbed upon the mighty terror that was Fafnir, the beast tilting somewhat to make the trip easy for her. Carmilla and Vlad are already making their way to their destination…she grimaced
With the Saint of the Flag safely atop his crown. It picked up the rest of its titanic body, debris from buildings falling from him. He outstretched his wings, bringing down more structures with an action so simple.
'You're going to face your counterpart again? What happened to her coming to Orleans?' Vlad had asked respectfully.
'Know your place–" she had responded coldly '-you are not owed an explanation for my decisions' her face had held a snarl.
The Countess of Blood that was once known as Elizabeth Bathory, had laughed at this response 'My, my so impatient.'
'Just do what I've told you to do–lay waste to all that you see and don't dare think of failing me again. If such an event happens, kill yourselves so I don't have to dirty my hands with the blood and viscera of such useless dregs'
'Of course, master' Vlad had accepted as she knew he would have.
'I could very well say the same,' The bloody noblewoman smiled hatefully 'Don't choke if you get that boy in your hands again…Though, if I think about it. You are of the age to fall fool for the pangs of a maiden'
'Get the hell out of Orleans before I kill you, Assassin' The Dragon Witch had threatened before leaving the deceased noble's abode.
With the flap of his wings, Fafnir left the ground and soared to the outskirts of Orleans. With this, the wyverns Gille had gathered, began to trail behind him with the berserk servants she had requested riding upon the fiercest ones.
The sight would bring terror and awe for all that saw it.
What wasn't seen, was the pale saint who rode atop the alpha of the pack. She looked off into the distance with a strained face of worry and irritation. I must prove myself, I must kill them all and make it, so this damned world never forgets what it did to me…
And still the question came back to her
'Was there no one who helped you, or showed you kindness before you died?'
She cringed, that fucking guy…
Author's Note:
Chapter 15 done. My apologies for the wait. Stuff in real life just got away from me (not to mention plenty of bouts with writer's block). But it's done and it's here for all of you. Hope you enjoyed it, if you didn't, more power to you.
Also, I give my give my thanks Evowizard25 and Unsettling-A.I.R. for help when it came to writing process of this chapter. Hope you two do well with any endeavors you may find yourselves in. Same goes for Sawtooth44.
And with all that said (or written in this case), enjoy your morning, afternoon, and/or evening. And I'll see you all you when I see ya-peace
P.S. sorry if this chapter feels like I'm retreading old ground. I'm just not at the point where the drama reaches its peak and change (for better or for worse) can come about. Hope it's entertaining nonetheless though.