Chapter 10: The Capitalist Journey
Cries of jolly challenge sounds from all around as an army of burly men jostle each other and cause a ruckus. They raided wooden houses for all that they could grab and trashed the stores for all that could be pillaged. Broken barrels of leaking alcohol and dented pieces of metal armoring littered the ground as the noisy men downed all that could be drunk and tore through all that could be eaten. Drunken warriors sang an age-old chant and tipsy soldiers began senselessly beating each other with excited laughs, bringing about a mass slugfest of roaring fighters. In this town dominated by the battle-hardened and war-feral, only did the Celts remain.
Dirt and gravel crunches underfoot as a single man walks the streets with intent, he strolled past the merry men without stop and nary a glance. Navigating through the crowds of thrown fists and shouting warriors, he expertly weaves every attack made and sidesteps every body tossed. His senses roared at him to toss away all cares and jump into the fray, to demonstrate his prowess as the best warrior. But alas, he will not. While alluring, this isn't the type of battle he seeks, an honorable duel to the death is what his soul craves.
Onwards the man pressed, through the mob of heavily intoxicated brawlers, making his way to the edges of the colonial town. There he found what he was looking for, a large ragged tent of mismatched colorful patches sewn together. A displeasured frown settles onto the warrior's face; ally or not, he hates dealing with the vile man within. It's only by the orders of his lord that he's even willingly here before that man's tent.
Pushing open the flaps of the tent entrance, he marches into the lair of the scoundrel.
The interior was dark and dimly lit, having only a few flickering candles sitting upon the surfaces of a couple makeshift tables illuminating the inside. Bonesaws, little brushes, rubber balls; an assortment of random trash haphazardly littered the entire area. Hunched over a single makeshift table in the center of the tent, a lone man raises his head at the arrival of the warrior.
A vicious grin splits across his face and the lone man spreads his arms out wide in greetings, "Knighty! How ya doing?"
He does not dignify the vile man with a response, only glaring down at him. "I've come to deliver a message. Our troops will continue marching westward by the next crack of dawn." He kept his sentences brief and spoke them quickly, wanting to spend as little time as he possibly could next to this repulsive man.
"So soon? And here I was hoping for more time to complete my craft."
His glare instinctively fell upon the mentioned 'craft', and his eyes widened in shock at what he saw. On the crude tabletop surface lay the bare bodies of several Celtic warriors, their features in varying forms of disfigurement. Some were horribly bloated and leaking a black liquid through all their orifices and others had their limbs torn off and rearranged like a misshapen doll.
"Lookin good eh? You won't believe how great this is gonna be once I get these puppies up and about—"
The grinning man raises his hands in surrender as the tip of an elegant golden spear touches the skin of his throat, threatening to plunge straight through his windpipe. The holder of the terrifying weapon glares at the deplorable man with silent fury, teeth gritted with anger.
"You dare?! I should dispose of you right here and right now!"
But in the face of the angered warrior's shouts, the threatened man barely reacts, his expression unchanging from the smirk. The man tuts with his hands still in the air, "Hey, hey, hey. These guys were already napping in the dirt by the time I got my hands on them. I just thought we could get a little extra oomph out of them, y'know? If you're gonna get your panties all in a twist about this, go complain to the Queeny, alright?"
The Celtic warrior hesitates and the vile man's victorious smirk stretches even farther. Stupid chivalrous fool, he knew that goody two shoes wouldn't dare go against his summoner. He watches in silent amusement as the fool struggles internally, his code and his morals creating a clash of conflict.
After a tense silence of indecision, he reluctantly lowers the spear away from the other man's neck. Dematerializing from his grasp, the spear fades away into thin air and the man turns his back on the foul scene.
"Heed my words, mage. Sooner or later, justice will be dealt upon you. I swear this upon my title as a Knight of Fianna." He snarls in declaration, and with it, he takes his leave.
