Disclaimer: No giant rock monsters were hurt in the making of this chapter. Well, maybe one was. Just a little.
Chapter 4- Stayin' Alive
What the hell just happened? I'm upside down, arms dangling downwards, only held in my seat by my flimsy seatbelt. The van has been completely flipped over, the floor becoming the ceiling and the roof becoming the ground beneath me. It's a surreal setting to wake up in.
The airbags went off. One's obnoxiously smacking me in the face. The entire passenger side of the vehicle is caved in. It looks like we were hit by a semi. Maybe Optimus Prime had returned to teach us a lesson? I chuckle at the thought.
Luckily I'm not that hurt. A few scratches, some bruises, and a headache. Those are my only ailments. Most of the shrapnel had missed, though some glass from the windshield had managed to scrape my face. The headache is somewhat worrying, as it could mean I have a concussion. But I doubt that's the case. It's more likely that it's a result of blood rushing to my cranium. Courtesy of the awkward position I'm in. I'll get out of here in a jiffy.
A quick rustling through my pockets produces a small little switchblade. Good enough for me. Ten seconds later and I've sliced the airbag to ribbons. Nice, now I won't have to deal with that thing smacking me in the face. Next I have to work on the seatbelt.
The conclusion of my actions involved me falling straight down and bumping my head against the roof of the van. Hard. "Goddammit." I release a few more choice expletives before shifting into a somewhat comfortable position.
That's when I notice something kind of important. "Where's Saber?" I'd noticed the damage her side of the vehicle had taken, but I hadn't noticed that she was missing. Way to be observant, Dante. Keep up the good work.
"Well, that's why you should have worn your seatbelt." Though, it could also be possible that she simply managed to crawl out of the wreckage before me. I'm kind of hoping she got thrown out instead. Maybe she'd learn something from this experience.
I make my way to my door, as Saber's is crushed into the van itself. Trying the handle gets me nowhere. The door opens slightly, but when I try to push it open it doesn't so much as budge. I look out the window and realize why this is the case. The van is sandwiched against a building. A concrete building might I add. I doubt I'll be able to open it. Even if I did manage to, there's no way I'd be able of getting out.
I look over my shoulder back at Saber's side. No going through there either. I can't even crawl through the window, it's been crushed in a downwards fashion. As if someone stepped on it after hitting us. Is this what the inside of a crushed soda can looks like?
I could probably make my way out through the windshield, that's likely how Saber got out. But, that would risk cutting my hands on the glass, and I really would prefer being able to use my hands in the near future. There's a lot of important things one can do with their hands. Of course I'm talking about shooting guns. I didn't mean that. Get your mind out of the gutter Dante.
Great now I'm rambling to myself.
Instead of making my way through the front of the van I start maneuvering my way to the back. Along the journey I find the Pico. "Hey little guy. Can't believe you survived." It's a little worse for the wear, but still useable. Just a few scratches on the barrel, nothing too serious.
"Must have fallen out in the crash." A pretty big detriment to carrying without a holster. Almost as bad as the increased likelihood of shooting yourself in the balls. I pocket the gun and continue on my merry way.
Finally I make it to the very back, where the double doors are. I don't even bother trying the sliding side doors. The passenger side's is wrecked just like the front cab's, and the driver's side is likely blocked by the same building. Which left just these back doors. I kneel down to inspect them. The one on my left is damaged like the rest of that side of the van, but the one on the right look to be workable. It comes open with a slight push.
And that's when all hell breaks loose.
I don't know why I hadn't heard it before I opened those doors. Maybe it's because I wasn't focusing. I was nauseous, dizzy, and my head hurt like hell. My ears were also slightly ringing. That might have been why I hadn't noticed it all. That changed when I opened that door.
I had known this war would be hell. I knew it would be a challenge. That I was going to be outmatched, outclassed, and likely outplayed at every corner. What I didn't know was the degree to which it would be. Masters were one thing. They died like everything else. They would be easy to take care of. Servants were always going to be the problem. I just didn't know how big of a problem they really were. Now, I know.
Saber's fighting this … this thing! Whatever it is it's something clearly abnormal. It's bipedal, and humanoid, but clearly something supernatural. Its skin is a reddish purple color, maybe magenta. Almost the same color as Barney's fur. Of course I'm referring to the dinosaur furry freak of my youth. And no, he isn't purple. I don't give a shit about how his name is 'Barney the Purple Dinosaur'. He was clearly fuchsia.
The magenta/fuchsia creature towers over Saber, twice as tall as her actually. It's at least ten feet tall. On its back there are some sort of wings, but from a practical view it's easy to tell that with their sharp, crystalline shape and this creature's size that they'd be completely useless for flight. The entire thing's body is built as if it's stone. From the size of its muscular structure, and the fact that it just smashed into a moving vehicle and practically demolished it, I can tell it's extremely strong.
Similar to the wings, other crystal like structures protrude from its appendages, as well as its head. The ones sticking out of its head are alien to me. I can't tell if it's supposed to be a mane, antlers, or some sort of horns. Hell, it could be some retro type of hairstyle for all I know about this thing.
In contrast to its skin tone, lighter purplish lines run patters all over its body. They're almost like letters in a neon sign. Shining, pulsating beacons that stand out in the darkness. You know what else stands out? The thing's six-pack. Seriously, this weird monster has more refined abs than I do. I should feel ashamed. Instead I feel curious.
How does this thing go to the gym without scaring everyone away? And maybe I should ask it to tell me its workout routine, because clearly it knows more than a little bit about staying in shape. Can't get fat when you're day to day hobby is charging into peoples' cars.
