Fumble Order Redux 3

As the knife cut towards Trent's neck, all he could think was how he had to get out of the way and how his legs weren't responding properly. Though he wanted to jump out the dirk's path, all he managed to do was collapse away from Assassin, his ankles failing to respond when his knees did.

The man tumbled away from the knife, panic clearly on on his face as the Hassan corrected his aim.

As that small drama played out, the others were reacting in their own ways. Olga dropped the clothes she'd been holding, the fingers on her right hand folding quickly into a gun-like shape as she brought it up to point at the assailant. Mash had pushed past the others and was charging down the aisle, shield at her side and chambered to be swept between her Master and his attacker. Scheherazade had reached into her cleavage, a scroll held almost delicately between her fingers as she directed Jalis forward, the sword wielding woman having darted atop one of the shelves to use as an avenue of approach.

Still, none of them would make it in time.

The Hassan was too close to Blackmore, the attack moving too quickly for any of them to intervene.

Trent's salvation came in the form of a small body falling from the ceiling, its cartoonish figure slapping down on the assailant's forearm. It looked like a Muppet, clad in a fez and a tube like garment, in its hand was a small scimitar. The Assassin froze in his stab, his skull masked visage locked onto the toy-like figure on his arm. The Muppet looked back at him, eyes seemingly rolling about in their sockets as it declared, "Aaaah, meep meep!"

Then, it stabbed his hand.

With a loud cracking sound, Cursed Arm Hassan's hand jerked forward and bent in an awkward and ugly way, his knife stabbing into the tiny thing. It let out a sad wheeze, deflating around the dirk like a punctured balloon before bursting into a plume of dust.

However, even as the construct fell apart, the Assassin was forced to dodge away from his target as Jalis dove between the two, her sword flashing through where he'd been. With his cloak fluttering about his form, the Assassin kicked off the nearest shelf, launching himself up into the air and towards the entrance to the boutique.

He was forced to arrest his flight, his hand shooting out and clamping onto the ceiling as the scroll Scheherazade had grabbed unfurled in front of him. A great masculine figure burst from the scroll, swinging a blue fist at the Hassan. The muscles on Assassin's arm bulged grotesquely under his skin as he pulled himself back out of the path of the blow. As the punch thundered past him, the djinn's mouth fell open and unleashed a gout of flame where its target was anchored.

The Assassin let out a keening sound, his fingers releasing the ceiling and causing him to fall from it, flames clinging to the cloak wrapped around his frame and the djinn dispersed. A Gandr shot by the Director flew through the burning cloth as it billowed about him, the curse flying wide as the Hassan bound over a clothing rack.

Even with that production, the Assassin used his new position to kick a pair of mannequins at the humans in the group, trying to harry them into the perfect range for his Noble Phantasm. The mannequin that had been thrown at Trent broke against Mash's shield as she stepped in to guard him while Olga ducked under hers, the feminine figure shattering against the far wall. He followed this up by throwing a handful of dirks, a trio aimed at Jalis and a pair flying towards Scheherazade.

The story given form was more than able to knock the dirks out of the air, the blades flying rather slowly in comparison to her own swift strikes. Caster on the other hand, was only able to dodge one of the knives, with the other slamming into her chest, just below her collarbone and sending her reeling.

The Storyteller let out a breathy gasp, her hand coming up to grab the knife in her shoulder her expression crumpled in pain as she staggered somewhat. The Hassan burst forward at the sight of her vulnerability, his cloak torn from his emaciated frame as the Arm of Shaytan broke free of its cloth restraints. As the groping hand surged through the air toward Scheherazade's breast, its palm was suddenly filled before it reached its destination. The soft, pliable flesh squirmed a bit in the powerful grip, and the Muppet turned its head to face the Assassin holding it. With a charming little grin on its face, it cheerily declared, "Hi-ho friend!"

And then it stabbed him right between the thumb and index finger.

The grip turned vice-like and crushed the member of the Forty Thieves, the muppet making a dismayed sound as it burst into motes of dust. He threw another cascade of knives at Jalis as he lunged, his Zabaniya chambered as he tried once more to close the distance between himself and Scheherazade.

The Assassin's body contorted itself as his foot lifted off the ground, muscles stretching and shifting as he modified his body mid-movement, a cicada-like hiss echoing from his mouth. Hassan's body curled forward, low to the ground, his foot braced and ready to push into a sprint at his target.