Smirk wiped off of his face, the now irritated man returns to his work, picking up a bonesaw off the ground and aggressively cutting away at a corpse's limb. Justice on him? What a joke! None of these bumbling buffoons could possibly threaten someone of his level. They should be worshiping and weeping with joy that he himself even bothers with their war. That's right, he's only here for convenience, just because these idiots can be used! He certainly wasn't threatened by that monstrosity they call 'King' and offered his services in exchange for keeping his life! He's not some common court jester dancing for their amusement, he's the Ringmaster goddamnit! They're supposed to be performing for him! At his very beck and call!
He's in control!
Blood sprays across the surface of the table as he violently brings down the saw onto the nape of a bloated corpse, severing the head from the body. Chest heaving heavily, the man wrangles his temper down under control and takes a deep, calming breath. It's fine, everything's fine, he's got this. Who can oppose him; the devilish, handsome, and cunning man he is?
Grabbing the freshly chopped off head with a single hand, he holds it close to the dim light of the candle, casting its shadow across the interior of the tent. A familiar smirk twists across his face, gradually transforming to a full vicious grin of baring teeth.
He'll play along with the kiddies, he'll give them a good chuckle or two.
Blindly searching the tabletop with his free hand, his fingers glide over the squishy remains of gross bodies before clasping around the handle of a small paintbrush. Gently lifting the brush to the face of the severed head, he began tracing the edges of the mouth with bright red paint.
But by the end of this, he'll be having the last laugh.
Thundering hooves struck against the earth, the group of horseback riders galloping across the open terrain spanning beneath the sweltering Sun that hung high in the sky. They rode across the grassy plains and past the small shrubbery that dotted the lands.
"We'll be reaching the fortress soon! We're going to stop a mile off of the area and walk from there!" Geronimo shouts over the rushing wind to the rest of them.
The Native American Servant rides in front, taking the lead with Gudao and Mash seated behind him. Mounted on another horse to the side was Robin, with Gudako and Tesla riding with the green Archer. And bringing up the rear was an excited Isabel holding the reins of their mount, Wyatt taking the center seat and Gogh sitting behind him with her arms tightly curled around his waist.
Squinting to the distance, Wyatt indeed sees the far away shape of towering stone walls stretching far across the fields. Crossing the states had taken several days of time, especially when limited to horseback. They had taken rest at night, setting up a small camp or taking shelter at any nearby rebel encampment, and continued their journey by day. The trip itself was more on the uneventful side, encountering Celts deep in the Western Army's territory were unlikely and avoiding the mechanized infantry were simple enough to complete. This gave him plenty of free time to ponder about the situation.
And he did. He often found himself thinking back on the conversation he had with the vibrant girl that currently sat before him. Too many inquiries had plagued his thoughts and he was determined to have some of them answered, so he specifically tracked down Isabel right after the meeting.
"You recognize me." It wasn't a question, but a statement of certainty.
After strolling about and asking around, Wyatt finally stumbled upon her tending to a couple of horses, slowly stroking their long manes and feeding them from the palm of her hand.
Amber eyes curiously glanced towards his direction for a split second as flash of remembrance passes through them—the same flash he knew he saw earlier—before refocusing back onto the happily neighing equines in front of her.
"I suppose I do." Her response was flippant and casual, treating the idea as a simple afterthought.
He doesn't pursue the topic, it's not the subject of importance. "How—No, why are you here?"
"Counter question, why shouldn't I be here? Can't a woman feed some horsies and feel their luxurious hair without questioning her place in the world? Don't I have the right to exist in this cosmic play of fate just as much as you do?"
Wyatt remains silent, giving her a deadpan stare.
Isabel clicks her tongue in annoyance and pouts, "You business types are all the same. It's always 'Complete your paperwork'! 'Stop lazing around'! Or 'Please stop creating edible ice cream abominations that multiply in size'." She says, making sarcastic air quotes. "Like what does that even mean?!" and she sighs, "Great, now I'm hungry for ice cream. Mmm, that delicious ice cream. So many options, so many flavors."
She releases another sigh, "Haaah, if only I was a Caster…"
"Dr. Wondertainment…"
"Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, Banana, Bubblegum, Marshmallow, Rocky Road, Grassy Road, Minty Chocolate, Milky Banana, Roadless Road, Double Dipped Crunchy Star…" Her eyes lose focus as she lists off the many different flavors of her pleasure snack in quiet mutters, losing herself to the thought of eating such a joyous feast.
