07

Puebla, Mexico (Night)

"One mole poblano for the handsome husband, and one torta ahogada for the beautiful wife. May you enjoy your meal and your honeymoon in Puebla."

The waitress walked back inside the small restaurant with a broad smile.

Lancer looked down at his meal with curious eyes. He hadn't expected his master to move quickly during the first few days of the war, but to remain isolated in Mexico and slowly cross the border by foot each night was far from his idea of proactivity.

Alexis licked her lips and began to dig into her torta ahogada without much fanfare. She liked Mexican food, she'd told Lancer when she'd stopped their trip in a less crowded area of Puebla. And since it was only her supporting Lancer as a source of power, it would do them both good to at least eat something during their trip. Her lies to the waitress came easily—she'd fished two old wedding bands from her bag and slipped them on her and Lancer's fingers, claiming they were on their honeymoon—and she asked Lancer about his spice tolerance before ordering something for him on her own.

"This is… not how I expected things to go," Lancer said.

"Patience is a virtue." Alexis let out a pleased sound after her first bite. "Oh, they do it better here than in the main streets."

"If you may permit me to ask, wife, what is our plan right now?" Lancer smiled tightly at her. "Ever since those two left for New Orleans, we've been rather stagnant ourselves."

"Anxious?"

"Confused."

"Eat up."

Lancer indignantly tore some turkey off the plate, making sure it was still covered in the black sauce and seed garnish, and he bit into it. Almost immediately he began to choke and cough, overwhelmed by the spices in the sauce that the chocolate included could hardly dilute.

Alexis pulled the plate towards her and spun it around, making sure only the rice was facing Lancer. Lancer frowned and picked at the rice instead.

He wiped at his face with a napkin and sipped his drink. She'd at least gotten him some good old fashioned ale, something that he drank often in life. "You forget my region didn't have access to these… unique tastes."

"Neither did mine," Alexis said. "I still like it, though."

"The world is much more aware of its neighbours' cultures than my time had been."

"More for me."

How irksome.

Lancer reached out and slid the plate back to his side of the table. Alexis looked up from her meal for once, finally looking at him directly, and Lancer couldn't help the childish pettiness he felt rising from within. While Alexis had been the one to propose they pose as newlyweds while they travelled, it was Lancer himself who'd begged for the chance to experience modern culture. No, beg wasn't the word he'd used—it implied he had no pride, and there was pride aplenty in his corporeal form. It was more like Lancer had negotiated a chance to experience modern culture, at least the modern culture of Mexico, before it well and truly became important that the two remain undiscovered.

They were already heading to America on foot, and as soon as they reached the border, Alexis would very likely waste a command spell to force him to remain undetected by the naked eye until the biggest hurdles eliminated themselves.

So perhaps Lancer was being childish and petty. But he was a greedy man, never satisfied with the things he'd be gifted thanks to his shameful curse, and the more Alexis agreed to his whims until they reached America, the more he demanded. He would only stop when a command spell was used, after all.

More to the point, it wasn't like Alexis wasn't easy on the eyes. He did find strong, robust women to be more his type, valuing a bride who could match him in a fight and slay their enemies by his side. But Alexis was strong in her own way. Not as a warrior, and not as a mage, but as… something else. Something enigmatic.

Alexis blinked slowly, waiting for him to speak, but Lancer held his tongue for the moment. Instead he gave her a once-over, not for the first time, and much like his appraisals of her ever since his summoning, he pondered for the umpteenth time just what exactly she was hoping to supply him with to keep up with the other masters who had sponsors backing them. As far as he could judge, mere food and sleep would not be enough on top of her magic circuits to keep him in a fight once his restrictions were lifted. Though not robust like the women he preferred, she did have her own assets that played into her appeal. Rather, with her curvaceous figure and well endowed chest, one might assume the dark-haired woman to be a deity of fertility rather than one of war.

Perhaps it was not only Odin who blessed him in this Grail War.

Lancer huffed a soft laugh to himself, smiling with all the charm his pretty face could muster. Perhaps another time, he thought as he slowly pushed the plate until it was between the two of them, Lancer could test the limits of what she would indulge him with before she grew weary of his greed.

"I would enjoy the meal more if my wife were to feed it to me," he told her.