There was no time for Scheherazade to respond, caught between nursing her wound and trying to dodge away from the Assassin's initial attack. Jalis was busy intercepting thrown knives while Olga had dodged out of range during the initial knife throw, and Mash was guarding Blackmore from any assault.

A pulse ran through the muscles on Cursed Arm's braced leg, his foot ground against the floor as he launched into the final spurt, intent on ending the Caster's life. His body briefly lifted into the air from the force of his kick off, but was forced back into the ground as a large mass slammed onto his back from above.

With a chorus of cheery greetings and declarations, the members of the Forty Thieves swarmed over the Assassin's body, stabbing and cutting his emaciated body. Hassan writhed beneath them, swatting and throwing them off him, but there were too many to conceivably remove them all before more returned to attack. With the assailant distracted by the swarm of Muppets, Jalis joined the fray, her sword flashing through the air as she aimed for a decapitating strike.

While Assassin was certainly preoccupied with removing the Forty Thieves from his body, he wasn't so blinded by his situation to not notice the scantily clad sword wielder diving at him. With a pair of arm sweeps, he collected a few fistfuls of Thieves and tossed them at Jalis while he threw himself back with a trilling screech.

Muppet bodies careened through the air and were batted aside while the white haired swordswoman chased after her foe as he careened through the air. Just as his body crossed the threshold to the mall's corridors, where he intended to escape from his current engagement and recuperate before trying again, a voice echoed from down the way.

"I never thought I'd see the day that a deadly Assassin would be forced to retreat by a battalion of puppets. Then again, I guess anything can happen when Servants are involved."

A wave of glowing runes blasted through the air and encircled the Hassan of the Cursed Arm, flaring in the gloom of the deserted mall before unleashing a great gout of fire. Hassan's shadow twisted within the flames as the muppets clinging to him were reduced to cinders, a chittering wail echoed through the building as the fire intensified, turning white from the sheer heat.

Cu Chulainn strode towards the conflagration, his robes billowing about him as his staff clicked against the tiled floor with each step. Firing off another round of runes, increasing the power behind the flames that he had cast as he remarked, "For some reason, this whole setup seems familiar. Sorry I couldn't give you a better fight this time, hopefully it was better the last time we fought."

The druid flicked his staff, and the fire dispersed, leaving behind only charred tile and ash. He studied the spot for a moment and then turned to look at his momentary allies. Trent was visible from behind the shelves where he fell, Mash standing over him with with her shield raised high. Olga was crouched low and had braced herself against one of the shelves with one arm the other held high in the shape of a gun. Jalis was at attention, looming impassively near the precipice of the store while her master stood, somewhat slumped, one arm gripping at the wound above her breast.

His eye roved across them, his eyebrow quirked up throughout the survey and he only seemed to grow more bemused as the silence dragged on between them. The group who had been caught in a desperate struggle against the Assassin slowly stood and shambled out into the thoroughfare, none of them quite able to look the Hound of Chulainn in the eye. As they trooped out, he remarked, "Ya know, I figured that you guys would probably get through the fight, but I never expected to see a puppet gang."

"I'll be honest, the Muppet Mosh Pit was a surprise for me as well," Trent agreed as he tried to calm himself down after his brush with death, his hands curling and uncurling intermittently. "Who's next, Sweetums? Kermit? Miss Pig- Wait, no Miss Piggy would probably kick ass and take names."

"Master, I don't think that's within Caster's purview…" Mash murmured as she took up a position beside him, her eyes scanning the area warily. "Besides, she's injured," the Demi-Servant noted, her gaze flickering over to Scheherazade's wound as she did so. Rather than speak up, the dusky woman pressed her hand over the wound, trying to quietly staunch the blood.

The Canadian followed her gaze and noticed the stab wound on the storyteller's chest, causing his brow to crease as he asked, "Director, Cu Chulainn, do either of you know any healing magic?"

"Nah, my teacher never taught me anything like that, she just figured that it'd make me spend less time actually fighting," The druid chuckled nervously, as though afraid that speaking of his teacher would cause her to appear.

Olga simply crossed her arms and muttered, "Wouldn't it be easier for you to just channel some extra mana over to her and let her sort it out herself?"