Wyatt let out a low groan. Damn the Wondertainments and their short attention spans. Getting any information from them without flying off topic or without abrupt interruptions is like trying to pry a single strand of hair from a haystack.
"Rainless Rainbow, Gold flaked Cookie, Road & Road, Surprise Meaty Meal…"
Using only tongs.
"Dr. Wondertainment!" His plea snaps her out of her food delirium, bringing focus back to the conversation, "Answer the question…please."
"Huh? Oh, yeah I was summoned by Ol' Flame Face." She easily admits.
"Who? And why?" Wyatt quickly presses, intent on not letting her deviate away from the subject.
A mirthful smile flits across her face as Isabel backs away from the horses, waving them goodbye. She turns to face Wyatt and leans forward with a wide, playful grin.
"Mr. Oid, what's your favorite flavor?"
The conversation was excruciating for Wyatt. Countless times, she went off topic on some inane rant about whatever fanciful thought crosses her mind. Vague answers and playful snippets constituted most of what was spoken from her, despite having talked for hours. It's taken his absolute willpower and his best efforts just to steer the conversation in the right direction, and at some point he was certain that she really was just purposefully messing with him. It took time, effort, and building frustration, but he did end up with some coherent information.
First being the obvious, the appearance of various anomalies from his lives. They aren't natural, this much he was able to theorize to himself and now was confirmed by Isabel's affirmation. Someone or something was actively opening the paths for the elements of his worlds to be summoned in this one.
"The Ways here are unbelievably few and in between. They are weak; no more than teeny-weeny negligible holes that exist in the cosmic sheet of the universe. Finding them would be close to an impossibility and to actually traverse them is just short of being the highest miracle." Isabel pauses in thought, a small frown displaying her displeasure.
"Well, that normally would've been the case."
Mystic roads that connect one location to another across time, space, and dimensions. That's the best bare bone explanation he could give in terms of what exactly The Ways are, but of course there's much more to it (There always is). The Ways have always existed in many different forms and in a variety of locations, all seemingly random. Each has their own 'knocks' and accesses, all of which are just as random. Typically utilized by those with both feet in the paranormal community, Wyatt himself has often come across or even traveled many of them.
It's hard not to when a majority of them connect to a certain special library.
But if the passages of The Ways are microscopically tiny here, then how has someone managed to seize them, let alone locate them? And why connect it to his worlds? Who's bringing anomalies over from the other side?
The answer—No one did, from this side at least.
A road extends in two directions, and when it comes to The Ways, sometimes there are many little side paths. The main draw from it is that no one opened a Way here, because no one ever found one. Someone forced The Way to open from the other side. Someone was forcibly entering into this world, not the other way around.
And it's through these openings that a connection to the Throne of Heroes was made, purposefully or naturally, Wyatt couldn't tell. But it did lead to the summonings of familiar beings from his lives, entities that don't reach or reside in the Throne, but used it as a basis of weak existence.
Like the nature of the Heroic Spirits, the history of those from the other side cumulates into the manifestation of beings free from time and space, made real to wander the physical world. The real Isabel Wondertainment is far from here, but the shade that represents her existence was summoned here. She explained that most who appear are simply those who've been connected by The Ways by happenstance and chance.
Unfortunately it meant that the list of those who could behind this only grew in length with the inclusion of The Ways. It literally opened up endless possibilities across infinite cosmos. A mad cult altering the world for their own gain? An eldritch entity encroaching upon this world? A conceited type-green terraforming the fabric of reality? Or is it just a poor fool who stumbled upon a disaster? A new face or an old face, the perpetrator could've been anyone now.
"Here." Wyatt's musings are interrupted by Geronimo's sudden announcement. The horses slowed down to a trot before coming to a complete stop as the Caster Servant began to dismount. Following his lead, the rest of them got off their steeds and prepared for the walk ahead.
"Robin, conceal yourself and stay here with the horses. Be on alert and have them ready for a speedy retreat." Geronimo instructs the Archer Servant, to which he nods in agreement.
