Disclaimer: This chapter was originally like 12,000 words. I've split in half in order to make it less of an editing ordeal. Enjoy!
She stands over him, looking down upon his slumbering form as he lays before her on a rusted bench. The rusted bench she placed him on mere moments ago. She carefully observes every breath he exhales, every minute elevation of his chest as it draws in oxygen. He is alive. But he isn't waking.
Saber places a hand upon his cheek, softly caressing her Master's flesh. He doesn't even flinch from the contact. "Praetor …."
He is an erratic man. She has realized this. Every moment she spends around him confuses her greatly. The man is a walking contradiction. Broken. He can't be called sane. Nor would it be fair to refer to him as insane. He merely is a walking paradox. An oxymoron if you will. He is ….
Impulsive. Moving as if every second were his last and rushing forward without looking back.
Eccentric. As he rambled on in seemingly meaningless tangents of thought.
Risky. For he had put himself in mortal danger for no apparent reason. One could almost call him careless in how he had acted.
Yet during that battle something had burned deep within him. She had felt it. Their connection made sure she did. Gone was the tired man from before. The man that targets children in order to accelerate his victory. In place of that decayed shell was a warrior. One who knew how to put on an impressive show.
In some strange way his actions remind her of the brutal showmen of her era, the gladiators. She tries not to imagine him as such, as it would be a disservice to his social class, but the image sticks in her mind. It doesn't at all help that he's crass, crude, and utterly uncivilized. Yes. He is very much like a gladiator.
However, it might be best to view him as something other than a gladiator. For it will besmirch her standing to fight alongside one of such a low character. Even if that is truly the reality of her situation, she can at least pretend it isn't. Now, what can he be? Her Master needs a more suitable class. She chose the Saber class because it was the best class. Therefore, her Master deserves a comparison of equal importance.
Perhaps a Praetorian? Immediately she is reminded of his personality …it almost causes her to giggle at the thought of such a man belonging part of her guard. It would make for an interesting story …. One of a thuggish captain, harshly punishing those who dared to disrespect his Emperor. The thought causes her to positively glow with pride. It fizzles once she tries to imagine Dante as such a guard. The man's ridiculously arrogant smirk simply would not fit the role of a protector. No, maybe such a man does belong in the brutish category of 'gladiator'. And yet …. She is slightly disappointed this is the case.
She sighs, her bosom shifting slightly from the act, as she stares at the man's form. Still, he is her Praetor. And he's surprised her more than once this night. Maybe he will surprise her some more. She had stopped briefly to familiarize herself with the surrounding terrain. His house is just over the horizon, close enough that she could toss him to it if she wished. Even with her D ranked Strength.
She scoops him up like a mother picking up their baby. "Let us see if your home is properly furnished, Praetor. I am most interested in how you will surprise me this time." Talk about jinxing yourself.
Five minutes later and Saber desperately wishes she could claw out her own eyes. Or at least rip off her nose. Even if it would tarnish her beauty, the thought of smelling this stench for another second sets her into frenzy. Her head is killing her, a migraine far more intense than any she ever remembers experiencing.
"What kind of cretin leaves their trash lying around?! One's home is not meant to look like a landfill!" Her arms fly around emphatically. She had stepped on a rotten slice of pizza within her first ten seconds in his house. That had been the start of her temper tantrum. That poor slice of pizza had acted as the spark to set off this powder keg.
"What are these tacky pieces of paper stapled to the walls?!" She rips off a movie poster from the wall, bringing it closer to her face in order to properly read it. "Who is this Al Pacino? Why does Praetor believe him to be so important his face is on the wall?" She tosses the object on the ground. "Unacceptable, Praetor should only have pictures of me on the wall."
She takes another step forward, this time making sure to avoid the half-eaten pieces of foodstuffs he had littered across the floor. They're like landmines she has to tiptoe around to avoid. With an Agility rank of A there's no way she'll accidentally step on anything now that she's aware of the mess. Except … she does exactly that. She slips on a banana peel. An actual banana peel. It's almost like God himself placed it there, just to spite the King of Roses for persecuting his chosen people.
In this case, God just so happened to have the sense of humor most often found in Looney Tunes cartoons.
She slips, dramatically spins around in midair, and lands face first into a pile of dirty socks.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she rises from the filth. A half-chewed wad of gum is stuck to her forehead. Vaguely, she realizes it's attachment to her. Vaguely, she realizes that her hands are placed atop a soiled pair of boxers. Vaguely, she realizes someone must pay for this.
She couldn't punish her Praetor sufficiently. Punishing him sufficiently would have included crucifixion. Possibly with a side of immolation. But, she would have only done that had he done this to her intentionally. She didn't think that to be the case. After all, the man hadn't been actively trying to summon her and had simply taken the role of her Master after dispatching her preadolescent summoner.