The worst part is the thing's face. The mouth of this beast is the creepiest thing. It's like a permanent smile. Almost like a Glasgow smile in how it's shaped. The type of smile you'd see on a doll or a puppet. Reminds me of a goddamn freaking clown. The thing's eyes aren't really any better. One eye shines brighter than the other. Both are like small flames. Lines of the same level of brightness run from its eyes. Almost like tear stains.
Well at least I'm dealing with an emotional monster. That makes this situation so much more wonderful. Maybe I can read him some poetry and we'll debate human emotions and-
My thoughts are cut short when the creature starts screaming. Oh Pesci, the scream. I wish I had worn my yellow pants today. It's a terrifying thing to hear. Like something out of your wildest nightmares. Distorted. That's the word to describe it.
And who's the one that has to fight it? Saber. She's hacking at it with that ridiculous sword of hers. Chopping at its limbs, trying to dismember it. Is it working? Nope. Her sword just scratches it, occasionally chipping its hide. Makes me think it actually might be made out of concrete.
I'm glad I'm not in Saber's position. The monster's breath probably stinks, and she's right up in its face. Twirling like a dancer, pirouetting like some ballerina, slashing at it as she spins. Both of these creatures are terrifying. Saber for her speed. And also for her strength, for she must be quite strong to wield a sword like that without tiring.
And this beast for its sheer presence. Everything about it screams death.
It's a hunter.
I can tell that just by looking at it. An apex predator.
Is this a Servant? I don't know. If it is, then what the hell kind of hero is it supposed to be? Is it the Berserker of this war? Even a Berserker should have some semblance of humanity. This thing just feels like a mindless animal.
Another roar, this time I notice Saber winces from the creature's volume. She doesn't as much as flinch when it brings its fists down on her blade. She grins.
And then she taunts it. She fucking taunts it!
"Truly you must be the weakest beast I've faced! You hold not a candle to the great lion! There is no pride in your bearing, merely mindless violence!" Bravo Saber. You've actually taken a page out of my book. Mocking the enemy until they get so pissed they screw up. Jeez, I don't know how I managed to rub off on you that quickly. I must be the one with Charisma!
This glorious swordswoman continues holding the monster back, even as it pushes her into the ground. I don't know why, but I have the vague suspicion that any other Servant would have been slaughtered in an instant. Such is the strength of this horrific thing. Saber fights on, even though she's physically disadvantaged. Consider me impressed.
Unfortunately, that doesn't mean I can simply sit on the sidelines cheering for her victory. If I do that we'll likely all die. I have to do something. I can't just sit her gaping like a moron. I don't know where it's Master is so I can't go that route. That leaves me with only one other option. Doing something I'm very good at doing.
Annoying the ever living shit out of someone. Or in this case something.
The first gunshot rings out through the night. The result is rather anticlimactic. Guns were and still are deciding factors in war.
Merciless.
Unrelenting.
Dangerous.
Just the way I like them.
Guns are the very tools that shaped the very history of this world. Just imagine what the first battle of Lexington and Concord would have been without guns. Instead of the 'shot heard round the world' what would it have been called? A sword slash would have been the 'swish heard round the world'. An arrow let loose would have been the 'twang heard round the world'. Lame. Neither of those had the same poetic sense of a gunshot.
Firearms are amazing. That is a fact. They're loud and powerful. Bombastic pieces of equipment that demanded attention. Like a child trying desperately to impress their parent. In the hands of a monster they could slaughter millions. In the hands of a hero they could protect an entire nation.
So color me surprised when the result of my fine display of marksmanship is … well, nothing. Oh, I did kind of almost shoot myself. That's kind of something … right? How did I manage to do this? Well, I apparently shot at a gigantic hunk of zero fucks given!
I mean, come on! I know I'm shooting a .380 here, but it should still at least scratch the bastard! Or maybe tickle him …. The point is, he should feel something! The bullet shouldn't uselessly bounce of his back and ricochet in my direction! Come on! He doesn't even notice I shot at him!
The second and third shots are mainly just to express my frustrations. As is the rampant profanity I toss at the creature. He kind of just ignores me instead focusing on Saber. She doesn't notice me either. Well, she does. I get a mental text message.
Praetor, what are you doing?! Translation: 'why are you such a moron?' My reply is the mental equivalent of a winky face. Emoticons, totally not irrelevant.
"Well, guess I'll need something bigger." I sigh and look down at the Pico. Forgive me for this, dear friend. But I swear I shall reincarnate you after this is done and over with.
I need some materials to do what I'm going to do. My Pico's a starting point, but I need more to complete my masterpiece. Preferably a decent amount of metal. I look over my shoulder at the large quantity of debris laying around. A product of the accident I've been in.
"That'll do doggie. That'll do."
A quick gathering of junk, a quick incantation, a few prayers to Brother Saive and Brother Vervier, and I'm all set and ready to go. I manage to find the Pico's case too, so the first thing I do is open that up and fish out some magazines.
A quick removal of the Pico's loaded magazine. A careful unloading of said magazine, and … why is this starting to read like a cooking recipe?
Step 1: Just a pinch of wood, courtesy of what I was guessing was once the dashboard (got to love that vintage look).
Step 2: A tiny smidgen of cloth, granted to me by the ever wondrous seat belt. I refer to it as such because it likely saved my life.
Step 3: The main component. Metal. Shit tons of it.
A tire iron I found underneath the back seats. With some red stuff on it I figure is jam. Strawberry jam. A large chunk of the crumpled passenger door. An empty soda can I likely forgot to throw out. And finally, what I can only presume is half a stop sign. It's red, and has the letters 's' and 't'. Guess we hit a stop sign. Just love breaking the rules of the road.
