Agatha felt that the session was good, though not on the same level as the one before her dreadful thoughts came to ruin her mood. She guessed it was a trait of all people who were left alone in the world. They would begin to think only to go too deep and end up becoming sad or preoccupied.
Oh, how she wished she could speak to her husband. He would knew what to do.
Agatha went to take a sip from her bottle of water. After a lifetime of drinking its unpure version, the clean water felt strange even to this day. For once she didn't have to worry about her radiation intake and could drink as much as she needed. She wondered whether the future generations would have radiation-free food as well, like she had in her younger days in the Vault.
There goes my mind again.
She sighed. Being alone truly left her with far too much time on her hands. She was willing to read a damaged book one of the merchants gave her, but after she treated herself too harshly for what she perceived to be a bad performance Agatha wasn't in the mood anymore. It was the moment when she put the bottle of water on the small table that she noticed the strange occurence on her right hand.
"Oh, my."
Her mind went back to the times when she talked with her grandmother; one of her "talks" about the secret arts not known to many. Agatha understood that what she dealt with, what that red mark on her hand was about, was magic-related. Her heart thumped in her chest. The past was coming back.
Why me? Why now?
Amidst many questions that struck her emotional state, Agatha returned to her deepest wish, desire and hope. Imagination is the thumbprint of deity, her grandmother would say, and right now she felt like one. The mind swum through the ocean of questions and emerged into the paradise that was her last wish before death came to collect her life. All the secrets her grandmother passed down to her, all the magical rituals, occult knowledge, essential practices; all of it returned to her in a form of a world where music was as lively as it was back in the Old World. It was a most beautiful delusion. There was the threat of death by sheer astonishment of the vision whose origins she couldn't even begin to fathom.
Why me? Why now?
Agatha wasn't a megalomaniac. She wasn't the measure of all things. But a heretical thought wormed its way into her heart. What if she were to become the catalyst for a change for the better? Could she achieve it through magic, something she was conservative about for most of her life? For the first time in a while, she dared to place hope where hope was abused and left to die. She dared to think beyond her day-to-day survival. And that hope was repaid in a way that exceeded her expectations.
She saw through her mind's eye what had to be done. Patterns emerged from the sea of chaos. New meaning was formed within magical symbols that coursed through a circle and around an eightfold star. It inspired her. She had to pick up her instrument and use its strings to perform the song of life itself.
Time flew beyond Agatha's control as the musical piece was brought to its end. Nevertheless, she felt full of life as when she was young. It occurred to her that the patterns she saw were now brought into reality, carved on the floorboards of her shack without her knowing. An epiphany struck her. It was her music that allowed such a miracle to happen. Now more than ever did she see what was really going on, how powerful music truly was. Her desire for music to survive received further meaning of such potency that it filled her soul with determination. She knew that, if her dream were to come true, she had to delve into magical arts yet again.
Her right hand rose in front of her and she began her song.
"Glory be, o greatest of poets, for it was you who will open a path for our transcendence. Let it be known that you are destined to fill the cosmic void with the songs of your victory. The stars and planets will bow to your greatness as your destiny comes to fruition. With that in mind, allow me to recite the hymn of your hypostasis..."
...
A fool he was in his early years,
Nothing but a thought, fleeting and cold.
Now he knows their greatest fears,
What makes them tick, what makes them bold.
...
If anyone were in close proximity to Agatha's propriety, they would spread the word about a symphony that, to their ears, sounded alien, even though it sounded familiar and nostalgic. The bravest would try to discover the source only to be repelled by a blast of red light. The more superstitious ones would claim that the same blast would contort and twist the natural light, that there would be shadows and figures that spiraled into fractals, if they knew what that was, until all of it had evaportaed into nothingness, as if waking up from a nightmare. For Agatha, it was the welcoming ceremony of the most intriguing man she had ever laid eyes upon.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "Quite fascinating! What manner of artist would be deaf to such a harmony sprouting from a heart with noble intentions? Fear not, oh Master, for I, Servant Caster, felt the need to answer to your hearty summons." The man's face turned from near-arrogance to sour dissappointment. "...I see how it is. Very well, looks like the world needs William Shakespeare yet again."
It took a while for Agatha to understand what was going on.
"So, you are telling me, me, that some kind of magical war is gonna pop up right here, in the Wasteland?"
Dave's wife nodded, though she refused to meet his gaze.
