Fate/Broken Order
Chapter 14
-Singularity 1 – Orleans-
Part 3: Strike of Misfortune
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In the town of La Charite, a spring was winding up and waiting for the lightest stimuli to unleash all the dreadful tension it was building up.
Atop a massive, black dragon with green marks on its chest, glaring down at a group of insignificant ants, the Dragon Witch glowered with cruel disregard, her minions at her wings. Waiting.
And then she saw her. The girl who shared her face.
The confusion was momentary. Shock almost negligible, but not completely unshakeable.
"Hah...Haha...HAHAHAHAA!" Laughter burst from her gut, like a malevolent stream. A cruel grin manifested. "Well, if this isn't a curious thing! A bunch of insignificant insects, and a filthy faker among them!"
To her eyes, many of them were Servants. A small voice in the back of her mind told her they outnumbered her own. That did not matter, she thought as the voice was shoved back down. Her hordes would make up the difference. Her fearsome mount, her trump card, would make up all the difference in the world!
Still...the way that faker with her face looked up at her. So defiantly. It enraged her.
"So you are the Dragon Witch," the fake stated. She felt the need to scoff. So she did.
"Tch. A meager title given by insignificant rabble," she spoke with full confidence. "I am all that I've ever been! Jeanne d'Arc! No more, no less!"
The faker frowned, but stood tall. Infuriating! "If that is indeed the case, then answer me! Why? Why do all this, this needless death, to our beloved homeland? To our people?"
Rage flared in her soul. A deep Hatred. Pure. Endless.
"Our people?" The Dragon Witch asked, filled with menace. "Our people?! These savages, traitors who left us, abandoned us, tortured and burned and killedus?! Our people, you say?!" She struggled to maintain her breath, the wrath too strong to be contained. A hand swept to the side, as if flicking off grime. "These filth are not my people! They're just pigs fit to slaughter, down to the last!"
And despite all her words, all her anger, her hatred...the faker dare to look at her with pity?!
"...You truly aren't me...are you?" the fake whispered, loud enough for it to be heard.
(Because she understands, the voice inside said and was snuffed out.)
"...What was that?" The Dragon Witch growled, her dark intent boiling, barely kept under the lid.
The fake shook her head. "To hear so much hate, coming from one who looks so much like my dark mirror. Before, I held doubts. That maybe, just maybe, I could have been like you." She raised her head high, looking straight at them. "But now, I refuse that possibility! France is my home, it's people dear to me, even now! I know, in my heart of hears, that I could never end up like you."
"Oh?" The Dragon Witch sneered hatefully. "And what makes you so sure of that, fake?"
"Because this is the land my mother calls home."
It was an insignificant detail. A word added to a sentence. Easily glossed over.
Her mind refused to.
Mother...
(You do not know, the voice was ignored)
Mother...
The Dragon Witch grasped her head as it began to ache.
(You do not know!?, the voice cried out)
Mother...
The fake had noticed. But it hurt...
(You do not know!, the voice grew desperate)
It hurt...her head hurt!
MOTHER...
(YOU DON'T- … The voice was snuffed out.)
"Shut up..." The Dragon Witch growled, as her hate boiled over. "Your words are meaningless drivel! I've had enough of you! I'll just slaughter you, and those other insects too!"
The Dragon Witch was prepared to give an order. For her minions, her hordes to attack. To lay waste to what incited her Rage!
But a small thing managed to catch her attention, just barely.
One of the Servants, the tanned man in red. Why did he keep looking at her fearsome mount, and off in the distance to the side? Why was he splitting his focus so, in this deadly scenario? What could possibly make him bear a look of such bewilderment? Why-
She didn't get to the fourth why. Because it was in that moment that Jeanne Alter's world got rocked!
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A little earlier...
Emiya was crapping himself, because holy fuck, that was a True Dragon! If no one else was, they were crazy and had a death wish. And if that was not bad enough, one specific blade in his Unlimited Blade Works responded to its overwhelming presence, allowing him to identify that it wasn't just any Dragon. It was a specific one, which was just so much worse!
It might be a copy, but by god it was an accurate copy. So if the Dragon Slaying Sword Balmung resonated with a Dragon, that that Dragon was probably the covetous Cursed Dragon Fafnir.
Emiya tried not to crap himself more. This was bad!
Then, his keen eyesight caught something in his periphery. At first he was preoccupied by bloody Fafnir, so he didn't register it at first. The second time, his gut told him to look dammit, so he reluctantly turned his head away from near certain death to stare into the far distance...
…
What the actual Hell?
Emiya had to switch between Fafnir and the far distance, because there was no way what he was seeing was real in any conceivable way. But no matter how many times he switched, the inconceivable image did not change.
And then in the far distance the Second Fafnir twisted mid-air, swiping powerfully with its muscular tail for seemingly no reason. Or so the naked eye might see it, but the keen eyesight of an Acher could spot something small being launched by that one action.
And then that small thing streamed to the scene with immense speed like a miniature comet, and struck the first Fafnir on the side of the head with unimaginable force, not just snapping the gigantic Dragon's neck to the side, but launching it's entire carcass into the ground!
Even Emiya, who had been paying attention, barely recognized what even happened until Fafnir impacted the ground with the force of a massive cruise liner suddenly falling out of the sky at terminal velocity. It was as if a meteor had just struck the earth.
As a consequence, the Dark Jeanne and her cohorts, utterly unprepared for fuckery of such magnitude, got immediately thrown off in the process, landing haphazardly among the rubble.
Jeanne Alter recovered quickly, jumping to her feet. "What the hell was that?!" She turned to look at Fafnir, only to find that the mighty beast, despite all its power, appeared legitimately dazed from the hit and just laid in a crater, barely conscious.
And then something fell before the Chaldea group with a heavy impact. A person, clad in a familiarly suspect black militaristic uniform, with every single inch of the dark material running with the hot crimson light of overloaded Magic Circuits.