"Now…" Geronimo gazes towards the distant city of the Western army, "Let's go greet the President."
( ( ◉ ) )
The looming white walls of stone that Gudao once saw from a distance now seem far more massive as they approach, spanning wide to the left and right; far beyond his vision. Legions of mechanized golems of bright American colors patrol the perimeter of the border and along the battlements in organized marches of synchronization.
The robotic infantry swiftly turned to face the group as they entered their peripherals. Guns mounted on metallic arms were quickly raised and pointed in their direction as the mechanized soldiers closed in on them.
"Unknown Servants detected. Engaging—"
"We come in peace!" Gudako quickly interrupts, shouting over them. "We're here to speak with your creator. So, uh, don't shoot please!" She nervously says.
The infantry halts in their advance, coming to a stop but still keeping the barrels of their large firearms steady and directed at the Chaldean group.
Gudao sweats nervously as the automatons slowly process the information. Mash reassuringly stood before him without her shield as a sign of peace—none of them had any weapons drawn—but ready at a moment's notice to summon it at the first sign of danger.
"Target compliance. Relaying messages to commander."
The tense silence continues to ensue as the mechanized infantry returns to being silent after proclaiming that statement. The only sounds being the calm breeze softly rushing by and the low, quiet humming of the metallic army as the two sides continue to stare each other down; with their group being wary and the robotic legion being expressionless.
They're prepared to fight their way out the moment things go south. All the Servants present are ready to summon their weapons within the fraction of a second and the two teen Masters had ready spells at their very fingertips, just waiting to be unleashed. Discreetly glancing over at the third Master of the group, Gudao notices that the faintest glow was coming from Wyatt's gloved palm, most likely to bring out that sidearm of his.
After what felt like a drawn out eternity, the massive gate that stood behind the robotic mass slowly swung open with a loud metallic groan. From it, a single figure strolls forth. A young girl of violet hair and violet eyes, wearing a black cap and black clothes.
"Stand down."
At her command, the infantry lowers their weapons and backs off, parting to the side to make space. The short girl walks forward, eyeing their group carefully and with scrutiny, "You said you wish to speak with us?" Her stare fixates on Geronimo, "I recognize you. You're the leader of the resistance that's been running about. You're here with them?"
Romani's face appears before them as a blue window pops into existence. "That's right. Allow us to introduce ourselves. We're Chaldea, an organization focused on the preservation of humanity, we're here to help."
Surprise etches onto the young girl's face at the sound of the Acting Director's voice, "Oh my, who's that there? You're carrying fairies in your pockets? You must be careful of such snobbish creatures, you know? Especially this one with his impudent voice."
"There's nothing wrong with how I speak…"
"We're here to help with fixing this era." Gudao spoke over the disheartened doctor, "We're aware of the Celts and we are trying to find a solution to it, but first we need to speak with the President concerning a certain matter, Miss…ah…"
"Blavatsky. It's Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, dearie. But call me Madame Blavatsky."
Already he could see the confusion welling up in his friend's mind, so he leans over and quietly whispers to her, "Nineteenth century occultist. A founder of the Theosophical Society. Russian spiritualist, author, mystic, and medium."
Barely half of what he said registered in Gudako's mind, but she still nods in faux understanding and quietly whispers back, "Ok, but why is she a little girl?"
He…didn't know. He was also curious as to why the Servant before them looked like a kid from fourth grade, but he didn't want to ask out of politeness. So Gudao just shrugs in response to his friend.
"Hey, why do you look like that? You're pretty small and cute!"
Shocked silence passes over all of them as Isabel shamelessly calls out without hesitation nor fear, blurting what's on everyone's mind. Wyatt was the only exception, pinching the bridge of his noise and sighing with exasperation.
"I-I've always looked like this! I'll have you know that I'm actually very old and mature despite my young looks!" She clears her throat and fans the blush coloring her cheeks away with a hand, "A-Anyhow, if you're truly an ally of ours, then I suppose he must be informed of this. Follow me, I shall be your guide and lead you to our Presi-King." Madame Blavatsky beckons with a finger and strolls back through the giant gate.