He wouldn't have left such a mess had he known of her arrival. She sorely wishes he had warned her beforehand, but what's done is done. Now, on the off chance this was intentional on his part, the Colosseum needed to be constructed right away. Because her 'gladiator' would be tossed to the beasts straight away.
She tells herself this in not the case. It must merely be a misunderstanding. No fool would leave their abode in such terrible shape if they knew an emperor would be visiting them. Dante was no fool, so therefore he had done this accidentally.
She also doesn't feel right planning his crucifixion. He's sleeping on the floor next to her, covered in the same mess she's in. It would be nothing short of evil to disturb the peaceful look on his face. And it seems like a bad omen to wish such ill will towards the man when he's not even awake to defend himself. Which means the only thing she can turn her frustrations upon is the mess itself.
It makes sense. After all, this mess sullied her clothes. Praetor is also a victim here. She shudders at the thought of his daily life. "Poor Praetor. This vile filth must have been torture to him." Her mind is trying to rationalize this all. There's no way he actually lived like this intentionally. She had said it herself. Albeit in an exasperated wail.
Above all else she just couldn't handle the thought that she might have a Master so disgustingly lazy he willingly lived like a pig. She couldn't dare entertain that thought. Due to these mental gymnastics, Dante would end up being quite lucky. Well, not completely ….
Someone still had to pay. And she'd already decided it was going to be the mess itself. That mess exists throughout the entire house.
So, there's only one option. Purification. Of everything. Effective immediately.
Meanwhile, her Praetor dreams of a very strange time. It takes place in a time in which alcoholism is the norm, and where penises are involved in practically every form of art. An era that can be summed up in one word. Degeneracy.
Rather fitting for a man like Dante di Prinzi.
Chapter 5- Burned to Serve As Nocturnal Light
I must have slept through the night. It's daytime out now. Something feels … off. I don't know what it is. This just doesn't feel like Fuyuki anymore. It's much more beautiful, with a vast array of shrubbery sprinkled around for decorative purposes. They really spruce up things, and I can't help but conclude that wherever I happen to be, it's far livelier than Fuyuki ever was.
Something tells me I've been here before. The architecture feels familiar. It's made entirely out of marble, and the architect that designed it was quite lax with his use of columns and arches. Why, it feels almost like I'm in Rome. But that's impossible. There's no way I traveled so many thousands of miles without noticing.
I glance around, looking for someone distinguishable in the crowd that's surrounds me. Something on my head shifts around uncomfortably. Am I wearing a hat? Whatever it is, it's rather heavy. How odd. I'm not particularly fond of headwear. I want to take it off, to look at what I'm wearing, but for some reason my arms refuse to move.
Huh. I must still be exhausted. Probably just because I overexerted myself. That fight did take a lot out of me. Shouldn't have been so reckless. Saber could have held that thing off long enough for me to escape. But I couldn't abandon her. It just didn't feel right. Regardless, my regrets about that night don't matter now.
It's the morning after and I'm in an unknown location. I have to find Saber, and figure out how to get back. Who knows what'll happen to Fuyuki in my absence. I start walking forward. I … don't particularly know where I'm going. I didn't want to go in this direction, my feet just started walking of their own volition.
My footwear clicks against the road with each step I take. Why are they doing that? I was wearing combat boot before. Those shouldn't be clicking on the ground like goddamn high heels. I walk through the crowd, for some reason they actual part to the side in order to grant me a path forward. It's like Moses' splitting of the Red Sea.
Again, I don't know what's going on, and I'm beginning to feel even more uncomfortable with this entire situation. And why the hell are these people giants? They have to be at least seven feet tall! My head only comes up to their chests. Yet I still make eye contact with each and every one of them.
This almost feels like a cutscene in a videogame. I have absolutely zero control over my body. I'm like a member of the audience, merely watching things happen through the perspective of the protagonist. This is terrifying. Part of me starts to panic. This is agonizing. Not at all unlike being buried alive. An intense feeling of claustrophobia overtakes me at that thought. My body has become some sort of prison, and my actions are no longer my own. I need to do something. I need to figure out what's going on.
"Imperatrix!"
One of the crowd's ilk rushes towards me. The action would normally cause me to stiffen, simply out of paranoia that an ambush was taking place. However, I do no such thing. My muscles remain relaxed, my stance casual, and for some damn reason a smile plasters itself across my face. Not a smirk. A smile. And not even a sly one. No, a genuine honest smile.