"But we aren't prepared for a war! The Republic won't survive if we go all out on... whoever threatens us."
"It's not that kind of war. More like... a battle between the chosen."
"Chosen? This is getting more interesting by the second."
"Will you stop being so condescending?"
He shrugged, "Oh, damn, sorry. It's not like I have to run a fucking Republic while my wife tells me that she may or may not be involved in a war, of all things. You too would be livid in my position."
"I couldn't tell you then, because you would most likely think I'm insane and shoot me in the head to end my suffering or some other moralizing shit. Heaven knows the wastelanders like to do that."
Dave sighed. He didn't like the news one bit. A heavy silence fell between them as he tried to understand the implications of a magical war wrecking through the only attempt at bringing peace and prosperity to the Capital Wasteland.
"What happens now?" his wife asked. She dared to look him in the eyes. He saw fear in
"I won't exile you, if that's what you're asking. It would be bad for morale of the people. And you're still my wife. A damn good-in-bed wife."
"Jackass."
"Thing is, I'm well aware that we would face such a crisis sooner or later. I just wished it was later."
"Can't help you with that."
"But you can help me win the war, yes? What's the prize for winning it again?"
"A wish. Any wish."
"Just like that? No Faustian bargain? No deal with the Devil? Nothing similar?"
"...You do have to win the war. If that's what you're asking. And that's not an easy thing to do."
"Damn."
All of Dave's worries were flushed away in an instant with the mere promise that his wish would be realized, should he win the Holy Grail War. He could, in the span of a lifetime, do what no previous ruler could. The future generations would look at him, Dave, the first ever philosopher king, as one of the central figures in restoring humanity's path to greatness. His Republic, by then something beyond anything he could ever suppose, would be regarded as the lighthouse of prosperity and reason, an example to follow.
Of course, it would be foolish to think of himself as the only man who ever came up with the idea of building a country. There were undoubtedly people that shared his aspirations and perhaps had already succeeded in things he had yet to achieve. Maybe there were developed countries to the west. Maybe they would be democratic and eager to trade. Maybe they would be brutal and imperialistic and would look at his Republic as an obstacle or a territory for them to conquer. In any case, creating the Republic would be only a step forward. There was still a lot to do.
But it would be a good start.
"Dave."
His wife hugged his arm gently.
"I'm afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of the War."
He scoffed, "You have the strength of a Republic backing you up. Who can dare to challenge us?"
"It doesn't matter, Dave. This isn't a war that can be won with guns and manpower. I'm scared of doing things I would later regret, if I come out alive."
He cupped her face and brough her closer to his, so that she could have a good look at his eyes. It was time to show her who Dave really is.
"I want you to listen to me. You can insult me. You can dismiss everything I stand for as a childish dream. You can even hurt my feelings. But not a single soul on this planet hurts those I care about. If you want to be a sword, I will be your shield. If you want to lead, I will follow. Personal cost be damned, I will do everything in my power to make you happy. To give you all a future you can happily wait for. And if it means giving up my life for the cause, then so be it... even if it would be best to delay such a thing for a while-oof!"
His wife squeezed his waist as she buried her face in his chest, expressing gratitude and apologies. She then said something he really hoped to hear.
"Your wish is my wish, dear. I promise."
He caressed her head, smiling internally. Reading those books was worth the effort.
When she finally collected her thoughts, Amy released the Supreme Commander and sighed deeply. Slapping her cheeks, she turned around and took a pocket knife.
"What are you doing?"
"We have nothing to write with. So i'll use my blood instead."
"Wait, that's-"
Before he could finish, Amy cut one of her fingers, crouched and began drawing on the floor. Minutes later, she draw a perfect circle, complete with symbols that eluded Dave's understanding. Any attempt at asking for an explanation was met with silence. Amy stood up and stepped away from her work of art. Dave noticed the horror on his wife's face.
"I... how did I do that?" she returned his look, "I began drawing and, and I kinda spaced out..."
Dave decided it would be better to drop the subject.
"Can we... can you continue?"
She nodded, holding her hands on her chest.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Dave? There is no going back after all of... this."
"Only if you want to."
"I would do anything for you. I promise I'll wind this War and make your wish come true. We have to win, Dave. There's no other option."
The sign on her hand suddenly flashed into existence, making Amy scream in pain. Dave tried to hold her down to prevent her from injuring him or her, but she pushed him away and turned towards the bloody drawing. Her legs began trembling until, unable to contain the weight of their master, dropped her down. Dave stepped forward, but an invisible force pushed him backwards, throwing him against the wall of the shack.