Presi-King? Sharing a glance with the rest of the group, Gudao sees that all of them are equally unaware of the strange title as he was. Still, there aren't many options right now other than following Madame Blavatsky's lead.
( ( ◉ ) )
Calling it a 'City' or a 'Fortress' is grossly underestimating this place, are the thoughts that went through Gudako's mind. For eighteenth century America, this place was far more clean and techie than what she expected.
It's like a metropolis; tall modern buildings and towering lamp posts line the streets, all crammed against each other, and an abundance of flashing lights advertises the various businesses that could be seen about. The place looked and felt like the heart of a busy downtown area, with countless people buzzing around and strolling about. Mechanized infantry carefully patrolled the sector, on watch and alert of any danger. It would be more akin to call this place a fortified megalopolis, the last bastion of defense and the safest fortress one could hope for against the Celtic armies.
So what's this feeling of nervousness she has?
On a second glance, gradually, Gudako began to notice the small details. Numerous citizens of men, women, and children walk the streets; all of them strangely dressed in navy blue worker uniforms tailored to their sizes. It's odd, despite the many people there, the clamorous sounds that you would expect from a busybody crowd—the noisy conversations, the clacking of shoes, the rowdy voices—were all absent. Faint murmurs were the best one might hear and the residents themselves walked with the utmost urgency, striding swiftly and never stopping to glance at their surroundings or interact with one another.
"They're afraid."
Wyatt's quiet mutterings from beside her reaches her ears and she follows his gaze to where he intently observes the residents, specifically their expressions.
Apprehension, uncertainty, and even fear filled the faces of the adult men and women. It's now that Gudako realizes that what she's feeling is nervousness, just not entirely hers alone. Their movements are skittish and jerky, trepidation permeates the air and worry shows with every step each citizen takes.
"NO, NO! Please! Give me another chance!"
The desperate shouts shatters the silence of the district, drawing the attention of their group to where the crowd frantically parted, revealing a mechanized automaton with his metallic hand grasped tightly around the arm of a young American woman.
"Citizen #1259. You have failed to meet your daily quota. You will now be detained. Do not resist."
The referred to woman struggles, futilely trying to pull her arm out of the machine's iron grip. "N-No, it was a mistake! I swear! I'll go back! I'll do better! Please don't take me away!"
Whether it did not hear or did not care, Gudako couldn't tell as the robotic golem drags the hopelessly thrashing girl away, completely ignoring her pleas and begs.
"Poor girl. It seems she missed her work quota for the day." Madame Blavatsky sadly informs. "She'll be sent to a re-education center and be retaught before she's allowed to return to society."
"Isn't that a bit…harsh as a punishment?" Mash concernedly asks.
But the short Servant just waves it off, "Unfortunately, it must be done. Order is the highest law in our city and infractions are taken very seriously. Really, it's for their own good."
For their own good? It definitely didn't look like it! At first, she assumed that these people must've been fearing an attack from the Celtic King and his legions, but what she saw shed new light on the subject. It's not the Celts that they fear, no—it's their own oppressive leaders. Even now, the crowds of residents briskly moved away from where the lady had been taken away, barely glancing and barely reacting at what had transpired in fear of them being next.
Rising anger boils deep within Gudako; they can't just let this abide! For their own good?! Bullshit! She stomps forward, body compelling her to argue against the injustice. She's going to give that damn fake loli a—
A hand catches her arm and she glances back to see Gudao with a worried expression. He silently shakes his head at her and pleads with his eyes. Gudako understands what he's trying to convey, 'Not now, not here. Please.' but how could he ask that of her when the people are suffering?
"..."
Grudgingly, she relaxes her muscles and steps back next to her friend, who gave her an apologetic smile. Damn the dork for being able to read her so easily. When has she become so predictable to him? Whatever, she'll chew his ear off and berate him on interrupting her later. For now, she'll settle on glaring holes into the back of the woman's head.
She's reaaaal interested in seeing this President of theirs now…
( ( ◉ ) )
Nikola Tesla was intrigued, very intrigued.
And very proud.
The modern state of the colonial—nay, it's far too advanced to be called that—of this great metropolis came to him as a shock. A welcome surprise that piqued his inquisitive mind.