"Other dragon's friendly! Run!" Aldia yelled out as her entire frame surged with power, akin to a Mana Surge. And without another word she rocketed towards Jeanne Alter with a single mighty leap, and before the Dark Servant could fully comprehend what was happening the woman's gloved, glowing fist decked her in the face with a Right Cross that sent the Dragon Witch flying high and long!
Acher, the only one with at least some forewarning, recovered the fastest. "Okay, you heard the strong lady! Leg it!" His loud command got everyone else into a proper head space as they started fleeing what seemed to be developing into a battleground.
"Can't we take them?" Artoria asked, having picked up her Master in an embarrassing(for Ritsuka) princess carry. "The element of surprise-"
"Won't last long!" Emiya countered as used Projection to create the dual blades Kanshou and Byakuya. "And besides her Servants, that dragon's Fafnir, and we're not equipped to deal with that!"
"I'll keep you safe, Anchin-sama!" Kiyohime proclaimed, carrying Gillian in a similar fashion as her male counterpart.
"Uh, that's nice and all, but- wait, Elizabeth, stop!"
"No way!" the young wannabe idol screamed back, with spear in hand as she ran towards the battle. "This is my chance to kill that old hag!"
"I'll go help her!" Jeanne yelled as she followed Elizabeth.
"No, damnit!" Emiya shouted in futile protest, but had to throw his blades to down Wyverns to keep the two Master's safe. "Urgh! Damn you, Savior Complex! It's just like Me again!"
"Suck it up!" Gillian yelled as she pointed at a wyvern in the sky with her metal clawed pointer and middle fingers, dark energy coalescing between the tips. "Sgaradh Dorcha!"
An intense black and purple beam shot out and, with a flick of the wrist, cut many a wyvern in two with the beam of energy before it vanished.
"Holy shit!" Emiya exclaimed. "Since when could you do that?!"
"Since-shut up and kill these things! Canain Mhòr!" Another spell shot out from her hands, a basketball-sized purple orb that flew into the middle of flying hordes. And then it detonated into a massive explosion, spreading into lashing waves that shredded many of the Wyvern's wings, causing them to fall. Gillian's body slackened in Kiyohime's grip, dazed. "Woah~, okay, little light-headed, still not used to that much output..."
"You're so strong, Anchin-sama!" Kiyohime gushed, snuggling with her 'beloved' even as they fled. "As expected of the love of my life!"
"That's real cute Kiyo but now's really not the time!" Gillian said as she flung both arms out and began rapid-firing empowered Gandr spells into the sky as if dual-wielding machine guns.
Back at the main site, Jeanne Alter finally hit the ground with a roll, managing to clumsily land on her feet. And her hatred roiled!
"KILL THEM ALL!"
And as Jeanne Alter's command rang out, her Berserker Servants moved into action, her wyvern horde fully committed to giving chase to her foes, and the Alter's barely contained RAGE exploded.
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Aldia, senses heightened from her current state, was about to charge the first Servant to seem battle ready. An elegant white-haired man with a dark bearing. She lunged as the man reached out an arm and called out "Kazikli Bey!"
o She lunged and the man flung spikes of blood at Aldia and impaled her head. o
She leapt to the side as the man flung spikes of blood at where she would have been.
"Oh?" the man mused with a vicious edge to his genial tone. "You have good instincts. Shame they won't save you. But worry not, for I'll be sure to savor your blood once I impale you."
Aldia grunted, identifying the Servant, "Vlad III Dracul. The Impaler. Fun."
The last woman of the von Grimm line stared down the Savior of Wallachia, her lone Mystic Eye's azure blue hue aglow. Via a mental trick, she committed her mind to an action, gained a vision of her demise, and altered her approach to learn how the Hero of Wallachia operated, again and again and again, all in the span of a few seconds. And then she charged him once more!
"Fool," The Berserker Lancer scoffed, as with a wave of his hand he sent more blood spikes at is foe.
oAldia rushed into the spikes and was horrifically impaled. o
Aldia pushed with her legs, leaping high into the air to avoid the spikes.
"Your instincts are honed, but your struggle is meaningless!" With another gesture, the spikes were flung into the air, where his foe was a sitting duck.
oAldia, unable to dodge mid-air in time, was impaled by the spikes.o
Aldia strained her right arm and swung, shooting out of the way of the spikes.
This time Vlad's eyes widened in shock. 'What? She maneuvered by creating air pressure with a flex of her arm?!' The Lord of Wallachia, bore his vampiric fangs as he grit his teeth. 'She's not a Servant. Just what is this woman?!'
In the air, Aldia kicked with her feet, the resulting air pressure sending her rocketing towards Vlad.
"A charge? Again?! Foolish?!" Normally Vlad might have been suspicious of the move, but with a Madness Enhancement forced unto him his mind could not fully process the possibility. So with it seeming as if the woman's instincts could save her from his Impalement, Vlad attacked with his spear to to meet with the foolhardy woman.
This time, no vision came, and a gloved fist aglow with crimson hued power met with the spear of Vlad the Impaler. And immediately Vlad frowned, as the seemingly normal leather glove had less give then solid iron. Sparks flew as the fist pushed the spear aside with force unbecoming of a normal human being.
Still, his spear had struck her arm, if not draw blood. Four spikes burst up the limb, causing the woman to wince lightly. Another anomaly. A normal person would be in agony, yet this woman looked like she barely noticed. And she was in striking distance now.
In that moment Vlad, not in his right mind, panicked. He raised his other hand to activate his Noble Phantasm again in full. "Kazikli-" Aldia's form ignited and spontaneously burst into flames right before his eyes. "Wha-!"
In that moment, Berserker Saber d'Eon spotted an opportunity. The enemy Vlad was facing was beyond expectations. But while their struggle occurred, d'Eon lie in the shadows and waited for their opportunity.
The enemy was obviously a Mage, an extremely powerful one. Her clothes were Reinforced to the extreme, so only a strike at the only uncovered area would work without fail. So d'Eon waited, until now.