Alexis was hard to read, as per usual, as she let the seconds pass in silence. Lancer already knew she wasn't one to be swayed by appearances and charm alone—Assassin had tried to get a feel for her motives using such tactics, befitting of his espionage talent. It really all came down to whether or not Alexis wanted to do it at all, rather than whether or not Alexis could be swayed by anything.

Eventually, using the same spoon utensils she'd touched her torta ahogada with, Alexis sliced some turkey into a moderate size and, committing to the act of having to babysit a grown man, blew on the meat to cool it. No amount of cooling would get rid of the heat in the sauce, but Lancer was almost satisfied with the effort she was putting in, even if her expression remained as unamused as ever.

She held the fork out with one hand and cupped the other underneath it, catching any sauce that dripped off. Lancer waited deliberately for a drop to land on her palm, and then he leaned forward to bite down on his food. Spicy as ever, but at least with the ale still fresh on his tongue, there was something to mellow out the heat and allow the chocolate to shine through.

Lancer had grabbed Alexis's wrist as he'd eaten the turkey. She made no move to pull away, head tilting back as she stared down her nose at him. Almost an expression of annoyance, perhaps at the idea that her servant may already be trying to betray her, and the expression remained when Lancer brought her palm to his lips and slowly licked the sauce from her skin.

None of the patrons paid them any mind. Lancer licked his lips with a smile and leaned back in his seat, letting go of his "wife's" hand as he did so. People often believed that the affection with which you received something would soften the blow of any discomfort it may bring—a soothing reassurance would make bandaging a wound a little less unbearable, a breathless laugh would make outlasting the cold weather less of a slog.

Lancer's mole poblano tasted just as unlikable as before.

Lancer held up a hand and sipped his ale again. "On second thought," he said once the burning subsided, "perhaps my wife should enjoy it for the both of us."

Alexis pulled the plate back towards her. She went back to her torta ahogada, clearly aiming to finish it before digging into Lancer's leftovers, and she was just as unimpressed as before as she ate the rest of her dinner. "You're trying to savour this far too much," she told him.

Was he, now? Lancer smiled sweetly, simultaneously amused and disappointed by her lack of reaction. He couldn't help wondering how far he could push, how much of his greed she would be willing to sate, even if she didn't seem to care for whether or not it ever came to an end.

Alexis was quick to finish off Lancer's near-untouched food as the waitress came over and refilled his ale. He supposed drinking would have to suffice, but the issue of how to supply him with mana would come up sooner or later. Lancer just hoped there'd be at least something for him to rely on, if only to keep up with Alexis's no doubt lofty demands as the War waged on.

He was halfway through his drink when a local teenager jogged past their table. He was sweating and calling out for someone named Daniel, and the one Lancer presumed to be Daniel replied from behind the register nearby. He was thankful for the open-walled entrance that showed off the small kitchen and beer tap, though the teen seemed more interested in something other than what Daniel was selling.

Alexis was staring at them as well when the teen shouted, "¡Daniel! ¡Tele!"

Daniel looked up from his phone with an unsurprised expression. "Ah. Mateo," he greeted. "¿Qué onda?"

"Prende la tele—"

Daniel was quick to cut Mateo off with a wave and a shake of his head. "Solamente efectivo."

"¡Deja de chingar!" Mateo shouted. A few patrons raised their brows at the teen as Daniel tried to scold him. The teen didn't give him a chance to say much, though, and even Alexis was interested when he spoke next. "Saber y su maestro—"

Daniel was scrambling for the remote for the TV propped up in one corner of the reception area, and Lancer was glad that it wasn't just the two of them that were interested in the update on Saber and his master. They had just discussed the duo with Assassin and their likely whereabouts, so of course they'd want to know if they'd been spotted in the media.

Alexis gave a quick gesture for Lancer to stay seated, and he was in no hurry to leave his ale behind in pursuit of the rumour mill. He let her scurry inside with everyone else as Daniel finally managed to turn on the TV, and Lancer glared at the leftovers of his dinner with a frown. He scooped up a little bit of rice and gave it a try—actually kind of nice, he thought as he went for a second bite—but he was soon reduced to a coughing, choking mess when one of the patrons gave an incredulous shout.

"¡Saber y su maestro jodieron!

Lancer thumped his fist against his chest as he wheezed up a soggy wad of rice. Alexis barely looked back at him, but at least the other patrons offered him their waters to help clear his throat.