The crowd stiffens for me. Someone even tries to grab the person who rushed towards me, likely wishing to pull them back in their midst. The one who called out to me pushes them off and my vision focuses on their appearance. A beautiful young woman. A brunette. With long flowing curls. Her figure is like that of an hourglass. This is a woman that could pass for being a supermodel. A Mona Lisa, the type who'd be used as a reference point for artists working on their magnum opus.
She charges straight for me, and for a hesitant moment I assume she's going to tackle me. She doesn't, apparently showing at least some restraint. Instead she stops barely a foot away, wipes her hands on her dress (which looks more like some kind of toga now that I think about it) and bows deeply.
A jumbled mess of words pours forth from her mouth. I recognize it as being Latin. But it's different than the Latin I know. The syllables are off. It's a different dialect than that spoken in the Church. It is far too formal for my tastes. It sounds stuffy, pompous even. I have to work at processing what this girl's saying. I get the gist of it, but even with what I can understand it is all rather confusing.
She continues speaking. Something about it being an honor to meet me. Also how she believes in me. This useless flattery continues for a good thirty seconds. Throughout all of it the crowd's looking at me with apprehension. I don't know why. Which isn't surprising. I have no idea what's going on, period.
My 'fan' stops speaking, bows her head deeply and seems to be taking her leave of me. For some reason my arm reaches out and stops her. My hand lightly strokes the side of her face. Why … is my hand so slender? Ha, ha, my hands have shrunk. Is this some kind of joke? And then I speak. Or rather, the body I inhabit speaks. For that is certainly not my voice. It's again in this antiquated style, but I still can make out most of it. But that's not the part that worries me. No, what worries me is the fact that my voice is distinctly feminine. What the fuck?
"You are a most beautiful creature. Even Venus would be jealous of your looks. Worry not my fair subject, for I shall serve you well." There are a lot more flowery parts in there, but I'm condensing it. No point in translating useless shit that's mostly just compliments and ridiculous metaphors.
The woman blushes, and tears, of all things, start to form in her eyes. She thanks me profusely, and I feel my head nod up and down in response. It's incredibly awkward. But I can't help but feel it's going to get worse.
Yup. I'm right. It gets worse.
I embrace her.
Holding her tightly like a long lost lover I've finally been reunited with. In doing so, I realize three things.
One, that my face is pressed right into her breasts.
Two, she's intoxicatingly soft. Like seriously. This is some Tempur-Pedic shit.
And three, I have breasts of my own.
I don't know why I hadn't realized this before. Maybe it's because I'm used to carrying heavy things while walking. Or maybe it's because I couldn't look down since I couldn't control my body. Or maybe I just kind of accepted having melons glued to me. Whatever the case, I have boobs. I know this because they press against the other woman's lower abdomen. So … I'm a chick? What kind of weird fever dream have I gotten myself into this time? This is some LSD Dream Emulator level shenanigans.
The embrace is broken when another man from the crowd pulls her away from me. He bows his head in my presence, practically touching the ground in doing so. Another collection of gibberish spews from his mouth. He's apologizing for the girl, who's apparently his daughter. My body again moves on its own accord, shaking its head violently back and forth. Great, I'm starting to get a headache from this.
I reply to him, "Nonsense. I have time for each of my subjects. I love all of you, for you are all special to me, and to Roma." More nonsensical bullshit.
Before this little conversation can continue, a balding man pushes his way past the crowd and calls out to me. "Nero! Come on! Your mother is waiting!" 'Nero'?
A hearty chuckle escapes my lips. "Let her wait. I am attending to my people's needs."
The man sighs. He's a middle-aged fellow. Looks somewhat similar to Curly from the Three Stooges. Yet that serious expression on his face tells me he his personality is probably quite different from Curly's.
"Nero, the inauguration is set to start in an hour. We must return at once. You need to be properly prepared for the celebrations."
I giggle. Holy shit I just giggled. That's disgusting. I mean, I can handle the whole genderbent thing, but I refuse to be giggling. That's beyond abhorrent behavior.
"My dear Seneca, You worry far too much."
'Seneca' scowls at me, and opens his mouth to likely chastise me. I sigh, and then that far too cheerful smile finds its way back on my face.
"But I understand. I will follow mother's wishes."
Seneca, seems sufficiently pleased by this. He nods, and walks away likely expecting me to follow him. I'm not at all surprised when my body runs in the opposite direction. A giddy laugh emanates from my lips and echoes off into the distance.
Its response is simple, blunt, and tells me trouble is afoot.
Seneca's voice calls out to me. "Neeerrrooo!" Clearly he's not happy.