The woman had moved so quickly that Vlad seemed to be caught completely flat-footed. She had kicked the ground to swiftly circle around him, ready to strike the Berserker Lancer decisively from behind. And it was at that moment that d'Eon struck.
The Chevalier activated their Noble Phantasm, Fleur de Lys: Sword Dance of Falling Leaves, to entrance their target. The woman's movements seized, as the illusion took hold, a glazed look overtaking her eyes. The Berserker Saber dashed, their blade poised to pierce the head of their target.
"Pah! Amateur!"
Chevalier d'Eon flinched minutely at the sudden distorted voice, as her blade touched the temple of the woman.
And the image shattered.
'...Huh?' the Chevalier could only think, as from the corner of their eye he saw their intended target nowhere close to where they targeted their Noble Phantasm. 'What just happened? Was I...witnessing an illusion all this time?!'
"You should know, dearest d'Eon," the voice said, as time seemed to flow in slow motion around the Chevalier as crimson butterflies with gawking human eyeballs on their wings peeled off of the reality in front of them to reveal a petite white-haired young lady, smiling viciously at them. And so Francesca Prelati proclaimed, "When it comes to Illusory Arts, you never challenge a Master of the craft!"
In the illusion of slowed time, d'Eon watched as with one final leap Aldia thrust an enclosed fist right into Vlad's back, not enough to entirely impale the Lancer. On purpose, the Chevalier realized, as with a surge of power the woman threw her fist open. The sudden expansion, compounded by the added force via the monstrously potent Reinforcement, tore Vlad III Dracul in two.
The Berserker Lancer could only gape in a silent scream as their body took devastating damage, too much for their Spirit Core to withstand. The two halves dropped to the ground unceremoniously.
"You're a tough opponent, Son of the Dragon," the woman spoke in a calm, if a bit out of breath tone of voice that still spoke of deep respect. "You killed me almost fifty times before I found the way to reach you. You fought like a true champion, but unfortunately I was the one to foresee your Death."
"...hmhp," Vlad managed to scoff with a weak, approving grin. "What a...mouthy one... you...are..." He then vanished into spirit particles.
And that that point d'Eon could properly sense the march of time again and immediately made the executive choice to flee this situation. With one of their heaviest hitters beat it was the only sensible move, orders be damned!
Francesca watched as the Berserker Saber fled with a satisfied huff, walking to her Master, hiding both of them under a potent illusion. "We're safe for a moment."
The red glow of power immediately ceased and Aldia almost doubled over herself, breathing heavily, the exhales coming out as vapor. She might have been sweating during the entire fight, but all the power coming off of her had instantly vaporized it, so it left her steaming. Her body could barely move once the backlash hit proper. Not to get even started on the four holes in her now heavily bleeding right arm.
"Haah...haah..." Aldia did her best to level her breathing. It was difficult. Her lungs burned, along with all the rest of her. "Not...used to...this technique yet..."
Aldia's Limit Break. The peak of her uniquely gifted magical prowess. Reinforcement on an unprecedented level, enough to shatter and break through the very Laws of Reality through its own Mystery. Normally it was incredibly taxing on her Magic Circuits, only usable for short, extremely brief bursts, and even that did a number on her body due to the near unimaginable strain it placed on her Magic Circuits.
That was where her Family Mystic Code came in to address that large flaw. Her uniform, each and every part of the [Stahlvorhang], was inundated with the Magic Circuits harvested from each and every member of the von Grimm lineage upon their death. Including the ones she had implanted as a child when all her other relatives had died. Including the ones she herself harvested from her own lost left arm at Chaldea after it was lost to her.
[Stahlvorhang] was, quite literally, the distilled accumulation of the von Grimm's centuries long legacy.
And since the material of the uniform was filled with her Family's Magic Circuits, that interfaced with Aldia's own implanted Magic Circuits, for all intents and purposes it counted as a part of her own Body. Meaning her Origin allowed her, and only her, to make full use of its true potential, spreading out the effects of her magecraft over longer, continuous periods. That was the basis of the next stage of her Magecraft: [Limit Break Continuum], a continuous flow of power spread out through the literal hundreds of Magic Circuits in the Mystic Code on top of Aldia's own.
It only worked for a few minutes before she'd hit a soft limit, but during that time Aldia's might was on the level of a high ranked Servant. That, combined with her Mystic Eye of Death Prediction which she could use to avoid Death itself and test out her enemy's capabilities with specialized mental simulations, meant that there were few who could best her in a straight fight.
This wretched thing she hated with all her soul was literally made to be specifically worn by her. The von Grimm's Final Victory as a bloodline.
[The Ultimate Magus]
"Try to get your bearings soon, Master," Francesca urged, showcasing barely contained excitement, all but vibrating in place. "I only saw them in passing, but I am certain of it! She is here, Ruler, The Maid of Orleans, Jeanne d'Arc herself!" The female Prelati hugged herself tightly as she squirmed in place, rubbing her thighs together while wearing a wild-eyed, flushed expression. "Oh, how long I've waited for an opportunity like this! What I wouldn't do to make her submit, to tarnish the purity of a Saint with my own two-OW!"
Aldia had smacked her on the head, with a light wince because of the, again, four holes in her arm. "No lewding the holy woman, Francesca."
"Then why is she so lewdable then?!" the petite woman rebuked indignantly, rubbing the top of her head. "You didn't see that thigh her outfit shows, not to mention those boobs! Holy woman, my butt!"
"Control yourself," Aldia ordered as she started taking stiff steps away. She was already focusing her Od to try and stem the flow of blood from injured arm. I wasn't working as well as it should. "We'll grab the others and run for it."
"Guuuh~," Francesca pouted, but followed after her Master with her eyes firmly squinted shut as she recited her current mantra. "Priority to live, no being evil. Priority to live, no being evil..."
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At the same time, but a bit earlier...