"Isn't that right you wannabe Power Rangers' villain!" I definitely could have come up with a better insult.
All the ingredients are ready. Set out in front of me in the order of which they'll be assembled. Really I look like a lunatic trying to do something with this crap. Ignoring the concerned yelling of Saber, I continue to take my damn time on this very delicate process.
"Scream quieter woman! I'm trying to focus!" My response is not at all positive. Her reply is even less positive.
"What is wrong with you Praetor?! I am merely worrying over your safety and you continue to be an intolerable fool! Is now really the best time to be an ignoramus?" I ignore her. Such a question is not worthy of an answer. It's always time to be an ignoramus, no matter how dire the situation may be.
I begin my process. Three words are all I need.
"Transmute." Transmutation is first. What was previously weak run of the mill steel and aluminum turns into the equivalent of the grade you'd find in the best of assembly lines. The cheap pseudo-wood grain dashboard becomes genuine walnut. The gunpowder in the Pico's cartridges becomes pure, unadulterated prana. Converted from a mere propellant in need of ignition into a highly condensed source of energy I can directly focus and control. Essentially it streamlines the process of crafting rounds, allowing me to assemble them quicker at the cost of wasting far more prana.
"Alter." Next is alteration. The Pico warps. The barrel disassembling seemingly by itself, melting and reforming into a single square of sheet metal. My various components start melding into a single one. The tire iron becomes a barrel. The scrap metal morphs into a receiver (with the lower and upper already combined) and a folding stock. What was once the Pico is now just a pistol grip. That too starts to shift into place. The seatbelt becomes a sling. A simple attachment but one that would be quite useful.
Alteration specializes in changing the properties of the target of interest. Poisoning the tip of a blade. Making clothing fireproof. That sort of thing. I doubt there's anyone else in the world that uses it for something like what I'm using it for. Mainly because Mages are snobs. They sneer at the more mundane aspects of society. Their loss.
"Reinforce." The last spell starts working its magic (pun intended). So many things can go wrong with this sort of thing. The metal I use could be too weak, and it could end up causing the receiver to blow up in my face. The stock could break underneath the stress of recoil. The barrel could actually melt underneath the strain of constant firepower.
In order to avoid this I have to try my best to strengthen everything. Improving the durability of everything from the stock to the sling. It's going to need to hold up to a lot of pressure. If it doesn't … well this won't be pleasant. Good thing I'm somewhat experienced when it comes to these things. The crafting, not the blowing up. Well, I'm experienced in both, but that's beside the point.
I read these spells off like a checklist. Three different forms of magic. Brought together for one purpose. What was once a pile of junk and a small handgun has now become a fully assembled battle rifle. My weapon has been assembled. Some would refer to this as alchemy. Though to me alchemy is more akin to potions, poisons, and general crafting. I don't think of myself as an alchemist. The Einzbern's were alchemists. Those buffoons in Atlas are alchemists. I'm no alchemist.
I'm a gunsmith.
It takes thirty seconds, which is actually a bit slow for me. There was one time I did something like this in five seconds. On the run. I'm just a little rusty right now. It has nothing to do with how much I enjoy hearing Saber's frustrated grunts as she desperately tries to defeat the monster. Nothing to do with it at all. I definitely am not stalling to make her waste more time on a battle she probably can't win. Nope. That would be mean of me. And I am most definitely not mean.
I pick up the newly minted rifle, carefully examining it for any flaws. It's kind of an amalgamation of materials, with a handguard made of wood, a grip made of polymer, and a stock made of metal. Not really the prettiest thing. Still, it should do what I need it to do.
Just have to put a few more final touches and it'll be ready to rip. Speaking of ripping, I do exactly that to the headrest of the closest seat. Ripping it out of place. The rest part itself is tossed aside, what I really want are the metal prongs that attach it to the seat. A quick fix and I've just crafted a makeshift bipod. Perfect for improving my accuracy.
Next is the magazine. It's assembled using an empty tin flask and some of the Pico's spare magazines. Found that flask next to the soda can. Kind of wish I had found it before all this. It would have been nice to have. Oh well, priorities. Bullets over booze.
Speaking of the bullets, they're assembled in an odd fashion. By this I mean I basically just elongate the Pico's cartridges. I've already converted prana into the propellant, so that lets me skip ahead to actual loading the magazine. It's done in a methodical manner, each individual round rapidly being inserted into the metal box. I'm a pro at this. Mainly because I'm cheating.
The cartridges load into the magazine of their own volition. It's almost as if they have free will to do as they please. Like one of those Disney movies that anthropomorphizes inanimate objects. In reality it's far less cool. I'm merely loading them into the magazine with a hands free method. Using the prana inside each bullet as a means to move the rounds without actually touching them. Now that I think about it that is sort of cool, I guess.
The magazine's full in record time, and with a single fluid motion it's inserted into the rifle. This is something I do have to manually do. Then with a loving touch I pull back the charging handle. When I release it the bolt slams forward on its own, loading a round in the chamber and signaling that my weapon's hot.
One last thing before this party can get started. I slip a cigarette out of my pocket.
"This won't be my last smoke." It's a little frightening to say that aloud. It sort of makes me think a part of me is worried about doing this. Am I concerned over my mortality? I shouldn't have to tell myself things will be alright. I'm long past that point. But I still said it. Unintentionally maybe, yet it still had to be said. How troublesome. I slip the cigarette into my mouth, lighting it with a cheap lighter that somehow survived the crash. Then I go prone in the van.
The firearm's fine, everything's ready to go, so of course I take the next logical step in this process. What do you do with a gun? You make sweet love to it. I'm joking. Obviously you shoot it.