"Supreme being beyond our understanding!" Amy shouted to Dave's horror, "Grant us eyes so that we may see your light! Grant us tongues so that we may sing praises to your holy names! Gives us ears so that we can hear your blessed commands! Let the opposites combine into an enlightened unity with this joyous ode...!"
...
He decided to bestow His gift below,
to the species that let Him be.
A bronze goblet, fake and mellow,
that seeds despair with a cruel glee.
...
An invisible blade stabbed itself into the fabric of reality, cutting it open with a vertical cut from the ceiling and down towards the centre of the magical circle. Loud shrieking leaked from the tear as a second force tried to pry it open. Behind it, a a blasphemous, nonsensical sea of colors that flooded the room, enveloping Dave and Amy in a blanket of madness. Neither of them had the capacity and strenghth of will to spot something being ejected from the wound in reality.
As soon as this new figure touched the edges of their world, the wound closed in on itself. The endless shades of an endless color palette washed away into nothingness. Amy was the first to regain her consciousness and she immediately hated herself for going with the idea. The worst had yet to come, however, when she noticed that there was a third presence sharing their space. She felt a bond beginning to form between her and it, telling her everything she already knew.
It terrified her.
Whether it knew or not, its facial expression failed to reveal any detail. It carried itself with all the dignity of an aristocratic, royal even, member of society. Eyes set in a frown of concentration, the figure observed the room with utmost care, insisting on every detail present in the environment. Then its eyes landed on her.
"I applaud to your courage, Magus. The mere thought of intruding into my domain like a barbarian just to have an audience with the Queen is... unexpected, to say the least."
"Queen?" thought Amy. Was it - she - her Servant? She felt their link strenghtening. The Servant was insepcting her capabilities. Amy saw faint traces of uneasiness crawling into the entity's resolve.
"...An illness resides in these lands. I wonder..."
Amy saw her looking at the ceiling. She cleared her throat to gather the entity's attention.
"Well... queen..."
"Semiramis is my name. Be sure to remember it. Due to these unique circumstances, I will take upon myself the role of the Assassin. Though I hope you didn't think you will be free to give me orders because you managed to summon me. I also hope our cooperation will be worth the effort."
"Right, ehehe..." Amy scratched her cheek, "Maybe I should tell you a thing or two before we start... sounds like a good idea."
Nothing Susan hated more than her life at the moment.
She hated that she had to walk through the Wasteland in the middle of the day, when not being in a shadow with a bottle of water was outright suicide. She hated that she had to leave a good man to die in the middle of nowhere. She hated that she had to leave behind the Enclave because barbarians felt the need to rob and rape the remains of something greater than them.
Tears flew from her eyes more than once. Her despair had accumulated to the point that she had to let it out. She then found a small den of Raiders and she knew that the world gave her a perfect outlet. None of them could withstand her wrath. They fell like bloatflies. After putting two bullets in the last Raider alive, Susan stole what she deemed necessary and walked off, without a purpose or an end goal. Her life was brought down on the level of mere survival, now that she lost everything she held dear in her heart.
Night fell upon the Wasteland, and with it, all the nightmares conceivable and otherwise. Bizarre events became a common occurence ever since several Enclave teams came back with reports detailing strange phenomena occuring in the ruins of DC. One of Susan's friends told her a story once. It happened before she lost everything. A team of scouts patrolled an area close to the base. It was routine. Then they stumbled upon a tree decorated with the butchered remains of a Deathclaw. The tree was surrounded with pebbles and trash. Around the tree stood four people wearing nothing but Vault jumpsuits. The moment they spotted the scouts, those people began hissing like animals as they threw themselves at their weapons with all the fierceness of a Ghoul. After killing them all, Susan's friend felt as if the Deathclaw's head, impaled on a dead branch, was watching her. They returned to the same place one day later. The tree was gone.
Susan cursed herself for remembering that. She watched several horror flicks back in the base, mostly because someone thought it would make a good prank. She was scared, yes, but nothing came close to those movies where the unexplainable is going on, where strange creatures would plague a society or hunt a group. More than once she thought that somewhere out there, some of these monsters may actually be true in her day and age. Others made fun of her. Now it became reality.