Elizabeth ran to the fore, laser focused on seeking out her target, and find her she did. It was destiny!
"Gotcha, you old hag!" The Bathory girl lunged with her spear, aiming to impale the taller, pale skinned woman wearing an iron mask. Unfortunately, calling your attacks is a bad idea for a reason, allowing for the dark woman to dodge easily.
"Hmhp!" The Berserker Assassin scoffed derisively. "So loud, like a misbehaving dog incapable of discipline. But that is to be expected of you, whelp!"
The Berserker Carmilla sneered as she waved her staff, sending a torrent of blood at her younger self, who leapt out of the way.
"Shows what you know!" Elizabeth yelled back as she dashed and tried to poke at the Blood Countess with her spear, but the Berserker Assassin proved quick enough to dodge with relative ease. "If I'm some sort of dog, obviously I'm a cute puppy that people would fawn over! Better than some vicious bitch!"
The elder Bathory snarled in anger. "Watch your mouth, you miserable wretch!" She swung at Elizabeth with her claws, making her dodge away, and then summoned an iron maiden to slam it into her younger self, leaving Elizabeth tumbling to the ground. "I am you, you ungrateful sow! Your future! Your potential! But no, you cloud yourself in your petty little delusions, you petulant child!"
An iron maiden manifested above Elizabeth and fell to crush her. But in the nick of time Jeanne dashed by and dragged the draconic Lancer out of the way, leaving the iron device to strike only earth and stone.
Jeanne readied her standard as Elizabeth stood back up, irritated. "I had that Hag where I wanted her! I didn't need your help!"
"And yet you shall receive it," the Maid of Orleans stated without room for objections.
The Berserker Assassin bared her vampiric fangs, but stared at Jeanne with a cruel but hungry gleam in her eye. "Ah, what a bother. At least this maiden's blood will be worth the effort!"
Jeanne prepared for a battle, but her instincts screamed at her to dodge!
"Move!" The Maid of Orleans warned Elizabeth as she lunged out of the way of the enemy charging to take a swipe at her neck from behind with dreadful claws. Luckily, their attention seemed to be locked onto her, allowing Elizabeth time to gain space from the new enemy, only to re-engage with the Berserker Assassin immediately after.
"Kill you!" The Berserker Archer turned actual Berserker screamed bloody murder, the dark boar-head on her shoulder glaring at Jeanne with the same murderous intensity as the darkly-colored feline person attached to it.
For some reason, Jeanne felt like she knew this person, but the memory refused to surface properly.
Atalanta Alter brandished her bow and fired at Jeanne point blank with arrows of dark, malicious energy, forcing Jeanne to move very quickly to avoid being shot. When the shots missed, the Berserker charged to bludgeon the Ruler with the bow itself, which Jeanne blocked and diverted with her standard.
But the Berserker was unrelenting, not giving Jeanne an inch to act. Meanwhile, Berserker Assassin continued to slowly whittle down at the Lancer thanks to the edge her Madness Enhancement offered her. And Jeanne was too pinned by her own foe to help.
"Die! DIE!" Atalanta Alter roared incoherently, swapping between strikes with the bow and swipes with her claws like a rapid animal.
"Phantom Maiden!"
The Berserker froze for just a moment as her instincts warned her of the giant iron maiden manifesting right behind her, ready to swallow her up. Jeanne, while the kind to offer mercy knew that these poor souls were beyond her ability to save. So she took advantage and struck at the Berserker with her standard, sending her to the dark confines of the iron maiden as it mercilessly slammed shut to Atalanta Alter's muffled screams of rage.
Even Elizabeth and the Berserker Assassin had stopped their duel dead thanks to this sudden development.
"Tch," a regal voice scoffed derisively as blood sprayed from the Phantom Maiden to shower their alluring figure. The Berserker Assassin stared in bafflement at her own mirror, only lacking the mask they wore, leaving her pale, ethereally beautiful features bare for all to see. In turn, Chaldea's own Carmilla looked down on the twisted image of herself. "Honestly! What fool of an Assassin engages their foes in such a forward manner? Have you no pride, you utter imbecile?!"
Elizabeth, eyes bugging out just a bit(though she'd never admit to it) switched back and forth between the two Carmillas. "W-w-what the heck?! There are two old hags now!"
Chaldea's Carmilla sneered in displeasure at realizing the presence of her younger Self. "Oh. The Child is here. Wonderful. As if this could not get worse." She pointed a long nail at Jeanne. "You, go assist that irritant brat this instant!"
Left unsaid was the obvious note that the woman herself just flat-out did not want to.
Then a resounding BANG from within the Phantom Maiden sprung Jeanne into action as she darted towards Berserker Carmilla, who also broke out of her confusion when Elizabeth tried to skewer her again.
"I'm not thanking you for help I didn't need, dumbass old bat!" The girl screamed without so much as looking at the Chaldean Carmilla's way as she continued trying to murder at least one Carmilla today!
"Tch," Chaldea's Carmilla clicked her tongue in displeasure. "Ungrateful brat! You're lucky I currently despise that inferior double more."
Another BANG rang from the Phantom Maiden as the chains keeping it shut started to crack from strain. Carmilla regarded it with irritation of all things as yet another BANG reverberated through the air.
"Honestly, just bleed out already," she idly commented. "I am certain you were a woman, so there is no right for you to be able to survive my Noble Phantasm. Do me a favor, shred yourself on the spikes, and drop dead like the animal you are."
With a final resounding BANG! The Phantom Maiden's chains broke as the doors were busted open. A heavily injured- shredded even - Atalanta Alter leapt out on all fours with a downright feral expression as a dark energy began flowing from the boar head to the rest of her body. "Die...Die...DIE! I'LL GORE YOU!"
"Yes, yes. Get new material," Carmilla commented, as she dashed out of the way as the Berserker charged at her, turning into a large black boar composed of demonic energy that then tried to run her over. There was just one problem with the strategy.