"Hopefully the boundary field's of decent quality." I mutter to myself. "Or else it's going to be a pain in the ass to handle any witnesses."
The door's still open, and I have a perfect shot on the creature. It's currently flailing around like an idiot. Saber somehow managed to get on its back, and is holding on like a small child that wants a piggyback ride. She's also hacking at it with that massive butter knife of hers whenever possible. Which is why it's spazzing out, trying to claw her off of itself.
A perfect opportunity to cause some mayhem.
I take aim, center mass. No way will I miss. Unless of course the thing bothers to dodge. I don't think it will, the beast is busy with Saber. I slowly depress the trigger of my brand new FN FAL.
Time to show these Heroic Spirits what modern war really is.
The staccato note of a gunshot is a beautiful thing to hear. Especially when it's a larger caliber being fired. 7.62×51 is far from the biggest cartridge on the market, but it still packs a decent punch. Way more so than a .380 ever could do.
But is it enough to pierce this crystalline golem's flesh?
The answer?
Nope.
Not nearly enough.
The bullet smashes into its neck. But it doesn't cause the type of wound typically associated with a rifle shot. Usually they penetrate the target's skin, continue on their trajectory for a few centimeters and then start to tumble. The result is a minor entry wound but a massive exit wound.
I should be able to see the back of this thing's neck collapse. Its spine should be severed. It should collapse, paralyzed from the neck down and gasping for breath. So why the fuck does the bullet instead bounce off of like it would if I were fighting Superman?!
"So does this confirm it's a Servant?" I mumble to myself, confused as to what's happening. "Saber can't hurt it. Shouldn't be so surprised I can't." Then again I wasn't necessarily attempting to kill it. Just stun it. Instead I'm the one stunned. "That's the first time I've ever seen anything ignore a 7.62."
An overwhelming feeling of worthlessness enters my mind. And it isn't just from my own thoughts of inferiority. Saber is getting frustrated by how she's incapable of harming it. Frustrated with what she perceives to be her own failures.
The emotions she's allowing to seep through our mental connection threaten to overwhelm me. She's borderline bipolar. Going directly from doubting herself to being angry at the enemy for questioning her strength. Really wish she kept her issues to herself for now. I have my own problems, and it's really messing with my morale seeing a living legend doubt herself in front of me. Doesn't really get my hopes up for what's to come.
I pull the trigger again. This time the shot's aimed straight at the thing's eye. It hits dead on. The thing blinks. It fucking blinks. Then it swats Saber away. It finally manages to get her in a position where it can smack her off its back. It takes advantage of that. And it swats her like a fly.
I fire again. This time it hits where I presume is the heart. Even less of an effect. The bullet ricochets off into the night.
Another shot. This times the genitalia. Another ricochet. It has balls that are as hard as steel. Maybe harder.
By now I've gotten the thing's attention. This is good because it gives Saber a moment to collect herself. But bad because it means I've made the thing that can tank bullets focus on me. Me. The guy who only has bullets to fight with.
It roars. A roar that sounds eerily similar to the T-Rex in Jurassic Park. I also can hear a faint portion of Godzilla's wail mixed in. Did I end up in the wrong war? Was I now fighting Kaiju? Does this mean I need to build a mech to fight it? So many goddamn questions. Unfortunately I doubt they'll be answered. At least not by the time it takes the thing to get to me. Said time being all of three seconds.
I have to roll backwards to avoid the fist that crushes the van. Barely have time to fold up the bipod and grab ahold of the FAL. A millisecond slower and I would have become a pancake. My bones would have been grounded into dust.
Praetor?! I ignore Saber's frantic concerns. There are much more immediate concerns in front of me. Those being a giant rock fist, and the giant rock monster attached to said fist.
The entire world seems to be muffled. I can't really comprehend Saber's cries, nor the monster's feral snarls. All I know is one thing. I will not die. Not tonight. Not like this.
I pull the rifle up, the barrel practically pressed against the thing's hand. An audible click shatters peaceful state of my mind. That's the sound of the selector switch being hit. Right now it's my 'oh shit' button.
I fire. From the hip. Without aiming. In full auto. Not exactly the best display of trigger discipline. It takes about two seconds to run the magazine dry. In those two seconds I experience two things. Joy when the thing cries out like a small child that stubbed its toe and confusion when my bullets start whizzing back at me. The Great God above must have deemed today to be the day I get fucked. Definitely not in a good way either. No, in the 'my cell mate's named Bubba' way.
I have to flop around like a beached fish in order to avoid the shrapnel. One manages to graze my thigh. Another zips over my shoulder, slicing through the fabric of my jacket. The creature draws its hand back and it's not because he's retreating. No, that'd be lucky for me. It brings its arm back, attempting once again to crush me like a grape.
For a split second my life flashes before my eyes. The image of a tombstone haunts me, its surface adorned with my name, date of birth, and today's date symbolizing the day I died.
"No!" For once I'm at a loss for words. No witty remarks, no snide comments. Just a single word of protest against what's going to be my cruel end. I dive forward, my best attempt at avoiding my demise. It's not a very good attempt. The creature will crush me, of that I can be certain. But at least I wouldn't have died gawking at it like a fool.
Then everything just turns out for the better. Saber smashes into the thing's side, rage ever present on her face. The creature stumbles in surprise, shifting on one foot as it attempts to keep its balance. I'm saved, ever so temporarily saved. I can't get complacent though, I can still contribute something to this fight.
I crawl on hands and knees to the empty soda can I'd left around. If only I can grab it. If only I can hold it for just a second. I'll have a chance.
I feel my fingers wrap around the aluminum container. I don't even need to vocalize my intentions. The metal knows what I desire, it knows what it needs to do. What was once a simple Pepsi can becomes something so much more. The cheap aluminum shifts into a circular shape, and the metal itself hardens. Prana fills the husk, and all of a sudden I've created a live grenade.