Well, I don't blame him. I'm not too happy either. I'm stuck in a foreign land in the body of a woman that goes by the name 'Nero'. It can't be the one known as Emperor Nero, can it? That was a man, not a woman. There's no way I'm him. Or is he me? Are we each other, or no one at all? This is confusing me. I'm confusing myself.
There is one little thought that digs its way into my mind. "Didn't Saber say she was an Emperor?" I can't be her. Or she can't be me. Shit. Let's avoid going down that rabbit hole twice. Did I just figure out Saber's identity? I don't know. Maybe I can ask her about it when I'm not trapped in a chick's body.
Speaking of which, I better not be stuck like this for an extended period of time. I mean, it's going to get boring in here, talking to myself. I can't even do anything, and I'm going to be constantly monitoring this 'Nero' go about her daily life. What is this reality TV? I don't give a shit about this person's life. Just let me go back to mine!
And what the hell am I supposed to do when she sleeps? Or when she bathes or goes to the bathroom? Can I just tap out and possess someone else? I'll be such a petty, vengeful spirit by the time this is over. Going from one body to the next, unable to actually do anything. So this is what causes ghosts to be so dickish.
I must have died, and this must be like some weird grace period. Where I'm a disembodied spirit, but incapable of interacting with physical objects. Is this some odd form of Limbo? Or perhaps a mistake was made in my reincarnation? Wait … how could I have died? Did I pass away quietly in my sleep? Bullshit. I refuse to go gently into the night. I will rage against the dying of the light!
Just as this thought crosses my mind, I, not the woman named Nero that I inhabit, collapse to the ground. A massive migraine overtakes me and numerous emotions swirl around the toxic cesspool that is my mind.
There's a noticeable difference between my form and the woman's I had inhabited. My hips aren't as wide, my ass is flatter, my muscles larger. I also lack tits. No man boobs for me. It's but a brief relief to realize I'm once again … well me. But the overwhelming wave of pain that washes over me causes me to forget any happiness born from the reclamation of my body.
Not only does my head ache, but everywhere feels like it's on fire. I'm on all fours, and because of this I'm able to notice that my hands have indeed taken their usual appearance. Large, meaty, and relatively hairy appendages, quite unlike those slender feminine ones I had not but a moment ago.
A rising warmth is born on my back, almost as if someone has saddled me like a horse. The heat grows, and blood rushes to my face from exertion. Now it feels like the sun has been beating down upon my bare flesh for days. It doesn't stop. I feel like I'm being lashed by a whip. Smoke reaches my nostrils, and I have an alarming thought. Is my back on fire? It has to be. What else could it be?
I force my way up. This ends up being a mistake. As soon as I'm standing a wave of heat and soot slams down upon me. There's no air. Nothing to breathe, except the toxic fumes born from flame. I'm not the only thing on fire. The very world is on fire.
"How …? How could this happen?"
I'm not the one who says it. It's impossible for me to speak. The smoke has taken my voice. The person who has spoken is a woman. She's in her late twenties, looks almost around my age actually. I recognize her. How could I not? Even with a soot soiled face, even with torn clothes and scorched hair, she's still Saber.
"How? Why?" She doesn't notice me. Or rather, she can't notice me.
Her gaze sweeps over my location and goes straight through me. Almost as if I weren't there. It causes a shiver to run down my spine. I never was much of a fan of being ignored.
"S-s-saber?" It comes out as a mutter.
She doesn't hear me, instead she keeps talking to herself. "How could I let this happen?"
She's devastated. I can tell that by the broken tone of her voice. There's lack of confidence in her words. The tears streaking down her face, becoming dirty by the soot on her, are also a dead giveaway. I try to speak once again, just to get her attention. I need to figure out why we're trapped in this hell on earth. I don't know where we are, or what is happening, and I want to desperately plead with her to make sense out of this situation.
I can't say a thing. That single utterance of her name has drained me. It had allowed the smoke to enter my throat, scorching my esophagus. My lungs burn, not just from the lack of oxygen but from the inhalation of smoke as well. I cough a hopeless attempt at ridding myself of this ailment.
I need to get out of here. I'm going to die if I don't. But I can't leave Saber. I take a step towards her, finding comfort in the sound my boots make as they crunch down on the embers of the flames. It helps to be happy over the little things. My hand reaches out to her. She doesn't stir. Her expression is forlorn. That beautiful positivity she seemed to emanate from every pore has been lost. Her aesthetic is replaced with emotions more suited for a nihilist.
I cough once more; the smog is starting to smother me. I can tell this by the dizziness I feel. That's the lack of air taking effect.
One more step.
Two more steps.
Three.
Four.