The Berserker's boar form was too large and bulky, and therefore predictable for Carmilla, allowing her to easily avoid its largely charge based attacks.
"Really, this is a problem with you Berserkers," Carmilla spoke as she sent a surge of blood at the boar's hide to some effect. "With no insult to Kriemhild intended. Blunt instruments, the lot of you. No elegance or class."
Carmilla avoided yet another charge by utilizing her ability to fly to reach a height the boar could not reach as she crashed an iron maiden into its back, pinning it for a moment. "This is the difference between I and that twisted double! I actually bother to use my brain."
The boar howled as it bucked the iron maiden off, before leaping at Carmilla. To the Countess' surprise, it actually grew wings and flew right at her with all its rage.
"Oh come on now!" Carmilla cursed internally as she had to switch to aerial combat with a flying Demon Boar. "Just run out of tricks and perish like I tell you to!"
Luckily, the boar proved even more easily avoided in the air, as its flying was clumsy and it had utterly garbage maneuverability compared to Carmilla. But despite striking out at her enemy again and again, the boar just. Refused. To fall!
"Accursed beast!" Carmilla started to grow angry. "What's keeping you alive, you stubborn creature? Battle Continuation? Just die already!" She siphoned Mana from the bottomless well that was her Master to unleash her Noble Phantasm once more as the boar charged once more. "Phantom Maiden!"
Due to its momentum, the Demon Boar practically dived into the giant iron maiden, which clamped shut a second time on the Berserker. Again Carmilla was sprayed with its blood. The Blood Countess shivered in revulsion this time. "Ugh..Blood of a beast. How dare you ruin this joy for me!"
BANG!
"Oh come on!" Carmilla cursed loudly, too angry to put on a dignified front, funneling more Mana into the Phantom Maiden to create more spikes within and drive them deeper into the Berserker's flesh. "Stop! Resisting!"
The boar's cries and thrashing continued, and for a moment Carmilla was actually worried her power just wasn't enough to finish the Berserker off. But eventually the thrashing ceased and the Phantom Maiden vanished, depositing the now lifeless corpse to free fall to the ground.
And then Atalanta Alter started to slowly crawl, and Carmilla descended like lightning, sinking her sharp heel into the Berserker's skull!
As the enemy Servant finally disappeared into spirit particles, Carmilla gave a sigh of relief, confident no one was watching.
"Gods, that was annoying."
A wyvern roared as it dove at her. Carmilla just idly swung her staff and a sickle of blood cut off its wing and an Iron Maiden crashed down with it, crushing its head.
"Ah. Right," Carmilla refocused on the pests flicking about her, eyeing the flying reptilians with disdain. "The chaff..."
"Incoming!" An energetic cry sounded as a Hippogriff mounted Rider rushed into the scene to skewer a Wyvern with his lance.
"Wonderful aim, Astolfo!" The Saber riding along cried at as he leapt into the air to decapitate a wyvern of his own and leaping towards another by using the falling corpse. "Have at thee, draconian adversaries!"
"PLEASE LET ME OFF THIS RIIIIIDE!" A distressed Caster screamed in terror, clinging tightly to the Rider on Hippogriff back, who just joyfully laughed like a maniac as he zoomed from target to target.
Carmilla deadpanned at the three new arrivals and quickly decided to look for her Master instead.
"I am not dealing with this nonsense."
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Jeanne Alter was grinding her teeth in enraged disbelief. What was happening?!
It had all occures so suddenly, with no warning what-so-ever. Fafnir, the dreaded Dragon of Legend, was still coming-to from an unbelievable hit from something. She felt that her Berserker Lancer and Archer were killed, one by a copy of her Assassin, who was being pinned down by the fake and one other Lancer Servant.
Her hordes were being cut down by Servants left and right, including three who just showed up, and in particular the ones chasing those two Masters were being cut down by some nobody samurai as if they were wheat!
The Alter felt like she was losing her god damn mind comprehending how the hell things had come to this!
In the crater he'd made, Fafnir finally began to stir.
"About fucking time," Jeanne Alter snarled, gripping her dark war standard. "Once Fafnir rises, I'll finally be rid off all these irritants!" She dashed forward towards the battle her Berserker Assassin was tied up in. "If nothing else, I'll be sure to tear that faker apart with my own two hands!"
The Ruler noticed her approach, and for the moment was torn between continuing to help Elizabeth, who was not faring well on her own against her older self, or confronting her dark double who was responsible for all of this madness.
A ROAR from above as a dark shadow eclipsed them all, resolved the situation.
The Second Fafnir loomed over them, wigs beating vicious gales at the Servants below. Yet, despite the intimidating figure the Second Fafnir cast, for some reason when Jeanne met its eyes she felt...calm. Not afraid, or threatened. Like something of this terrifying creature was familiar to her, and she knew she was alright. And then the air rumbled as it spoke.
"Protect them, Ruler!"
Mana surged in the air in an almost palpable manner, almost seeming to electrify it with green energy, causing the Alter to skid to a stop as she looked up in horrified realization of what about to happen.
Jeanne felt like her heart knew exactly what to do as she dashed to Elizabeth and stood over her. "Behind me, quick!" She raised her flag, letting if blow free in the wind. In a burst of movement, a tall, one armed woman in a dark uniform joined them, as did a petite white-haired lady. The other Carmilla also dashed to stand by the duo, just in the time as the Second Fafnir's Mana output skyrocketed.
"Luminosité Eternelle!" The Ruler's Noble Phantasm bathes her allies with her divine protection.
Jeanne Alter, in her panic, has enough in her to figure out a desperate defense, "Rider, protect me!"
The Berserker Rider manifested before the Alter as if called by a Command Spell. She also unleashes her Noble Phantasm to defend against what was coming! "Tarasque!" Saint Martha calls out as she summons the tough shell of the dragon she bested to cover them both.
The Berserker Carmilla, left with no one to guard them, was quite simply out of luck.