Everywhere he looks, he sees and he feels it: Electrical power.
Through the homes, the stores, and the lamps, his greatest pride ran through the entire city. The lights shine in a dazzling brilliance, the homes remain heated with comfy warmth, and even the knock-off automatons impersonating the steam genius have it coursing through their copper veins.
It's not the world he envisioned, no it's still far from that, but the potential is there. A planet of electrifying growth and prosperity. A world where man harnesses the power of the divines, using it to spread their influence far beyond the stars. The perfect utopia in which everyone, the poor and the rich, can clasp their hands around the galvanizing potential of lightning.
It's his greatest desire, to bring humanity into new heights surpassing that of what the old gods could ever have offered, bringing around the grand age of mankind! So to see his dearest scientific work so ingrained into the lives of these people, utilized by all, brought great joy to his heart.
And then his gaze fell upon their guide.
Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, a prodigious magus who's said to have stumbled upon the Mahātmā. Tesla has heard of her in his lifetime, a genius in her own right who was pursued by the Magi Association for her teachings. If anything, Tesla held respect for her, an individual of equal mind and intelligence who sought the truths of the world. She's quite like what he imagined of her.
And yet, she's also not quite what he fully expected.
Forgive his crudeness, but her appearance is…most peculiar, being not at all what he might've visualized. His scientific mind could not help but theorize the possible reasons behind it.
Madame Blavatsky led them to the heart of the fortified city, where the number of surrounding buildings thinned and the number of citizens became none. A vast, spacious circular square bordered by the remaining buildings greeted their sight. In the center of it sat a massive building of white sandstone walls and white Ionic columns. Mechanized infantry diligently guards the structure, securing the perimeter.
"Is that the White House?"
The newest Master of Chaldea was the one to ask the obvious question, and indeed he was right. Before them stood the White House in all its glory, which was strange beyond belief because Tesla was certain that they're not in Washington DC. Clear changes have been made to the famous home of the Presidents. Much more incandescent light fixtures strung together by thick wiring attached to the structure alit it in a radiant glow. Multitudes of American flags proudly fluttered in the soft breeze, having been placed everywhere in the square, erected everywhere on the roof of the massive house, and hung everywhere on the white walls as huge banners. It's truly a landmark of the highest patriotism.
Madame Blavatsky sighs in vexation, "Yes and no. It's the White House but not the real one—an imitation if you will. The Presi-King got into his head that to be a President meant that he must live in the White House and became really obsessed with constructing one." She grumbles to herself.
Continuing the pseudo-tour, they entered the White House without any trouble from its robotic guards and walked its lavish halls—which experienced a makeover similar to that of its exterior, an extra abundance of luminance and an extra dash of red, blue, and white—to a giant set of dark oak doors. Pushing them open, the group strolls in.
"I informed him of your wish to meet, so he's probably dragging himself out of his work and will soon be coming. Please wait a moment as he arrives." Madame Blavatsky informs.
Idly waiting patiently, Tesla's gaze wanders around the spacious room they're in. Once again, bright lights and American ensigns furbished the elegantly designed space. A velvet carpet of red and gold extended far across the room, leading to a large throne of similar colors. Behind the throne hung a banner of the valiant bald eagle, wings stretched wide and claws holding an olive branch and a bundle of thirteen arrows. The Great Seal of the United States.
The Masters stood nearby, sharing information and speculations with the Acting Director through their communicators. The Servants listened in all the while remaining attentive and aware of their surroundings. He'll have to keep an eye out for his Master and safeguard her through the negotiations; he felt the rage earlier through their link and the remnants still lingers—hopefully she won't do anything too impulsive. Not that he could blame her, the sight of the screaming pedestrian was as unpleasant as it could get and he was tempted to interfere on his Master's behalf.
Tesla mused to himself on which of the Presidents could this 'Pres-King' be. It's evidently clear that the automatons and the city are the works of a summoned Servant, but who? He eliminated the more modern Presidents from the possibilities, none of them held enough mystery to qualify as Heroic Spirits, let alone fight back against the Celts. If Madame Blavatsky serves under this person as a commander, then perhaps it's possible they're also an intellectual of sorts? It's all very intriguing, and soon he'll get his answers.