Surely he heard wrong. Lancer wiped his chin with a tired glance at Alexis. The look on her face, which was taken aback while simultaneously impressed, made him even more stunned by the declaration the patron had made. No. In public? No. Surely not. No? No.

One of the older patrons yelled at Daniel to turn the TV off, and the man simply ignored them. Lancer paid more attention to the translation the grail provided, listening with anxiety, until he heard Daniel remark, "Look at them go."

Incredible. Lancer didn't even need to look to know a very suggestive mana transference was being broadcast on television for Saber's public reveal. And what a reveal he chose to make it.

Lancer was suddenly very dissatisfied with just a simple lick of Alexis's palm.

Alexis was back at their table before he even noticed. She pulled a thousand peso bill from her pocket and tucked it under her empty plate, and with a shout of, "Keep the change!" Alexis nodded for Lancer to follow her. He chugged the rest of his ale without hesitation and, with another grateful nod to the patrons who shared their water with him, Lancer was finally leaving the restaurant with Alexis in pursuit of their next plan.

He didn't wait for long to ask her, "What was it?"

Alexis wrinkled her nose and barely looked at him.

"Your PDA was tamer," was all she said. And then, "He's in Vatican City. We'll have to draw him out."

Lancer furrowed his brows. "We can't ambush him in Italy?"

Alexis faltered in her brisk walking pace. She opened her mouth—considered for a moment—and then closed it, lips pursed in frustration. Lancer hovered incessantly. He wanted so badly to force his way into her mind and listen to her thought process, but the grail would only allow for a consensual exchange of thoughts between master and servant. If only he could see what the gears clicking in place behind those eyes were meant to power; perhaps Lancer would know better how to help his master and ease her frustrations, especially if they're coming so soon after confirming Saber was in the Vatican's field of view.

She grabbed his hand and led him further through the streets of Puebla. Lancer raised his brow, almost surprised by the gesture until he recognised she wanted to pull him aside as quickly as possible. Lancer matched her pace, and soon it was him leading Alexis through the streets until he found an alley that stretched long enough for them to enter. Under the darkness and slowly escaping the noise of the night crowd, Lancer was able to find a small apartment lobby he could enter and he shut the door silently behind them as Alexis checked the staircase leading to the first floor. When they both nodded to each other, they headed for a nearby storage closet and hurried inside, just the light from the crack under the door giving them enough to see inside the enclosed space.

Lancer could feel his greed rise again despite himself. In a small closet, with Alexis pressed up against him as they spoke in hushed tones, it was hard not to want more after what he just heard.

He was almost bitter Saber had been able to charm his master to that extent while Lancer could only tease.

At this close proximity, he could feel the mana flowing from Alexis and into him, charging him with an abundance of magical energy that Lancer never expected to receive from the woman so soon into the War. Perhaps she wasn't even caring that she was charging him up, making him fit to be a proper servant even with his decreased parameters as a result of his curse. Lancer tilted his head innocently, leaning closer to whisper, and for the first time he noticed the two of them were the same height—just a little over six feet tall, Alexis never having to rely on high heels to achieve such a height.

"What troubles you, master?" he asked softly. Alexis was still silent, still chewing at her lip. Lancer reached up, his fingers brushing her chin. Her gaze lifted from the empty air she stared at as her thoughts seemed to race, and he could see her teeth were digging into her lip as she remained silent.

Lancer let out a small huff, amused, and parted her lips easily with his thumb. When he did, he could see cuts on the inside of her mouth that bled onto his thumb, and the sharp teeth that had managed to draw it in her deep thought. He was still dissatisfied with the knowledge of Saber's bold actions in front of the world, even if he hadn't seen them himself, and he closed the distance between their lips without hesitation. Alexis didn't push him away, nor did she express discomfort as Lancer sucked at her lips and lapped up the blood that had gathered in her mouth. She merely let out a slow breath, calming herself, and waited for Lancer to finish his extra helping of mana from her blood on top of the bodily contact.

It was far from a tender moment, but neither of them were the type for tender, he thought.

Lancer licked his lips and gave her a knowing smile.

"If it is the Vatican that troubles you, master," he murmured, "then perhaps it is the Vatican I must remove from your path to victory first."

"Too much of a risk," Alexis muttered immediately.

Lancer let out another breathy laugh. "Because you are like this? Or because they far outnumber us?"