"Because I'm new to this mess and am still surprised that I managed to even summon someone?" The blond admitted awkwardly, trying to get bring back the feeling that had coursed through him when he'd summoned Scheherazade. He imagined the sequence he went through at the time, igniting a lighter and feeling that liquid fire burn through his veins. Trent grimaced at the heat suddenly pouring through his insides, briefly flashing back to an old memory of a camping incident.

He felt sick, the fact that he'd nearly been killed compounding the memory of the pain of burning his hands and making him nauseous. He swallowed stiffly, pushing the memory down as he focused on the present and their current issues. "So, how do I do that?"

"You just… You should just be able to do it," The director replied, not meeting his eyes as she spoke, the fact that she had no actual experience working with a Heroic Spirit outside of da Vinci betraying her at that moment. Blackmore looked to Ireland's Child of Light, and he had the nerve to just shrug at him, an amused smirk making it clear how much he was enjoying the awkward atmosphere.

Trent sighed, and rubbed his forehead, wincing at the heat radiating off his palms. With a deep breath, he looked to Scheherazade and asked, "Would you rather drink blood or saliva?"

The Caster blinked, consideration passing over her features for a few moments before she answered, "Well, if you would be more comfortable with one or the other, I don't particularly mind…"

"I asked what you would rather," Blackmore shot back sternly, causing Scheherazade to flinch at the reprimand. The Canadian sighed internally at that, annoyed at himself for having evoked such a reaction.

The veiled woman was quiet for a few moments, but eventually spoke, "I'd prefer blood Master, if it matters."

"Alright then." As he said that, Trent considered whether the Caster's choice was due to her understanding of him, her own issues with her past, or something else. She was able to discern her Master's nature and intentions due to viewing him as a "king", so Blackmore couldn't help but wonder if her decision to ask for blood was her noticing his desire to move as quickly as they could. Pushing those thoughts aside, he quickly jabbed an arm out and brushed his thumb along the keen edge of Jalis's sword. The blond winced at the pain that came with the parting of his flesh as he ignored the protests from Mash, but after making sure he was bleeding, he shoved the digit at Scheherazade.

"Drink what you need, we can't really afford to dawdle."

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After the small and somewhat awkward recovery from the battle, the group had set off deeper in the department store in search of more clothing to use as a disguise for Olga. While they'd picked up a good number skirts and blouses, the issue was finding the right shade as well as the accessories. Trent had also advised Olga attempt to pitch her voice up and affect a German accent, but it had resulted in a far cry from Illyasviel's girlish tone.

While Olga fussed through the clothing and Scheherazade advised her on ways to make herself appear more childlike, perusing a selection of makeup that might be used to help sell the image. Mash and Jalis were running a small patrol around the area, keeping an eye for any possible threats, Assassin's attack having made the group feel the measure was necessary. Finally, Blackmore and Cu Chulainn were standing somewhat apart from the group as they discussed amongst themselves.

The druid nodded as he bounced a stone up and down in his hand, a number of runes inscribed on it. "See, you just push some mana into it and chuck it at the target, which'll cause it to explode when it hits them."

"Sweet, I'll have to ask if you can teach me how to do some of this Runecraft if we make it through this. It'd certainly be a useful skill going forward," The blond murmured as he eyed the makeshift weapon, thinking about how he'd use them. He gently stashed the few marked stones that he'd been given, and continued, "Beyond that, I need you to prepare a special one for me, one that'll deal with demonic entities."

"Oh, you got some sort of idea of what we might have to deal with?" The Child of Light inquired, a curious look on his face as he considered the idea.

Trent shrugged, unsure of just how much he'd be able to reveal without tipping off Goetia or if he was even watching them. After a moment, he admitted, "Well, the first case is that it's better to be safe than sorry, and the second is the Blackened Archer. If he's fallen into his Alter state or been replaced by it, then he'll have been somewhat affected by a demonic bodhisattva, which is why something like that would be necessary."

"A demonic bodhisattva? The hell'd that guy run into something like that?" Cu wondered aloud, considering the words and the nature of such a being.

Blackmore chuckled bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he considered the tragedy that had led to EMIYA Alter, "A terribly lewd nun, and the cult that formed around her." His lips curled in disgust at the thought, and admitted, "I'd rather just face the Blackened Archer than the Lost Man."