I reload my rifle, dropping the magazine on the ground and allowing spent casings to roll back into it on their own. My prana flows into them, making them whole once more. The metal calls to me, it wants to help me. It needs to do as I ask. The magazine is inserted back into my FAL, and my newly formed grenade is placed on the tip of the gun's barrel.
All of this happens in less than ten seconds. I'm getting back in the groove of things. The monotonous labor of an assembly line. It's all muscle memory to me. As simple as riding a bike or tying one's shoe laces.
I aim the rifle right at the stone monster's face. Despite Saber's valiant tackle the thing is still nearby. She managed to push it back less than a foot. But that's not important. She stunned it. And that's given me a distinct opportunity, one that I fully intend on capitalizing.
I squeeze the trigger, and my mind goes blank. No fear, no anxiety, no emotions cloud my judgement. I cannot worry about any of those trivial things. Not right now. I am the grenade. The grenade is me. It will not miss. It will not fail me. The only option is success.
Somehow the monster managed to grab Saber in the brief moment I was preparing my assault. It roars directly into her face, spittle raining upon her from its mouth. She's in the blast radius and I know this. It won't hurt her though. I told it not to.
Wow, I sound completely insane.
The grenade lands right in the beast's mouth. It swallows it.
"Enjoy that indigestion."
It's one spicy meatball. The grenade goes off. In a normal situation I would have probably been rendered temporarily deaf, but this is not a normal situation. Being in the creature's gullet, the blast hardly registers to my ears. But my eyes can tell it's gone off. The creature stops, and just stands there.
It looks past Saber, off into the distance. That's the look of a being ravaged by war. The thousand yard stare. Something so out of place for such a ferocious horror. Its grip relaxes and Saber falls free. She lands rather gracefully on her feet, and immediately jumps away, seeking to get out of the monster's reach.
The thing burps. It burps off all things, and smoke billows from its maw. Saber gives me a grateful glance, turns towards the colossus and starts to charge. An ecstatic grin adorns her face, she's actually having fun with this.
I barrel towards her, rifle in hand, a roadie run to glory. She's already slamming into the beast, the resounding crash sounding quite akin to a linebacker tackling their unfortunate opponent. The behemoth stumbles even more and staggers backwards, falling ridiculously on its ass. If its backside can even be called an ass.
Saber goes for the final blow. Or at least what she presumes to be the final blow. A terrifying downwards thrust that would likely impale any lesser foe. I seriously doubt she understands the severity of our circumstances.
That thing burped in response to my grenade. It burped. And it didn't burp out blood or any other vile liquid. No, just smoke. Not even any shrapnel. I charged that grenade with enough mana to blow a hole through Fort Knox. This thing reacts to it in the same way a particularly obese man would react to eating one too many slices of pizza.
I don't think the stabby object Saber swings around will do anything to this monster. Heck, she'd be lucky to give it a papercut sized wound with the rate things are going. Nothing short of outright releasing her Noble Phantasm would give her a chance, and I can't really allow that in our first battle.
So really, there's only one conceivable choice in this sort of scenario. Only one tactical option for us to choose.
"Run like hell!"
I tackle Saber in the same manner she tackled the creature, but instead of seeking to knock her down I merely scoop her up in my arms. Quite fortunate she's a shrimp. And also quite fortunate I crafted that sling for my rifle. It allows me to keep the thing on my back, and gives me free reign to use my hands.
Said hands are currently holding Saber tightly to my chest so as to avoid her swinging that ridiculous cleaver at me. She can't really maneuver it as long as she's awkwardly pressed against me. At least not without spraining a wrist.
"Praetor! What are you doing?!" Her shrill screaming falls on deaf ears. The thing that's responsible for raising my insurance deductibles is already getting back up on its feet. I'm not thinking logically in this sort of situation. If I were I probably would have ordered Saber to carry me instead.
But that'd be even more demeaning than running away with my tail between my legs. And it'd also be very uncomfortable. She'd probably carry me like I carried the Matou kid. I am most certainly not a sack of potatoes. I refuse to be carried as such.
The thing roars at our retreat. Funny enough, its moment of ferocity is cut short when it starts coughing out smoke clouds. Oh I really hope I muffled this thing just a little. Sadly I can't do the same to Saber. Her sword's gone, in its place is her empty fist. She's currently smacking me on the forehead with that fist. Thankfully, it's not even done using a fraction of her strength. If she actually hit me I'd probably be unconscious.
"Are you a complete buffoon?! The enemy is right there! We can't retreat!" I tone her out for a second, instead focusing on flooding prana into my legs. A little reinforcement certainly can't hurt. "This is beyond cowardly! Quite unbefitting for an emperor! I demand you take me back to the battle." She folds her arms against her chest, and does something completely imaginable in a warzone.
She pouts. Like a petulant child that didn't get what they wanted for Christmas. Does she honestly think this will work against me? Am I really supposed to give in to the puppy dog eyes? Now? When the devil is on my heels? This woman is simply deranged.
"Oh cool, you're an emperor." I focus on her pitiful slip up, instead of humoring her complaints. It silences her for a moment. And then her brain registers the loud echoing rumbles that can be only one of two things.
The first being a gigantic rave that somehow spontaneously started in the middle of a warzone. The second a runaway sumo wrestler that stumbled across our interaction.
Oh wait, I have a better explanation.
The stupid rock bastard that's trying to crush us.
Yeah, that's probably what that noise is.