He brushed his thumb over her lip again, and when he parted her lips, he saw the cuts were already healed—almost as if they'd never been there at all.

"Be it Saber himself or the executors of the church," Lancer pledged, "this old man will do his best to eliminate them for you."

Alexis closed her eyes and nodded once, pulling her face away from Lancer's hand.

"As you should," she replied, cold as ever. "A servant who can't even fight for his master has no place by my side."

"Then shall we make haste to Italy?"

"No."

Lancer blinked, surprised, and let out a confused, "Hm?"

Alexis was swift with her decision making, already ten steps ahead of him with her plan.

"We should target Caster first. She's the most isolated of them all, and most other servants have already begun to engage with each other. A foothold in Russia will do us some good, as well. If we can move from there to the Norse regions, you'll be supported by the land more than I can provide on my own."

She opened the closet door and left immediately after saying it aloud. Lancer stood there for a moment, smiling to himself in disbelief, and pinched the bridge of his nose as he mentally repeated her plan to himself. Always on the move, that master of his. Never staying to savour the moment. He supposed he should be thankful he even got that brief moment of indulgence and magical energy from her, but as was the nature of his curse, Lancer would never know satisfaction as long as he lived.

Perhaps, Lancer thought as he followed Alexis out into the streets, he would simply have to do a good job fighting Caster to be rewarded with even more.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana, United States of America (Night)

"I must say, you two have to be the biggest contenders in this World Grail War by far," French correspondent Aloïs Lavigne remarked. In the studio he sat in, he was perched on a high tulip chair that was as bright as his canary yellow suit. Across from him, in identical tulip chairs, Amèlie Appiani and Louis Laurent Monette sat with bemused expressions on their faces. "On the one hand we have Monsieur Monette from a very prestigious mage family in France, whose grandfather participated in the previous World Grail War. And on the other we have Mademoiselle Appiani of Monaco nobility, a high profile player with the backing of the royal family behind her. You two must be very proud to be working together."

The pink-haired man smiled and held his head high. "It's only natural that great lineages seek each other out."

"How everyone else is at each other's throats, I'll never understand," Amèlie chimed in.

"I understand you're in an alliance with a third mage from America," Aloïs probed. He was on the edge of his seat, eager for the details, as he gestured for the screen behind them to show paparazzi photos of their third member. "Tell us, what is it like working with a member of the Van-Alphen family? Their technological advances are remarkable; surely you get some use from it."

"Ah, actually—Michael, dear, come over here for a moment!"

The man Amèlie called for entered the view of the camera. His long hair was tied back in a half-ponytail, and he seemed to know what she was requesting as he pulled off his jacket without much fuss. The prosthetic arm attached from his right shoulder was in plain view, and Aloïs marvelled at the sleek design.

"Our dear Citra has a talent for magecraft involving machinery. Michael wouldn't be able to do much as a bodyguard without it, I'm afraid." Amèlie touched her face with a smile. "I've never felt safer in my life in his hands!"

Michael preened some more in front of the camera before retreating back to the buffet that had been set up for the crew out of view. The two mages smiled at Aloïs as he continued his questioning.

"And where is Mademoiselle Van-Alphen right now? I've seen neither hide nor hair of her." He looked past the cameras at the crew as if to double check. "Is she busy with other things?"

Amèlie feigned concern as she tiptoed around answering. She gave Louis a helpless look, and the pink-haired man shook his head dejectedly.

"I'm afraid our lovely Citra does not associate with us often, Aloïs. She locks herself away with her machines and only ever interacts with her assistant."

"Say it isn't so! Is there turmoil in your alliance already?"

Louis shook his head. "I don't know for certain, but I've heard that the Van-Alphens don't particularly work well with those of organic inclinations. I always believed it to be false, pure conjecture, but…"

He gave an anguished sound as he buried his face in his hands, dramatic as he withheld his concerns. The blonde patted his shoulder, solemn, as she shook her head in dismay. Whatever they wanted to say, it was grim—and Aloïs was foaming at the mouth to hear it.

"But…?"

Amèlie sniffed and dabbed under her eyes, trying not to smear her mascara as she wiped at tears. "Oh, Aloïs, the things her brother told us. I didn't want to believe it, truly, but it all makes so much sense when you think about it." She gestured to the photo behind them, specifically to the prosthetic limbs Citra had. "He told us secrets about the family magecraft, and it's just inhumane. To think they made poor Citra sacrifice her own arms and legs for her magecraft! And now that she has nothing else but her own heart and head left, she has to use living people as tools for her machines!"