"Akafiloga All-Grið!" The Second Fafnir unleashed a might breath of blue flame that crashed into the shell of the Tarasque. Even with the flames not reaching them, the Alter had to shield herself from the sheer power permeating the air. The Berserker Assassin simply evaporated on the spot they stood as they took the full brunt of the attack.
Jeanne herself stood firm, her flag raised high as the approaching flames parted. And despite the power in display, her mind was calm enough to note that her counterpart had not used her Noble Phantasm to guard themselves. Or more likely, could not use it. How could she, when it represented her desire to protect all those behind her?
The Alter grit her teeth, utterly infuriated by this madness! She turned her head to scream at her trump card. "FAFNIR! KILL THESE VERMIN ALREADY!" Nothing happened, Fafnir having risen to its feet with it's neck craned to stare at its...back? "What the hell are you doing?!"
(Distantly, Gillian suddenly realized one of her Servants was not currently fleeing with them.)
On the back of the Covetous Dragon, between its wings stood a woman who dared to stare down the mighty Fafnir without so much as a consideration of being afraid.
"I don't know what the deal is with there being two," Kriemhild spoke with steadily rising intensity as she held the Cursed Sword Balmung in her small hands, "but if Fafnir is here, then that means that bastard is also here, right?!"
Fafnir, despite being in the shape of a Dragon, was moreso the Concept of Avarice and Greed given physical form. It did not feel, hell it barely had a mind to call its own. But staring at That Sword, now bursting with more malevolence and rage than when it had slain them in the hands of another...it made the Covetous Dragon shiver to its core.
That momentary lapse gave the woman enough time to slowly, crudely swing once, while murderously screeching the name of her Noble Phantasm through a sudden episode of wrathful tears, "Balmung Kriemhild!"
Fafnir roared in agony as the dark blade sliced an entire wing off its back!
In the same moment, a crystal steed pulling an extravagant crystal carriage sped by the scene, with a Caster standing on the roof of the carriage and her Master leaning out of the open window.
"Irisviel, by my Command Seal, target the Enemy Rider with your best shot!" Olga ordered as the red sigils on her hand flared in power.
"Roger!" Irisviel cried out as she fired a highly concentrated beam of light at the Berserker Rider, who noticed the approaching lance of energy, but was powerless to avoid it without dispelling the shell of her Tarasque.
Time seemed to almost flow in slow motion for Jeanne Alter as her doom approached from two directions. It gave her the cognizance that Berserker Saber dashed in at their top speed and grabbed the Alter to spirit them away from the danger zone at some cost to themselves from the fires.
Then Irisviel's lance of energy stuck Saint Martha, the damage sending her tumbling out of the protection of her Noble Phantasm and into the blue inferno. Yet, in her final moments, the Saint's strong will broke her mental shackles and cracked a proud smile at being stopped, even as the Second Fafnir's flames claimed her.
Kriemhild, in a single powerful leap reached and grabbed hold of the claw of the Second Fafnir, who seized his breathe attack. The(comparatively) absolutely tiny woman stared the Dragon dead in the eye. "You will fly us out of here this instant, and then lead me to that bastards location! Understood?!"
"Y-YES MA'AM!" the Second Fafnir almost squeaked in fright of Kriemhild's intensity. "B-but should you not reconvene with your allies?"
"Tch," Kriemhild clicked her tongue, frustrated that her course of action was being called into question. "...Fine. I will guide you to my Master." Her eyes narrowed dangerously at the Dragon. "Try anything, and my vengeance will cleave you in twain!"
"R...Right," the Dragon murmured almost meekly.
On the ground, Jeanne and those she had shielded looked around the devastation the Second Fafnir left behind. Something quite critical was missing.
Jeanne Alter, the Berserker Saber, and even more impossibly the Alter's Fafnir had all seemingly vanished into thin air.
Aldia sighed. Their momentum had carried them so well, and now it just suddenly stopped. Frustrating. They might have had a slight chance to end things here, but now it was gone.
oA spear of bone stabbed out suddenly, and caught utterly off-guard, Carmilla's Spirit Origin was shattered as her chest was skewered.o
Aldia's hand Reinforced itself and reached out, grabbing hold of the tip of the spear before it could connect and holding it in place. The four holes started to bleed heavily again once Aldia's focus was diverted. Carmilla jolted at the sudden motion and stepped back in shock.
"Please," Aldia spoke, trying with all her being to project how tired she felt, "don't try to kill my Servant."
"Screw you!" Elizabeth shrieked as she desperately tried to pull her spear out of the tall woman's grasp. It didn't even budge. "That Dragon Witch's version of the old bint got caught in that damned fire by that winged kill stealer! That bitch was mine, I swore I'd kill an old hag today, and you won't make a liar of me!"
Carmilla quickly recovered and elegantly facepalmed with a despairing sigh. "Of course. Of course the scrappy chihuahua had to survive. Will my misfortunes never end?"
Jeanne's expression twisted oddly, betwixt apologetic and confused. "I'm...sorry?"
"Gods, what the hell is with this arm strength?" the young Bathory snarled, now using both hands to fruitlessly attempt to pry her spear free. "What kind of freakish ogre-GAH!"
A vein had popped up on Aldia's brow and a moment later her hand had left the spear and was holding a squirming Elizabeth, her larger Reinforced hand almost enveloping her comparatively tiny head.
"Apologize," Aldia demanded with as much tranquil fury as she had ever shown in her life.
"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!" Elizabeth cried out as she flailed about, desperately trying and failing to escape the iron grip on her skull. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Ow, my head, it'll pop, I'm sorryyyy~!"
Every witness to the action stared at varying levels of bafflement, though Jeanne lowered her head to silently pray for Elizabeth's forgiveness.
Carmilla just stared at her younger self being made to submit by her Master. Watching such a display did something to the Countess she couldn't quite name. Carmilla merely continued to observe her Aldia with an almost out of character smile.