She's so fucking close. Just inches from my reach. I can grab her, and we can run away from this hellfire. My hand wraps around her wrist and I pull her towards me. She looks up, right into my eyes. Emerald orbs lock onto those made of crystallized honey. I can see my own reflection in her pupils. It gives me hope. The man in her eyes is a savior. A hero. Someone worthy of being remembered.
"P-praetor?" She sees me and I see her.
We need to get out of here. Now. I try to tell this mentally. It doesn't work. The mental link between us was not all that different from radio communication. Using that analogy, the 'frequency' we shared was filled with nothing but static.
She opens her mouth wide. Much wider than I would have thought possible for any creature besides a snake or some other various reptilian. I don't know what I expect. Perhaps a reference to the library scene in Ghostbusters a la me. Perhaps some random sexual innuendo a la Kiara. What I should have expected was the most obvious of things. A screamer. How cliché.
It cause me to release her, my hands instead rushing to cover my ears. Not a moment too soon, as Saber spontaneously combusts on the spot. She becomes one with the blaze surrounding us. I look on in horror as the girl I've known for barely a day writhes in agony. This was the death of Joan of Arc. The preferred execution method during the Inquisition. The demise of Frankenstein's monster. What a way to go.
I take off my jacket, the cheap hoodie already singed. My mind never attempts to look at this logically. I don't even realize I'm no longer aflame. That during these past few moments I've been perfectly fine. That the only reason I was coughing was because I saw the smoke and rationalized that I should be coughing. I'm not thinking clearly. How could I? I'm horrified by what's happening. My partner's dying in front of me. Logic flew out the window a long time ago.
I rush to Saber, wrapping her in my hoodie. If I can cover her tightly enough maybe I can suffocate the flames …. I can save her. I will save her. For a brief splendid moment it seems to be working. And then the flames burn straight through the jacket, consuming it.
They stretch across the jacket's fabric and kiss my skin. It sizzles upon contact. The smell of burnt hair and flesh wafts up to my nose. The flames continue on their path of destruction, climbing from my hands all the way up to my shoulders. I don't even have time to frantically swat at them. This is an unnatural flame. It coils and wreaths around you as if it were alive.
I feel as if I've been attacked with napalm. I can't put this fire out. Somehow I know that without even trying to. No matter how hard I try, it'll just keep spreading. These flames are an unrelenting force of hatred incarnate. I'm going to die. I was destined to die the moment I was brought here.
I watch as the burnt husk that was Saber collapses into a pile of ash. I can't help but think that'll be me soon. My flesh bubbles from the heat. My bones crack underneath the pressure. My knees give out, and I fall upon them, kneeling as if I were about to pray. If I could speak I would say something along the lines of "This is an accurate portrayal of how I felt watching Fifty Shades of Grey." But I can't speak. My tongue has already shriveled up.
I look out upon the scorched earth in front of me. It's beautiful in a way, despite how terrifying it is. Those flames promise warmth and light, just as they promise destruction and pain.
I decide I want to ingrain this image of the inferno in my memories forever. Even if those memories might only last for a few more milliseconds. If I am to die here I shall gaze defiantly upon this cruel disaster until the heat melts my corneas into puddles of goo. I don't watch for long. The flames consume me as quickly as they consumed my jacket. I burn like logs in a fireplace.
No longer human.
No longer alive.
Just firewood.
Fuel for the fire.
I wake up in a very, very strange position. The kind of position that makes me think I was just haphazardly tossed on my bed. Like a crumpled up piece of paper tossed aside.
I have a vague recollection of the night's events. We encountered what I presume to be the Berserker of this war. Or at least a particularly strong familiar created by a quite skilled Magus. Saber attacked it. I shot it. It kind of just shrugged everything off. Then it went 'Hulk smash' on us. Saber attacked it some more. And then I shot it with an RPG. That was a little harder for it to brush aside. After that Saber grabbed me and we retreated.
Saber...The nightmare I had flashes before my eyes. What was that all about? Was it a premonition of the future? Some sort of Final Destination shit telling me how to die? Or was it a recollection of the past? I don't know. I doubt Saber knows either. I'm just going to push it aside for now and focus on the present.
I must have drifted off during the trip, and now I'm back at home. That would explain the uncomfortable bed I'm in. I never got around to buying a new mattress. I do a quick scan of the room, and I'm pleased to see the Pico survived. It's on the lampstand right next to my side of the bed, fully formed and all.
"Ah, Praetor. It seems you are awake." The voice causes me to jump a little. And not because the last time I heard it was when its owner reenacted the Wicker Man in front of me. No, that's definitely not why I jumped. She just surprised me. I hadn't seen her, that's all. This room's dark! Someone needs to turn on the goddamn lights!