Amèlie bursted into a fit of tears and collapsed onto the floor. Louis pulled his face from his hands, teeth gritted and eyes shut tightly, as he balled his hands into fists.

"To think such monsters were among our venerable community. Using living people as tools for their own means… The Van-Alphens should be ashamed."

"Is it okay for you to be telling us this!?" Aloïs was looking from the duo and to the camera at light speeds.

"The world needs to know. Citra is a lovely, kind-hearted young woman," Louis insisted. "We cannot let this family hurt their children any longer. Their meddling in this War will only end in the sacrifice of more human lives, Aloïs, and I will not stand for it—I swear on the Monette name that I will free these poor children from their living hell."

With her mascara running down her cheeks and her face puffy, Amèlie looked up from the floor and addressed the camera again.

"That is why today, Louis and I make a plea to our fellow masters," she said. "Especially to the master of Saber. Please, help us make sure the Van-Alphens don't sabotage this sacred tradition for their own gain. Saber, if you're watching, all we ask is that you send word to the Monaco Royal Family to meet—we'll even come to your territory as a show of good faith—and together we can—"

Archer's golden shield crashed into the TV with a loud, clattering bang. The store window the TV had been on display in was shattered beyond repair, other electronics caught up in the wake of its destruction. The shield rattled in its spot, trying to wedge itself free—and when Archer ran past the store, it flew out from the remains of the televisions and back into her hands.

Civilians screamed as they rushed to get out of the way. The fight had not been expected, especially not by those who were simply wandering at this late hour for various reasons. Be it nightclubs or having nowhere else to go, or perhaps even the football game happening nearby that local supporters attended until the late hours, there were many people out and about to witness this clash of servants—and many still who were swept up in the chaos.

Archer sprinted into the grounds of Louisiana State University with her shield attached to her forearm, her armour glistening under the street lights, and in her sights she could see the rogue servant masquerading as an Archer jumping from wall to wall in his attempt to outrun her. He was faster than her, only by some, and she gritted her teeth in frustration as the sprint became dire.

'Master, I'm going to use my Noble Phantasm. He's too fast for me to catch on foot.'

In the back of her mind, Jamal's voice echoed in reply, 'Do what you need to, Archer. Dad and I have plenty of supplies to support you for a few uses—only a few, though.'

'Understood. Then, please bear with me.'

Archer skidded and jumped in one powerful bound atop a nearby Beetle, golden bow materialising in her hand. The red and gold weapon was firm in her grip as she bent a knee and took aim. The arrow she nocked against it materialised in turn, and with her keen vision she watched the blue-robed servant jump from rooftop to rooftop with an almost curious hesitation.

That hesitation would be the death of him, she thought.

"O Father," she prayed, "I beg thee to smile upon me. I pray that my aim remains true and pure, and that the foes I slay in thy name honour your domain."

The arrow burst into flames, bathing her in a bright red glow as she trained it on the now still servant atop the roof of Lockett Hall. She felt her power course through her body, into the arrow, and Archer sucked in a deep breath as she prepared to let it fly.

"Skorpizo!" she announced.

The arrow soared through the air for a brief second before the light of the fire fizzled out completely. And when that brief moment of darkness passed, an explosion of fireworks hurtled towards the servant. Hundreds of arrows made of fire and bloodlust sailed through the campus of LSU, some colliding with the edges of buildings as that hurtled towards the servant like comets. More screams and even more blood, a few bystanders caught in the fray as the arrows burnt them to a crisp. Fires erupted on the buildings the arrows passed, and still a hundred more arrows were left to find their intended target.

And then a flash. An orange light of the heavens that almost threatened to drown out the cascade of arrows sailing towards him. Archer furrowed her brows, rising to her feet properly, and then she was raising her shield as the shockwave of the enemy servant's own counterattack knocked her off of her feet. Flaming arrows not unlike her own soared in her direction—far outnumbering her own arrows, Archer thought in shock—and each one collided with her own and set off a myriad of explosions in the middle of the LSU campus. Hellfire and debris rained upon the scorched earth as screams of terror died before they could even be given life, and Archer was flung back—back out of the campus, into a tow truck, and forced to fend off the flames with her shield while the steel frame melted behind her. And when the arrows ran out of her own to neutralise, they began to collide with her shield relentlessly. Archer stood her ground, her shield red hot and groaning under the pressure; when the last of the arrows finally landed, she could finally see the terrain better.