The thing's massive weight creates a quite serenating sound with each step it takes. That melody reminds me of a steamroller slowly flattening a junk car. How nice. Of course our current predicament is much worse than the simple compliment 'nice'. No, we're probably going to look quite like a junk car flattened by a steamroller.
There's a living (questionable) breathing (also questionable) freight train charging us. The sonofabitch doesn't even have the decency to blow his steam whistle. Shame, I quite like the sound of steam whistles. They make a nice Choo Choo sound. Reminds me of my childhood; Thomas the Tank Engine and that sort of thing.
Ah, now I'm reminiscing on when I was a wee lad of the age of six, mama and papa were out and I had the telly all to myself …. Oh my, did it just toss my van?
Did it just toss my van?!
I made the mistake of glancing over my shoulder. What a mistake indeed. Not only did I have to bear witness to the terrifying sight that was this seemingly invincible giant, but I also had to watch as the thing abruptly changed direction and instead ran towards my vehicle. Originally this caused a small portion of hope to rise in my heart. That was swiftly crushed once I realized what it was doing.
It picks up my van. Then it chucks it in my direction. It throws my car. At me. My car. I spent a little bit of money on that car. Even installed that nice vintage wood dashboard. Why would you do something so inconceivably rude as to toss it at me?! Toss it, like someone would throw a paper ball. But it's not a paper ball. It's my fucking car! It wasn't enough for you to crush it? You have to damage it more?!
Oh, and did I mention it's heading my way? Yeah. I'm probably going to become a pile of goo in about three seconds.
One.
Two.
Three.
In one of the most dazzling displays of flexibility I've ever seen Saber manages to wiggle out of my grasp, (wait … could she do that this whole time?) materialize her blade, and spin through the air like a ballerina. A ballerina of death.
Oh wait, I already used the ballerina/dancer comparison. Perhaps 'ballerina' isn't the best term for her display. Maybe Beyblade is a better term. She jumps in the air and spins around like a fucking Beyblade. A Beyblade of death.
Of course my poor, innocent van can't help but be awed by such an amazing display. So awed in fact that it doesn't so much as try to avoid careening straight towards Saber's attack, immediately getting chopped up in a blender of sword strikes ….
My Baby!
I can't properly mourn the death of my pedo van as a somewhat sizeable piece of shrapnel flies straight at me.
Fortunately I speak to the metal. Using telekinesis and the powers of friendship, I motivate the slab of van to stop its path of destruction and instead embrace me as a comrade in arms. A metal buddy.
Ha.
Did you actually believe that? Do you think we're in a cartoon? This is real life, not a fantasy.
And in real life there's a little thing called Newton's laws of motion. Believe me, they suck.
Instead of the glorious bromance between man and metal, what I think was once a sliding door falls on top of me, pinning me to the ground like a cockroach underneath the heel of a particularly sadistic human. Thankfully I didn't partner up with some ridiculous savage clone of the once and future king, because my fellow warrior doesn't just continue to rush towards what could have quite possibly been her annihilation.
Instead she has the sense to worry about me. Quite nice of her considering I'm in a rather precarious situation. Being squished underneath a heavy hunk of steel isn't what I'd consider a happy ending.
Saber speeds back to my side, her eyes scanning my form in search of any life threatening injuries. I have none. At most I've bruised a few ribs, but that's not my main concern. My inability to move is. I'm trapped underneath this thing. Err … I technically could get out of this, but it'd take a little too long. It's quicker for Saber to swoop in and save me like the damsel I am. And every second is important in this. A second too late and we'll end up being like my van.
"Praetor … forgive me." Oh, neato, she feels guilty. Completely unnecessary. I would have probably gotten myself into this situation regardless of her interference. In fact without her transforming into a gyro ball I would have likely been crushed by an even heavier hunk of metal. In which case I would have become tomato soup.
"Heh, if I could move my arms I'd probably give you a high five." There's a moment of silence between us. Her expression is one of sheer shock. Then it warps into a smile and she moves to help me up.
And that's precisely when a bloodcurdling roar rips through the night.
"Oh yeah. Almost forgot about him."
"Praetor! Hurry!" Saber tosses aside the debris as if it weighs nothing, and extends her hand for me to grab. I grab her by the arm, but I don't allow myself to be pulled up. No, I instead pull her to me.
She lands on top of me, a quite unpleasant collision, but it isn't a moment too soon. The muscled fist of our assailant soars right over our heads. Just a moment later and she would have been sent flying, and I would have been left at the mercy of this damn thing. There isn't any room for a misstep in our dance of destruction. And it isn't over. Not anywhere close to being over.
We're both on the ground, less than a foot away from this goliath. I toss Saber off of me and reach backwards to grab my rifle. If I hadn't reinforced it, the weapon would have likely been sheet metal by now. Instead I still have a fully operational firearm. Granted it isn't in the best shape, with its canted iron sights and scratched receiver, but it should still fire. I don't get the chance to try.
Saber's faster than me. She already has her sword out and starts to go to town on ol' Rocky. She's doing quite well too. I don't think it expected her to attack it with such viciousness. It's completely different from her previous style. There's no grace, no elegance, just rage. She's like a violent inferno, razing everything in its path.
For some reason she's furious with the thing. Maybe she mourns the loss of my van just as much as I do? I suppose it doesn't really matter.
What does matter is the fact that this thing's practically invincible. Slashes that tear through the asphalt road like its butter do nothing against this creature. Not even a scratch. Only one option. The original option.
Run away.
It isn't something I relish. This thing's too close right now for both of us to retreat at the same time. Which means I'll be entrusting a girl that's hardly five feet tall to keep a monster back long enough for me to get out of here. Honestly, it's beyond embarrassing.