"Y-yeah. Guess I am." I rub the sleep from my eyes, a desperate attempt at regaining my focus. My mind's still slowly chugging to life, like a computer rebooting after years of disuse. "How long I been out?" I mumble this, a jumbled slur of words, nearly incomprehensible to even my own ears.
Somehow Saber understands my question. Ah, the Grail should translate automatically for her all the languages of the world. Even the most difficult of them all. Gibberish. Or … maybe she just has sharp hearing.
"Mmm … about forty-eight hours."
Excuse me?!
I start nervously chuckling. "Sorry, I thought I heard you say '48 hours'." I'm fully awake now. Any desire to return to dreamland has completely fled me.
Saber blinks, seemingly dumbfounded by my question. "I did?" She doesn't say this like she's questioning my words. No, she says it like she's confused as to why I'm questioning her words.
I bolt out of bed, pushing past Saber, who had pulled up a chair to sit beside me. And … she easily pushes me back down, knocking me back into bed without much effort. It quite embarrassing. She actually knocks a little wind out of me doing it. Damn, woman! You scary!
"Praetor, it would be wise of you to stay in bed. Continue to rest."
Her words give no room for an argument, but of course I'm not the type to concede so easily. "I've been sleeping for two days. That's more than enough."
She fixes a sharp glare my way. "I disagree, Praetor. You seem to be suffering the consequences of overexerting your magical circuits. Recuperating from this will take far longer than two days."
What is she implying? That I'm so weak my battery's dry after some 'minor' crafting? Ok, maybe she's kind of right. I probably cut my life short by a good couple years pulling that stunt I did. But now's not the time to hold back. I have to twist this so we can keep fighting. The war won't wait for me to get better.
I have to sell this good, or else I'm going to be on bedrest for the rest of the week. This city could be destroyed by then. I can't get booze and cigarettes when all the convenience stores are gone!
"Preposterous." Boy does that word sound pretentious. She raises an eyebrow. Her mouth opens as she begins to protest.
I refuse to let her.
"Saber we've known each other less than a day." Well, technically more than a day. But I'm not counting all the time I was asleep. Even if I was in a dream involving you. That's far too intimate to share with her. She'll think I'm some kinda perv if I tell her I had a dream about her. I'm not getting the generic anime slap that comes with such a revelation.
"Frankly it's insulting for you to underestimate me so much." Translation: "you judged my power levels completely accurately, and my own inadequateness is causing me to project my feelings of insecurity upon you."
This should work. I just need to avoid unconsciously rambling aloud to myself. If I can do that I'm all good. I've layered this thing with two lies. (Lieception, if you will.) The lie that she underestimated me, and the lie that I've taken offense to it. And both are the sort of lies that she'd like to believe. I'm showing a false sense of pride, and if I can preemptively judge anything about Saber it's that she's quite full of pride herself.
Her reaction confirms that I'm correct. It's an interesting one. Her face turns a slight shade of pink. The eyebrows that were previously raised in annoyance now rise in shock. She starts sputtering out a flurry of words before I can even begin to understand what she's saying.
"Iwasnotimplyinganythingofthesort!" Try saying that ten times fast. Her hands go to her hips and in one of the haughtiest poses imaginable, she continues. "In fact you were quite impressive for a mere mage. The way you fearlessly charged into danger, despite being reckless, was still quite remarkable."
I'm being insulted and praised all in the same sentence. How odd.
"Uh, thanks?"
She raises her chin into the air, I guess in an attempt at towering over me. Of course she's an Oompa Loompa so that's not quite effective. Now her eyes are closed, almost like she's remembering something.
"I did not expect you to be the sort that'd willingly enter combat. From how you handled the child I was under the impression you were a sneaky coward." Did this woman not recall I openly admitted to making some dude explode? Or did she not believe that? Maybe she was actively repressing the memory?
She opens her eyes and makes a 'humph' sound at me. "Then again, you did cause us to flee so soon." A grim frown finds its way on her face, a stark contrast to the befuddled expression she had.
The implication that I'm a coward doesn't really faze me. Yellow bellied wimps were the types who survived. Glory hounds that fought for honor were the morons that lost their heads. Trust me; I fully intend to keep my noggin.
"You still don't understand, do you?"
For a moment those eyes filled with mock disappointment shift, and I get a good look at her puzzled state. "Oh? What is it I do not understand?"
I sigh at the girl. "We would have lost had we stayed."
This assertion seems to strike her very soul. I watch as she visibly wilts, like a rose long past its prime. Maybe I assumed too much. It seems she did realize how close we came to death.
"Praetor …." Tears form in the corners of her eyes, and for a brief second I pray to Pesci that I won't have to deal with a sobbing woman.