Where there was once a domain of learning and ambition, there only remained a blasted heath where no god dared look upon. The poor souls unfortunate enough to have been caught in the crossfire were people no longer, but only ashen remains with nary a corpse to bury, nor bones to return to the earth. The two Noble Phantasms destroyed all life in LSU, human or otherwise, and from the top of Lockett Hall, the blue-robed servant bowed politely to Archer.

Almost as though to thank her for her showing her Noble Phantasm so soon into their fight.

Archer raised her bow and hurriedly sang her prayer.

"Goddess of the Hunt, hear me, your faithful disciple—"

The blue-robed servant raised his bow and let out a shout: "Govardhan!"

This time, a single bolt of fire fired from where he stood—massive and weaving through the air, changing direction to throw her off balance. Archer withdrew her bow and began to run back, back towards a building she could use to slow its careening path, but the arrow showed no signs of slowing as it weaved and followed her every move.

The divine flames drew closer and closer. Archer turned, her shield raised, and curled herself behind it.

The arrow exploded upon impact, the burns against her skin almost unbearable as she was flung through wall upon wall of brick and mortar, as the figure of the blue-robed servant pursued on foot with his bow still in his hand. No matter how much Archer tried to slow her painful journey out of LSU's campus and towards Parade Ground Park, she only succeeded in injuring herself further before she was able to land atop her shield and ride it to a stop along the road leading into the park.

She wobbled to her feet and wiped the blood from her face. She could hear Jamal's panicked questions hammering away in her mind, but she ignored them as she turned to face the servant with her arms raised, poised to fight him head-on.

The servant walked calmly towards her with a smile on his face.

"My, my, perhaps I really should be the Archer for this World Grail War," he remarked.

Archer let out a slow breath. She could feel her wounds closing as Jamal and his father worked overtime to heal her.

"State your class, fraud," she demanded. The dark-skinned man chuckled lightly to himself.

"So serious. I think my bout of identity theft was a pretty interesting plan."

She sucked in a deep breath. "I've no patience for anyone who endangers my master with their antics."

"Ah, is that so? My apologies. Had I known, I would've made it quicker for the two of you."

Archer threw her shield at him. He swung his bow, knocking the shield away, and similarly took a stance when Archer closed the distance between them, immediately throwing blows in his direction. His movements were fluid as he twisted and turned with such flexibility that Archer resorted to grappling, but even that was a challenge for her to accomplish as he managed to twist one of her wrists and flip them both into the air, spinning Archer before slamming his palm onto her torso and sending her crashing to the ground. Archer choked and spun on the ground, sweeping her feet under him, and she managed to knock him off balance as her shield flew back towards them.

Just as it was about to hit his neck, slice at least partially through the skin, his hand snatched the shield and gripped it tightly in place.

"It seems I must apologise even more," he said. "I'm afraid your Pankration skills aren't a match for my overall abilities. Wherever I may perceive anything, I have eyes; wherever I stand, I understand all in the domain. Unrecognised for my abilities unless I am named, yet skilled enough to rival even Krishna in my full potential as an Archer."

Archer stood back up again, lunging for him, and she managed to land a few blows as she adjusted to fit his fighting style. He had to be a Hindu heroic spirit, for while Archer was not knowledgeable of how to fight like this servant, she knew enough about war to discern the tactics and varying martial arts used by her enemies. This man was skilled in Kalaripayattu, a worthy rival for the very up close and personal Pankration she knew best.

He frisbeed her shield past her, and then he lunged forward, fists raised as they began to exchange blows. For each kick she landed on him, he repaid her in kind with a harsh punch; they danced around each other, across the Parade Ground, tripping and chasing and fleeing, until they reached where her shield had landed. Archer called it to her, the shield speeding towards her—and then the servant delivered a hard blow to her midsection that threw her directly into the path of her shield.

Archer groaned and stood back up again. This was getting annoying, she thought, and as they inched closer to the columned building within the park, both of them seemed to think of the same thing as they raced each other towards it. Archer threw her shield, and it bounced between columns before flying back at the servant at rapid speeds. He blocked it—but not without taking a blow to his wrist, and the dark-skinned servant smiled at her with that sickeningly sweet politeness.