Running away is shameful enough. But running away and abandoning an ally is borderline blasphemous. This brings me to the other problem. I'll be leaving Saber behind to handle this thing. Granted she has a better chance of taking it down than I do, but she'll still need all the help she can get.
Forcing her to protect me while also fighting this thing is tantamount to suicide. Either way we're screwed. What can I do? Saber's continuing to hold it back, slamming into it with enough force to push back a landslide. It goes without saying that she's impressive.
Which…. makes me feel even more inadequate.
I glance down at the weapon in my hands. Wait. I have a gun. I'm not completely useless. But a mere rifle won't be enough to take down this thing. I'm going to need a bigger boat. Uh … I mean gun. I'm going to need a bigger gun. My mantra is spoken once again. This time in a whisper, "Mutata in manibus meis."
I have no doubts that Saber would continue to attack this creature even if she fully understood its invulnerability. But she might change her mind if two things happened. One, I were to be in danger. And two, the creature was delayed long enough for us to actually attempt to flee.
So there's only one option. The FN FAL is cradled in my arms like an infant. It's my child. Something I created with my own two hands. And now it's going to be all grown up. Daddy's so, so proud.
The rifle warps, becoming far thinner than it once was. Nice to see that low bullet diet paid off. The barrel falls right out of place and lands right into my lap. It's still changing though, just like the rest of the rifle.
The rear sight stretches out, elongating both vertically and horizontally and becoming rectangular shaped. It looks quite like an open door leading straight into the depths of hell. The front sight grows, slowly extending upwards until it starts to look more like an unfinished keyhole. I'm thinking quite a lot about doors lately. Maybe it's because I was practically part of one not even thirty seconds ago.
The magazine falls out of my rifle. It morphs into a weird oval shape and, upon touching the barrel in my lap, combines into an object that looks more akin to the stamen of a flower. And that's when something begins to bud out from it, excess metal forming into a smaller recreation of what I guess could be called the anther of this stamen. Ok, we went from door imagery to flower imagery. Thanks brain.
Meanwhile my rifle's undergone an unholy transformation, becoming more like a piece of pipe with two pistol grips slapped onto it. Oh, and a flared end that looks like the bell of a trombone. Basically what I'm saying is I've just created a fugly abomination. My Frankenstein monster.
What I have is the guerrilla fighter's anti-tank weapon of choice. A weapon that's been used by everyone from the Taliban to the Russian Army. The RPG-7. I think. Maybe it's an RPG-7V2? Sue me for not remembering the exact differences between Russian grenade launchers.
Whatever V it is, it's quite a difference from the FN FAL, a gun that was nicknamed 'the Right Arm of the Free World'. But that doesn't make in any less deadly. In fact, right now it's probably going to pack a hell of a punch.
I insert the weird stamen shaped thing into the launcher. It's actually called a PG-7VR, a dual HEAT warhead that detonates twice to combat the reactive armor tanks typically use. Though I'm not going to get into the specifics of how it does this. It's boring and talking a bunch of gun porn just makes me look like an ass.
Just know that it blows up twice, the second boom being much bigger than the first.
Saber! Throw me backwards! Two mental commands. Just two. I take aim at the beast, the warhead pointed directly at its center mass. At this range the blast would kill me too.
Which is why I told Saber to throw me, now if only she doesn't question ….
I'm tossed away like a ragdoll. Miraculously I manage to retain my grasp on the grenade launcher and as such I perform what is probably the first rocket jump in human history. Albeit, I'm not really shooting a rocket, and I'm not actually jumping. But 'rocket-propelled grenade hurl' doesn't roll of the tongue nearly as well.
Saber, despite not even realizing what I'm doing, somehow registers that I just shot a modern day cannonball in her general direction. She also seems to realize she tossed me like a baseball. I'm guessing that was done purely through instinct. Or maybe she was just subconsciously desiring to toss me aside this entire time?
Regardless, she figures out that something's up. And she also figures out that she should probably get the hell out of Dodge. She stops abruptly in her battle against the beast, and changes course moving backwards, away from the blast zone, and closer to me. Hopefully she'll get here soon, I would prefer not landing on my ass after doing something so awesome. It'd be anticlimactic.
The warhead smashes straight into our friend the rock beast. The smaller 64mm part detonates first. It penetrates the thing's thick hide, cutting a hole straight into the monstrosity's chest. This alone would be impressive, considering nothing else has so much as scratched the bastard, but it's not even the end. There's still the 105mm warhead. The second blast is even more spectacular than the first. Debris rips through the air, shrapnel hurled at speeds faster than the human eye can track. It's not the warhead itself that's causing this. No, that's not intended to blow the thing up. At least from the outside. The creature's very own body is causing this.
If I had x-ray vision I would have been capable of witnessing the ultimate heart burn. Flames as hot as the surface of the sun are bathing the inside of this thing's body, literally cooking him from the inside out. Internal cremation isn't its main concern though. The liquefaction of its flesh is. That first charge did something oh so cruel. That small little hole it made? That allowed the entire explosion to focus, funneling all the shrapnel, heat, and fire straight to the beast's heart. Or at least where I suppose it should have its heart.
At the point of the warhead where the second explosion first detonated something even worse happened. Something that explained how so much shrapnel could come from such a relatively small grenade. The heat of the blast radius melted the creature's skin, and then those shards of its flesh jettisoned straight into the hole the first detonation made.
This is why this warhead is particularly potent against tanks. (Or at least it was before engineers stepped up their game.) It didn't need to blast a massive hole through armor. All it did was turn the armor against the enemy. What should protect the crew instead becomes the cause of their demise, melting into a super-hot shrapnel storm that rains upon those inside.