It was one of amused fondness.
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Author's Notes: Sometimes Misfortune Strikes...the bad guy in the form of an Over Powered Main Character and her inexplicable but somehow familiar Dragon ally.
Now, I know. This seemed like a really easy win for the good guys. It was, and the sheer surprise factor played a lot into it. This all happened FAST. Aldia and anyone on her team have many advantages in nearly any battle they engage in. Aldia herself is a beast in a fight, and her unique nature as a Perfect Vessel for the Root of Akasha allows any of her Servants to essentially funnel as much Mana as they could ever need and then some. Think of it in terms of Ascensions. Every Servant usually starts at Ascension Stage 1. Aldia's servants(MAX Cap: 4, to remind you) START at Stage 4 and are Max Leveled.
Except the Prelatis. The Prelatis are special in that they both still get to suck outside their niche.
Of course, it doesn't quite make them invulnerable. They just had things stacked in their favor really hard this time. And as Vlad showed, one of Aldia's biggest weaknesses is ironically not dying. Ergo, no forewarning, and hence the FOUR HOLES in her arm. The more "invulnerable" she is, the greater chance she'll be blindsided by something that just grievously injures her, forcing her to keep her defenses down to analyze a foe's abilities and patterns, which could be exploited.
Now, this feels like a Massive L for Alter. And it is. But if you think this curb stomping means things are clearly on the side of our Heroes...well...:D
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In Chaldea's Observation Room, Dr. Roman let loose a sigh of relief and slumped into his seat once the enemy Servant signatures had vanished. "They're all okay! Thank God..."
Da Vinci frowned, though keeping her smile on her features. "Still, strange that the enemy evacuated so suddenly," she thought. "Almost as if they were re-called by someone."
Roman regarded his colleague. "You think the Altered Jeanne d'Arc has more forces hidden away?"
"Or," Da Vinci mused severely, "is she too a puppet in someone else's game?"
"I can't outright dismiss the possibility" Hoover gave their two cents. "This whole situation is strange, and seems keen on becoming stranger still. However, after this first skirmish, I cannot help but feel optimistic of our odds at this time."
Roman shook his head. "Troubling as that idea is, well...we can only guess. How's the interference looking?"
"It's clearing out," Sylvia spoke from her own station, the only human working at the Observation Room besides Meuniere, the rest of the positions filled with Hoover's Men in Black. "Seems now that the four Teams have converged, they're sort of...syncing up properly again."
"Good," Roman stated, his brow furrowed. "Still...Saint Germain, seemingly in his mortal flesh at that. That's...bizarre and all kinds of troubling. Just...how is he there?"
"...Much as it galls me to admit, I don't know," da Vinci was forced to reconcile. She did not like having to admit to ignorance. "I met that braggart during my original lifetime, but back then didn't have any of the additional context. To think that fop with no taste supposedly lived three centuries after my time...just what is he? And what were his motives for doing something as audacious as stealing a Noble Phantasm?"
Roman stopped still, slowly turning to face his colleague with a look of utter bewilderment, having missed that particular detail. "...HE WHAT?!"
Meanwhile, while the two scientists continued their back and forth... one of the present Servants was ill at ease.
'...Something is not right...The traversed paths are veering off-course...'
The Caster Cu Chulainn was forced to concur with that little voice in his head, surprised as he was at its suddenly strong presence. Thought unlike that voice, in his case it was something far more primal. A churning in his gut, his warrior instincts warning him even in this Class he did not prefer. He didn't even know what or why, but to be this noticeable even outside of any battlefield...
'...If my greatest fears are realized...If Fate truly has been broken, then...Will I be left no recourse, but...'
There was little doubt in the Celtic druid's mind. Whatever was on the horizon...it was worse than bad...
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"AAAUGH!" The roar was compounded by the cracking of rock as Alter punched the wall of the castle that served as her base in Orleans in a fit of absolute Rage. "How...HOW?!"
Vlad III, Dead.
Atalanta, Dead.
Carmilla, Dead.
Saint Martha, Dead.
Fafnir, missing a wing!
Only that last one was something that could be squared away, it just would need a bit of time to regrow. But she had literally lost four of her best minions in one fell swoop!
"AAAAARGH!" Another punch near shattered the stone wall, which only miraculously held itself together.
"Please, calm yourself, my lady," a voice of her closest adjutant soothed.
"What...is there to be calm about?!" Jeanne Alter snapped at the disturbed Caster. "The enemy were dead to rights, ready to be destroyed at my leisure. And then everything went wrong! Nearly all my servants, dead! My trump card was crippled! I was utterly humiliated! So you tell me WHY I SHOULD BE CALM, GILLES?!"
Gilles de Rais, his fish-eyed expression placid on his face, raised a hand in emphasis. "I admit, things have occurred that go against our goals. It baffles me I had to exert the effort to spirit you away from your field of battle, a truly shocking development." His expression suddenly grew angry and manic. "To degrade your will so is unforgivable! These wretched souls will be purged by the righteousness of our cause!"
Someone else scoffed at the noise.
"You two done with the dramatics?" A casually lounging by a table asked snidely as he took a bite of a pastry and savored its sweet taste. "Take a load off and enjoy life for a second. Savor the moment, and all that."
Opposite him, another man simply sipped a cup of piping hot tea without so much as a sound.
Jeanne Alter's rage refused to subside. "I thought I told you to cease laying about and make yourself useful, Caster!"
"I got a name, you know. Might be inclined if it was used," the man wearing an aristocratic suit replied offhandedly, grinning as he showcased his white and red checkered teeth. He shrugged in a sign of mocking helplessness. "Besides, ain't much point in making myself useful when there's not much of use I could wring out of my specific skill set. Not my fault, that."
"Cease your disrespect, you ungrateful worm!" Gilles screamed at the man in utter fury. "Your very existence in this era is due to my lady's benevolence! You shall show her the courtesy she rightfully deserves!"