He answers my prayers.
Joe Pesci doesn't fuck around.
She closes her eyes, seemingly recomposing herself, and then they open. The perplexed look in them is long gone. Replaced with two emerald orbs, blazing flames of fury kindling in her pupils.
"You asked me not to underestimate you. I would ask you to do the same." The entire room becomes deathly quiet. If there were crickets you'd hear them chirping. Fortunately there aren't any. I'd have to call an exterminator if there were.
Then, that silence is broken. By laughter. My laughter. "Bwahahaha!" Oh, man. It kind of hurts my chest. Those ribs must still be sore.
Her tears reappear once again, ever so briefly, and then she blinks them away. Her eyes narrow dangerously, to the point where she looks more like a cat then a human. "What about that is funny?"
Everything. Everything about that is funny.
"Do you even hear yourself?" Those eyes continue to narrow, she's practically squinting at me now. Cool it Clint, you're going to strain your eyes.
"I do. It seems quite fair to expect you to treat me the same way you desire I treat you. Does it not?" Venom laces her words; I am so going to enjoy putting her in her place in a minute. "Or would you rather be treated as an inferior? I have been polite and respectful towards you, yet you continue to take me as a joke."
Oh, is she actually getting pissed? Her voice is elevating in pitch, to the point where she sounds like she inhaled helium. I'm in a verbal argument with a chipmunk for Pete's sake.
"You have to be joking." My words do nothing to ease her mind.
She glares at me, a hateful look that would make any man question their life choices.
She opens her mouth, preparing to once again rant at my transgressions.
And, for what seems like the umpteenth time, I interrupt her.
"Underestimate you? You? The girl that charges at monsters without a moment of hesitation?"
She freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights, completely flabbergasted. "Wha–?"
"Do you think I'm blind?! I wish I had a camera (and spare time)! You were amazing!" A choking sound escapes her open mouth.
I continue speaking, ignoring the stunned look of my companion. "No, I'm not underestimating you. I have no doubts you could have taken out any normal Servant without much of a problem." With one hand I close her jaw. With the other I lightly bop her on the nose.
The wild confused look in her eyes only increases in its intensity. Hey, but at least the threat of tears spilling over is gone.
"But keep in mind we didn't just fight any normal ole Servant. Hell, I'm still not sure if that was a Servant. It could have been some odd demon that wandered into the wrong city." My shoulders rise in a shrug. "Really you're underestimating the enemy."
She stiffens at the suggestion, her shoulders tensing as if struck. "Praetor, I believe you give that creature too much credit. It was just a mindless beast, incapable of–!"
"Shhh." I press a finger to her lips. "It swallowed a grenade so densely loaded with prana that I could have breached the Federal Reserve's vault with it." Ok that's a hyperbole, but at least it sounded cool.
She relaxes at my touch, calming down considerably.
"I essentially cooked it from the inside out, turning its internal organs into ground pulp, and it still had enough life in it to scream. I'm even doubting whether or not it's dead, to be honest."
Her brow furrows at this, the small smile previously on her face turns into a slight frown. "Praetor, I do not fully comprehend what you did, but whatever that weapon you used was, it was certainly devastating. There is no conceivable possibility it survived."
I sigh. "It's nice to hear you have some faith in me, but it's not like I hit it with a Noble Phantasm or anything. Even a normal Servant would survive what I did. So this one certainly should." Well, a normal Servant would have survived a different way. Mainly, just dodging the shot, instead of letting it hit them.
I get out of bed, ignoring the distress visible on her face. She moves to push me back, but I forcibly move her out of the way. Standing in front of her, I look down upon her like some mighty king gazing at their subject from the throne. It's somewhat ironic considering Saber's already confirmed she's an emperor. Though I still question how that's possible.
"Saber. You are the one that is overestimating yourself."
Her eyes go wide yet again. She clenches her fists. "Praetor …." Her voice is low, but the emotion it contains conveys a simple message. Once again I am walking a thin line. Except now it's not a simple misunderstanding. I'm doing this intentionally.
"No, Saber. You were extraordinary." I doubt my words are reassuring. It's more likely this is coming across as false praise. That's a shame. I'm actually being honest right now. "But what we fought was more than just a simple familiar."
I sigh, a deep tired sound. "Even if it wasn't a Servant, It certainly wasn't a pushover." Like I said, I'd lied to her. My mana reserves were practically dry after that battle. But I spun it in a way where she couldn't protest. It wasn't in her nature to. She knew deep down that I was lying about not overexerting myself. She was after all leeching off of those mana reserves I practically used up. But I'd sufficiently silenced her opinion on the matter. I was twisting the argument into the perceived notion that she was insulting me. So she forced herself to believe the lie just to avoid having to confront it.