Damn, I said I wasn't going to explain all this and I ended up doing it anyway. Shit. Lesson over kids, back to killing monsters.
This thing took a 7.62. It took all of Saber's strength. It could not take the RPG. It wasn't meant to. It could easily deflect blows, but it couldn't stand up against penetration. There's a joke to be made here. It's an easy one to make though, so I'm going to avoid going after the low hanging fruit. Bwahahaha!
Perhaps if it hadn't relied so much on its rugged exterior it would have stood a better chance. Simply moving out of the way of the projectile would have been enough. The shrapnel of the first explosion only moves at around twice the speed of sound. That's child play for a Servant. Of course I still ain't if this thing is a Servant or not. So maybe it couldn't have dodged. It does not matter right now.
See the molten shrapnel shaking around in the thing's chest cavity? Surprisingly, it doesn't stop its path of destruction. It slices through the thing's back, and goes straight into those wimpy looking wings. Looks like the tenacity of its hide translated well to its strength as a projectile. It just refuses to give in.
Those wings? Yeah, they end up shattering into a million pieces, and those pieces are currently flying around in the air. That's where all this debris is coming from. It's shooting everywhere, to the point where Saber actually has to draw her blade to deflect it. These are lethal splinters that can turn a man into grated cheese. If I get hit by one I'm going to end up looking like I went through a meat grinder. So of course Saber has to save me. In midair. While she's desperately attempting to reach me before I fall to the ground. Did I mention she's impressive?
There's an odd scream from the creature. Not a roar, a scream. It's crying out in pain as pieces from its own wings slice its haunches to ribbons. Which essentially means it's being torn up from both the front and the back. Heh heh. Double penetration. Heh heh. I'm quite satisfied right now. The thing that tried to kill us is now crying out in agony. It's a far cry from the invincible creature we once faced.
Saber manages to grab me, plucking me out of the air, and just like that we're out of there. I don't even get to see the thing go through its final death throes. The smoke from the explosion, and the subsequent clouds of dust that were kicked up, impairs my vision. Luckily I don't have to worry, Saber's carting me away, and there's no way that thing's going to manage to catch us now. Even if it did somehow manage to endure an RPG shot.
"Hey pal, can I at least get a piggyback ride?" Saber's carrying me rather awkwardly. I feel more like a kitten being carried away by its mother than a soldier carted away from the battlefield. It would be worse if I were still holding the launcher. I'm glad it's reformed into the Pico. A handgun is much easier to hold.
Unfortunately Saber doesn't seem to be in a mood to joke. She fixates a glare down on me. "That was rather reckless, Praetor."
I can't help it. I let a massive shit eating grin form on my face. "But it worked."
There's a moment of silence between us. And then … she looks back down on me with a somewhat sizeable grin on her face as well. "Mmm … yes, I suppose it did."
That's probably the closest I'll ever get to a 'good job' from her. I can't help but release a content sigh. Things are going better than I expected. They're not going like I planned, but so far that's not necessarily a bad thing. Hopefully my luck, or lack of luck, will continue to hold out.
But for now all I have to worry about is Saber taking me home. "Circle around the neighborhood a few times to throw off anyone tailing us. Then go here." I send her a mental Google Maps image of my house. That should be enough to get her there.
"Praetor, your house looks rather bland." I don't answer her. Guess I accidentally sent her more than just the location of it. Screw it. In fact, an image of the thing might help her find it better.
I'm kind of tired. Even more than before that brute clobbered my van. I can feel myself nodding off, slowly succumbing to my exhaustion. Man, hopefully she won't need me to do anything like unlock the front gate and the door. I would have to stay awake. Eh, she can just kick it down. I'm tired.
"Oh, tired are we? Do not worry Praetor, I shall protect you while you sleep. Sweet dreams." I can already imagine that damn smile on her face but … thanks Saber. I'm just hoping I won't have any nightmares. Those suck.
AN: Yet another cliffhanger ending! Sorry 'bout that, but this felt like a rather good place to leave off. Especially considering how long this chapter is already. The next chapter's going to be far less action packed. More comedy/slice of life based, showing off some interactions between Saber and Dante.
Also, apologies for the massive technical info dump involving both Dante's magic and the weapons he uses this chapter. I did that here just to be as detailed as possible in this fight, and to sort of display the exact differences between Dante's power in this fic in comparison to GEGE. Trust me, it won't be like this in the future. You're probably just going to see the quick little mentions of Dante building blank firearm, and then he's just going to start using it right off the bat. No wordy descriptions from me.
Now as a response to King0fP0wers, well I won't judge you for shipping Kiara and Dante. Much. You sick, sick fiend! Granted, I can see the allure. Both are extremely ... odd characters. To be honest I can see some similarities between Kiara and Nero. They're both attention whores with dark pasts. I don't want to spoil too much about who's going to be in this. But I'll throw you a bone, Rider's going to be involved still. But she won't be summoned by Shinji. After all, he already summoned his Servant. There is one Master who hasn't though ... Wonder who that could be? As for Karna, well to be frank I'm not that savvy with Hindu mythology. But I have done some consideration towards including him. He probably won't replace anyone. It'll be more of a 'the Grail's broken' thing. Perhaps he'll be a late summon, after some else dies. Thanks for the review!
One last thing, big shout out to King Keith. He undertook the massive job of reviewing this chapter, and I'd say he did a pretty good job. This chapter would be far worse without his input. Why don't you give his work a look as a token of appreciation? And feel free to review this chapter as well. I would be eternally grateful. Plus it'd help me avoid stupid mistakes in the future. Believe me, none of us want to see me make stupid mistakes. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed!
Next chapter- Money for Nothing. Where you'll see Saber bankrupt Dante in the span of two days.