"Sure, sure, ya damn zealot," the other Caster waves his hand absentmindedly as he partakes in another pastry. "Ah, the sugary sweetness, the perfect amount of crunch, followed by an aftertaste of cinnamon. The royalty of France truly ate good! Reminds me of a buffet Charlemagne himself threw in my honor!"
The Alter grit her teeth as she observed the Two Servants who had so far not lifted as much as a finger in her crusade!
One, the aristocratic man with an odd appearance but the frame of a soldier, was Alexandre Dumas. An author of some dubious stripe, the man had been content just sampling whatever food, drink, or snacks he could get his hands on rather than partake in any fighting. And despite being summoned under the influence of Madness Enhancement, the effects barely even showed.
The man was not only a useless teller of impossible tall tales, but also showed active disregard to Jeanne Alter's whole mission. But while Dumas was rude and had his priorities all wrong...the other Caster who often joined him was something else entirely.
Still sipping his scalding hot tea with uncomfortable slowness, the man wearing a simple black suit was odd. His skin was unhealthily pale in complexion and his features gaunt, except for the almost unnaturally wide open eyes that bulged slightly out of their sockets. They never blinked, Alter swore this to be true. The man's limbs also looked...too long for his otherwise normal if thin frame. The only thing totally 'normal' about him was his short cut, well kept dark hair.
If Dumas was unpleasant to be around, then "Lovecraft" was a man whose mere presence made your skin develop goosebumps and want to vacate the room. After being summoned, "Lovecraft" had said not even four sentences in total, and mostly spent his time just drinking tea.
Just tea. He didn't eat. Didn't pretend to sleep or rest. Just kept drinking this strange smelling tea he'd brew himself constantly. At times it almost didn't look like tea at all. Too dark. Too viscous...
It spoke of something that even Gilles was uncomfortable to be around him for too long. Dumas tolerated him only because it was seemingly in his nature to not care. And while on Dumas the Madness Enhancement had manifested little actual effect, in "Lovecraft's" case it hadn't even taken hold.
(He frightens you, the voice warned. Stay away.)
"Tch," Alter scoffed, shoving those useless feelings aside. She turned to her most loyal follower. "We'll need more Servants, Gilles. Our new enemy is far more numerous than we anticipated."
"I will see it done, my lady," the disturbed Caster bowed.
"Hehe," Dumas chuckled as he rubbed his chin. "Things are finally forming into a bonafide underdog story! Everyone loves those!"
"Silence!" Gilles roared. "You only continue to breathe because despite your despicable attitude you still hold power that may assist my lady's rightful crusade against this God forsaken land!"
"Look, man, I don't know what to tell ya?" Dumas said as he played around with a cookie of some sort. "The old 'returned from beyond the grave to exact vengeance'-cliche? It's good enough, I guess. Decent material. I'd be glad to work my magic on it, but the truth of the matter is that, despite the new dark and brooding look, Jeanne d'Arc remains Jeanne d'Arc. A girl whose story had a neat beginning, middle, and end. The Hero's Story walked to completion." He shrugged helplessly. "Ain't nothing in that for me to work with. No gaps to fill in, no potential to capitalize on. That's just how it is."
"Lovecraft" lowered his teacup with a soft *clink*(that reverberated far too loudly for such a small, innocuous action) against the plate, crossed his legs as he leaned back and pulled out a newspaper out of seemingly nowhere to read.
Jeanne Alter glared at the two useless Casters. What even were those symbols on the newspaper? Certainly no any alphabet she recognized.
(She couldn't read, the voice said but was snuffed out.)
Another spike of pain pierced her skull. She hid the wince well.
"..." Still. Some part of her, a fragment of her psyche, implored her to ask the question on her mind. To give voice to niggling doubt. "...Gilles."
The Caster turned back to her, looking pleased to do so. "Yes, my lady? Do you require more of me? Anything?"
"...I met a fake on that battle field. A miserable, softhearted pretender wearing my face and daring to question my reason for this crusade," The Alter spoke with disdain. But beneath that, hidden away, was another emotion. "...I am the real Jeanne d'Arc...right, Gilles?"
"..." Gilles stared at her placidly, before approaching and taking one of the Alter's hands to nestle between his own. "My lady, of course you are! Your crusade, your rage, your contempt. All these things you show upon this godless land and its thankless people with such divine intensity. How, pray, could such a display of pure emotion be naught but the result of reality?"
Jeanne Alter frowned. Despite the obvious, expected loyalty on display...something about the zeal off-set the Alter in this case. Something about that answer left her...unsatisfied.
A rustle of a turned page.
"The only truth lies in the innumerate stars the bleak void devours," spoke the cold, near emotionless voice of "Lovecraft", "for therein lies no true witness, but the profaned prophet's validations."
The enigmatic but strangely poignant words, spoken from the Caster who gave so few, caused the hackles on Jeanne Alter's neck to rise.
She just could not figure out why. And in the end, like every other time, the voice's words were thrown away. Jeanne Alter had bigger problems to attend to.
And in that moment, had anyone had the nerve or the will to approach the Caster, they might have spied what the newspaper "Lovecraft" was reading held in its pages. Along with the indecipherable symbology, a lone image was impossibly printed. Not a past record, but a dreadful premonition.
A picture of an entranced Francois Prelati reaching for an ancient grimoire bound in human skin...
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Saint Germain hummed cheerfully as he steered his car towards his next destination.
A rhythmic beeping started from some form of communication device mounted on the vehicle's dashboard, and as suddenly was stopped by a careless press of the off-button.
"Whoops, my finger slipped!" Saint Germain said to the air, utterly unrepentant.
Communications from his allies could wait for the moment.
The Impossible Man eyed the destructive blade of a Saint that lie innocuously on his passenger seat with a scheming gleam in his eye.
"Oh, the plans I have for you..." His amused chuckles took on a darker edge the longer they carried on. "I'm certain it will be...a spectacle!"