Blaring fanfare and beating drums interrupts his thoughts as the distant sound of footfall, followed by the clanking of multiple metallic steps, signals the coming of the President. From within the room, they could hear the faint voices of the approaching automatons chanting alongside the boisterous music, singing in a robotic chorus.
Madame Blavatsky sighs in exasperation, "I told him to tone down his theatrics, but it seems like not a single word of mine made it through his thick skull."
"I HAVE ARRIVED!"
'No…!'
A pit forms in the bottom of Tesla's stomach as his shoulders stiffen in response to the familiar, unbearably loud voice. His Master glances over to him in mild confusion as she witnesses an expression of utter denial form on the Archer Servant's face.
"E—DI—SON! E—DI—SON!"
"Absolutely not…!"
The great oak doors burst open with great force as a tall man proudly marches in, followed by his entourage of mechanized infantry. A suit of bright blue and red spandex greets their sight, and the head of the noble lion roars in dauntless pride.
"I AM HERE! THE GREAT PRESI-KING OF THE UNMATCHED UNITED STATES! THE KING OF INVENTORS! THOMAS ALVA—"
"EDISON!"
Author's Notes:
Alright, take your bets ladies and gentlemen. In this match of eternal electric rivals, who's gonna throw the first punch, make the first insult, and how long will it take before Madame Blavatsky steps in? Find your answers in the next chapter!
On a side note, I've been looking into the Nasuverse, just generally trying to understand and get a better grasp on it as a whole. So I've been reading the lore of Fate/Extra and its many variations, and honestly? Very convoluted and over-complicated, but very fun to learn.
Here's your mandatory Omake.
Omake: Bored? Never!
Alexander Adamos loves his job.
As a student of the Clock Tower, he found the experience to be absolutely dull. The education was good and some of the classes were pleasant, but the people there—oh, how he hates the people.
Pretentious snobs with twelve feet stick up their asses and pathetic bootlickers bowing so low on the ground they might as well be worms. Everywhere he went, it was the same song and dance, repeating over and over again.
So when he learned that Chaldea was recruiting, he took the first chance he could to get out of there. Hoping for a change of pace, but not expecting much, he joined the security organization as an engineer.
Boy was he wrong.
Don't get him wrong, pompous pricks and the oh-so-high-and-mighty could still be easily found among the staff members, which grated on his nerves to no end. But life at Chaldea was far more exciting, the plans and experiments were all very awesome. And he found some people he could actually call friends.
Liam is a lazy fucker, but one extremely fun and chill to hang around. Much more preferred to those magi who keep prattling on and on about their own achievements and greatness.
Wyatt is on the opposite side of the spectrum, the silent dude one won't notice until an accidental glance makes them realize that he is indeed there.
A fun experience indeed, which unfortunately was interrupted by the implosion of mankind's future. And so began a Grand Order, a desperate fight for the survival of their race against the greatest mage in history and his seventy-two demonic meat tentacles. A journey through the seven Singularities, in which a single failure meant destructive death.
But honestly? Life only became even more exciting after the beginning of the grand mission. Servants (those not actively trying to kill you) are a hoot and a half, adding extra spice and an extra dosage of fun into their daily lives.
Maybe he was wrong for enjoying the Grand Order, but just simply couldn't keep the joy filled smile from stretching across his face as he monitors the Master's situation from within the Control Room. Chaldea was fun! He's so glad he chose to come here.
"Umu! I've heard that the beautiful me has been seen once again! I wish to speak with this other self of mine!" Nero loudly declares as she marches into the Control Room, drawing everyone's attention.
"A-Ah, Empress Nero! We don't have a Rayshift connection to Singularity yet! Plus, your counterpart has already left!" The doctor panically responds to the Empress' sudden entrance.
Nero pouts and waves her arms around in agitation, "Ah no! I missed the appearance of the grand me!" She points a sudden finger at Romani, "Then tell me! When shall I see her again?!"
"O-Oh, um, ah…"
Yep, Alex loves his job.