Clouds hid the moon, stealing what little light it offered to the Wasteland. It was dark. Darker than usual, even. Susan put all her mental strength into her hearing. A few gusts of wind blew past her, but that was it. Some hundred meters away, Susan spotted the ruins of a house. Taking a deep breath, she ran as fast as she could towards it. She found a cellar door. Susan opened it, went downstairs and closed it behind herself. Sighing, she took out her gun and slowly towards a faint light.
Susan blinked away her surprise when she saw, through mounds of rotten wood and useless scrap metal, a lamp sitting on a wooden crate, near a pile of cans and garbage placed in a perfect circle. Inside the circle stood a skeleton tied to wooden pole. A piece of yellow paper stuck out of the skeleton's ribcage. After making sure that there was no living soul sharing the same room with her, with the intent of ambushing the poor fool that fell for a trap, Susan took the paper and sat down. The handwriting was unique and hard to understand, mostly because she was exhausted from her daily activities. It took her a while to decipher the contents.
"You made it here, as per His will. That's good. Don't think for a second that this is a coincidence. This letter was meant for you and you only. The last thing required of you to do is to complete the ritual, then you are on your own. You can find the details if you flip the paper. Don't bother finding out who I am, for I am merely a vessel that obeys His orders. YOU matter here. Everything else is secondary. Don't worry, you will soon understand everything. Now go, oh chosen one, go and bring glory to His name."
The moment she turned the paper, Susan heard loud banging on the cellar door. She quietly approached the stairs, pointing her gun at whatever could stand on the other side.
"Susaaaan." a muffled voice whispered, "I know you are in there. Open this door and come with me."
She tensed, her gun shaking as prepared herself to shoot whatever was out there through the door.
"Hear me Susan, hear me well. You are now under my spell. Cold is this night, so let us run, with Saklas you will have a lot of fun."
Her eyelids grew heavier all of a sudden. She didn't understand why at first, though her instincts told her she had to step away from those stairs and retreat into the light of the room.
"Oh, little Susan, do not fret, listen to me and you won't regret. Deep down, I'm sure you know, that with Saklas you must go."
Susan caught her hand reaching for the door and whacked herself with the gun to wake herself up. With a sharp intake of breath, she rushed downstairs and back to the skeleton. Something hit the door. She still heard the voice.
"Little human, you won't weep, those dearest for you would never grieve. Minds collapse at my might, and mortal souls shake in fright. You are no different, that is true, old Saklas would never lie to you. So, little human, please don't squirm, my voice, you see, will hold you firm. No place exists where you can hide, that old Saklas won't find. So, surrender now and come with me, old Saklas is waiting patiently."
Susan tried her best to concentrate on the instructions that were written on the paper. She had to spill droplets of blood around the skeleton and chant the words written at the bottom. Susan bit her index finger and circled around the human remains. When the last droplet fell, the voice grew louder and became more distorted.
"Hoho, little Susan, you aren't clever. Resisting me, makes this hunt... better."
A loud crash woke her from her stupor. The darkness surrounding the light became thicker, blacker, as if it turned into matter. Susan felt eyes staring at her. Her skin crawled with a sense of unease and horror she never felt before. Still, she refused to completely give up, and instead recited the words on the paper.
"Today we gather under one roof in order to celebrate the great light that shines down from the heavens above. We, who have been chosen by the light, must spread it to our people, so that their shackles may break and their minds expand. It is with greatest pride that we offer a prayer to the one whose will is to elevate our nature..."
Susan's attention was drawn by something slithering in the darkness. A loud scream made her drop the paper, covering her ears and shutting her eyes. Terror conquered her senses, her mind screaming at her that she was about to die. That's when a sinister, selfish thought wormed into her soul.
If she were to die, America would die with her.
In a moment of unusual megalomania, Susan projected herself as the standard-bearer of the Enclave, or what remains of it. She survived where others couldn't. She overcame the obstacles that were placed on her path by the mutants, by fate and by wildlife. Destiny wanted her to remake America for the future of mankind. To die in a nameless place, hidden from the eyes of the people, was unacceptable.
The earth under her feet shone brightly as it began to tremble, pushing the entity out of the cellar and back into the night. The useless detritus around her was destroyed or pushed to the walls. Susan skin began to feel the warmth of the rising temperature. Her throat dried up before she had the chance to escape. Falling near a wooden crate, her eyes took notice of a humanod shape assemblign itself out from the skeleton. Flesh and sinew grew from nothingness, coiling around the bones. A layer of skin enveloped the body, followed by clothing materialized by the same forces that brought the corpse back to life. The light soon faded. Susan stared at the ressurected person, unable to comprehend what she just saw.