He stomped on the shield, practically kicking it up into the air, and punched the flat of it. It barrelled towards her, blocking her view, and Archer slid beneath it. She pushed her weight forwards, crashing into the servant, and with her arms securely around his waist, Archer threw him up into the air and over her shoulder. The servant tumbled along the concrete flooring, skidded to a halt—and then her shield collided with his back, a loud crack sounding out. He managed to grab it before it made it back to her, but rather than throw the shield, he used the momentum to throw himself at her faster than before. She blocked him and disarmed the shield, bouncing it against the floor and up into the air. Fists flew as they tried to shove the other out of the way to catch the shield, and Archer felt not only her own nose break from the pressure of his blows, but his nose also when the butt of her palm slammed into it just as the shield was about to land.

Archer grabbed the shield with one hand and blocked a blow with the other. His leg hooked around her ankle, dragging her back with him as he jumped backwards. Her back ached as it hit the ground; the servant somersaulted over the top of her and kicked up the shield again, and with his arm strapped against it, he threw himself downwards with an overhead punch. Archer rolled out of the way just in time. The concrete where she'd lain was shattered and split, a sizeable crater in her place; what little rocks she could grab were thrown at the servant, and when he raised the shield to swat them away, she slid between his legs and behind him. One hand grabbed the lower half of his robes, wrapping them around her fist as she yanked him back with her, while the other returned the overhead strike in kind with extreme prejudice.

He caught her fist with both hands. Her other was trapped in the robe. When she tried to stomp him, he was able to hold back her fist with one hand while the other caught her foot and twisted it until her ankle threatened to snap.

Panting, the servant remarked, "This has been very elucidating, Archer! Have you only one Noble Phantasm to show me? Or are you just a one-trick pony?"

"Bold words from a fraud about to be slain for his crimes," she hissed.

The servant's smile became even sweeter, almost to a threatening degree, and his voice took on an unsettling edge.

"Oh, dear Archer," he cooed. "If either of us has committed a crime, it isn't me."

Archer furrowed her brows. She pushed further against his grip, hoping to land the fatal blow that would either kill him or send him running with his tail between his legs.

"Paying to your father," he recounted, "and then praying to a goddess of the hunt. Fighting using Pankration and wearing the armour of the Amazonians. If you were a better warrior, more beloved by your patron goddess, would you not be more skilled than I at your own class?"

She felt the sweat run down her neck at his questioning. Whatever this charlatan was getting at, it wasn't good.

"Enough of this—"

"Was it worth it, Antiope?"

The way he cooed her name, almost as though belittling her, it was enough to send a chill down her spine. Archer stared, wide-eyed, down at the man hiding behind her own shield. He wasn't looking at her with a sweet politeness that made her sick to her stomach anymore. No, the look he gave her was one of retribution—of someone who sought justice against those who sinned.

Archer released him, and just as quickly, he released her arm and leg. In her haste to get away from him, some of his robe tore away and was still wrapped around her hand tightly. He dropped her shield to the ground as he slowly ambled his way back to his feet, and he let out a grunt as he cracked his back with the stretch that followed.

"What do you mean—" she tried, but he was quick to cut her off again.

"All this talk about fraud and theft," he drawled, "but you're a fool to preach such concepts to me, little traitor. Do not recite morals and righteousness to me when you are adorned with fickle armour and tainted blessings."

Archer held her breath. She couldn't move. A phantom pain began to blossom in her stomach, right at her womb, and her heart ached as she recalled the events that led to the end of her life.

The servant was back to his usual playful smile, giving her a polite wave as he spoke again.

"I had fun, Archer. Both with my ruse and with our fight. I hope your next opponent isn't fortunate enough to meet me before they have a chance to fight you. Finding out such details would be… Unfortunate for you."

He vanished in a glimmer of gold. Archer sucked in a deep, gasping breath, and dropped to her knees in stunned silence.

What a fool she was. She played right into his hands—revealing her Noble Phantasm so quickly and believing herself to be superior as an Archer against a man who pretended to be one.

Just like when she'd died, defeat tasted so bitter that it was unbearable.

Holy fuck I hope that was worth the wait I'm dying Squirtle

big thank you for the patience for this chapter and i hope you enjoyed it! lemme know y'alls thoughts as usual!