"The Queen of the Land of Shadows has answered your call. My name is Scáthach. Are you the one I should call 'Master'?"
He couldn't stop laughing.
This whole farce was as laughable as the one who thought of it. He looked at the cloudy skies, making sure that the Thing could see the mockery on his face. Truly, what kind of fool could think they could screw with such a primordial, cosmic force and slip out without paying the price?
He then looked at the sigils on his right hand. He knew what that meant. Actually, he knew a lot more than It ever could. It was one of the benefits of being allied with Them; an unlimited wealth of knowledge sits on your lap.
"I pity the souls involved in this. Then again, maybe it will open your eyes a little. See who you're up against."
He had to give credit where credit is due. The Thing may be childishly naive, but it got its core strengths from the likes of his master. That alone made It dangerous to a degree, especially to the inexperienced in spiritual affairs. It learned to imitate Them and to reveal its will to selected few. Truly, it is easier for It to sabotage the master's kin than it is for a Brotherhood Elder to shave his beard!
"This cannot stand. I won't allow a neonate to stand in my master's path."
Walking past the tombstones, he searched for an empty patch of land where he could begin the ritual. He found it near one of the Arlington monuments: a group of eroded statues whose meaning remained in the Old World. He built a magical circle on the dry soil without too much effort.
Being allied with Them meant seeing the world in a different, finer perspective. Being able to perceive details that would elude a common eye meant seeing spiritual patterns and movement of arcane energies. He discovered the thinly-veiled trap and laughed.
"So it is true. You are truly begotten by snakes! I would have never thought of that... A so-called Berserker was waiting for me. And you would probably call one that is hard to control so that it could kill me, thus giving you my soul to increase your own power. Clever. But." he raised a finger, "But. You picked your opponents poorly. Did you really think I would let you play with the strings of fate like that?"
What he was about to do would probably anger the being looming over their collective heads, which made him even more excited. For a moment, he doubted It would even understand his effort, but he was willing to do it nevertheless. Placing his left hand on the circle, he closed his eyes and muttered strings of words in many forgotten languages. The circle flashed from red to orange, only to settle on a dark shade of green. He then stood up and raised both of his hands.
"With the powers granted to me by beings greater than my soul, I call upon the souls graced by the legendary Throne. Grant me the assistance of an Avenger, so that my anger can burn my enemies to cinders."
The green light formed a pillar that pierced the sea of clouds above his head. Another, darker pillar returned and bombarded the magical circle, raising a wall of dust that spread across the cemetery. Moments later, a figure stood kneeling inside the circle. Its unnatural eyes opened and glared daggers at him.
"Servant Av-"
"Don't waste your breath. I know who and what you are. Get up, we got a work to-"
A sword found its way close to his throat.
"Interrupt me again and I will take your head."
"We'll see about that. I'm sure that by now you realized the weak presence of magic in the atmosphere... as well as your condition."
The Servant's frown deepened, its eyes passing down at its body than at the cemetery. He smiled.
"Ah. I see it dawned on you, oh Maid of Orleans. Or should I call you Dragon Witch?"
"Tsk. Wretched cur. You're lucky I'm not at my fullest potential, thanks to your pitiful prowess, otherwise I would strike you down. Master or not."
"Hahahaha! Imagine the irony! Me, the greatest sinner under the heavens, gets the saint of Orleans herself. And with such a temper too! I think we will be great allies."
"I'm not her, damn you!"
He avoided his Servant's sword and jumped backwards.
"Let's not get too trigger-happy now. It would be a waste to use my power on you and I'm sure you think the same. We have a War to win, you know? I trust I can be in your care?"
He made sure to sound as irritating as possible, for he found a new joy in testing the Servant's patience.
"But enough banter. Follow me. We will go to a someplace quiet and I will explain to you everything you need to know. There's too many prying eyes for oru own good."
The Servant crossed their hands and raised an eyebrow.
"Really now? And why should I listen to you?"
He shrugged.
"I can always force you."
"Three times, yes. Then I'll show you."
"Hmm, unfortunately for you, I'm not your average Magus. I'm something more. Much more."
He saw a faint trace of uneasiness in those eyes that tried so hard to display courage. It amused him greatly.