It was dirty, but I didn't need her to worry about me like some child that needed to be coddled. It wasn't my first rodeo. I have to be careful though. I'm apparently quite terrible at keeping things to myself. I can't as much as think about the lie, or else she'll actively be forced to uncover it.
She tuts at me. The look in her eyes shifting from indignant to understanding. "We shall fare better in the next battle."
I chuckle and pat her twice on the back. "That's the spirit."
With our talk done, I head to the door, exiting the bedroom, and going into the bathroom. For some reason Saber follows. I abruptly stop, and she runs straight into my back. With an expression that probably looks very unamused, I glance over my shoulder at my partner.
"Where do you think you're going?"
She answers unflinchingly. "To the bathroom."
A deep scowl forms on my face. "Didn't know Heroic Spirits need to use the restroom."
She matches my expression. "They do not."
We stand there in silence. Looking at each other like idiots. Then, I suck in a deep breath.
"Then what the hell are you doing following me?!"
Her eyebrows rise. "Praetor, I did not take you for being shy." 'Shy'? Me?! You have to be kidding me!
I sigh once more, and somewhere along the line my palm finds a comfortable position covering my face. It hides the incredulous look I likely am displaying. "At least lie and say something like 'I need to be at your side constantly to protect you'." I say this in a fake high pitched voice, my best attempt at mocking her.
She softly chuckles. Her hands go to her hips. "You have a point Praetor. Very well if you insist, I shall constantly be at your side!" She starts fawning all over herself. "We shall recreate the story of Hermaphroditus and Salmacis! Or bond shall be so great we shall be as one!" Isn't that the origin story for the term 'hermaphrodite'? What the hell does that have to do with anything?!
I seriously want to slap that smug grin off her face. She declares this all like it's some kind of divine command. Shoving her index finger right in my face. "Now let us bath together in celebration!"
I slam the door in her face. "Get the fuck outta here." I drawl, "You're nuts, if you think that's a good idea."
She suddenly appears right in front of me. Ah, I thought I felt a slight decrease in the amount of prana she was using. Almost forgot about spirit form, on account of Saber never seeing fit to use it. Seems appropriate she'd think this would be a good use for it. It's the benefit of being dead. You can be Danny Phantom when you want to be, and do things that couldn't be done in a TV-Y7 cartoon. Like peep on people that want nothing but privacy.
"Ah, it seems I was right. If it is your first time, I would be more than happy to–" I drop my pants, underwear and all. Then as she stares at me in wonder, I take off my shirt, throw it atop her head, turn around butt naked, and strut to the shower. For some reason I don't have shoes or socks on. Guess she took them off for me. Good. It saves me from having to bend down.
I hop in the shower right before Saber (who is now nude for some reason) attempts to forcibly insert herself through the door.
"Get in line." I dryly remark upon sliding the glass door close in her face. She can still see me through the frosted glass. I can see her as well. I'm not exactly complaining, but I hardly know this girl. I don't know what she's up to, but I want no part of it. And if this goes any further it would probably be considered necrophilia. With her being technically dead and all. There are some laws I won't break.
She goes into spirit form once again, but I'm already done before she can even enter. I also turned the water to cold. So, instead of creeping me out, she gets ice water on her.
"Praetor! Why?!"
I merely shrug, bending down to pick up my clothes as I leave. "I'll get you a towel. Can't have you dripping water everywhere." I say this while doing exactly that. Droplets of water landing on the linoleum tile of the bathroom's floor.
"How do I turn it to hot?! Emperors do not showers, they bathe!" Let me play the world's smallest violin for ya.
"Bathtub's down the hall and on the right." With this I take me leave of her. I get dressed as I walk back to the bed, not even bothering to dry myself off. Instead of going back to sleep, I make my way to the lampstand. The Pico still fits snugly in my hand. Good to see it's back in shape. I pocket it while exiting the bedroom. And then I remember I'm wearing clothes that are three days old. So, of course I have to go change.
With that done (and the Pico placed safely in my new pants pocket) I actually make my way downstairs. Why does this place seem so big? You know, it's kinda an assholish thing to complain about, but I can't help but feel the house is too large. Larger than it was before. Strange. Waaaiiittt ….
Holy hell where's all the shit I had laying around?!
Everything's clean. Not even a speck of dust.
And everything's new too.
New furniture.
New carpets.
New wallpaper.
Oh, and there's rose petals scattered all around the goddamn place.
"What. The. Fuck."
This isn't my house. My house doesn't have a giant spiral staircase with a gold plated handrail. It doesn't have marble columns holding up the ceiling. It most certainly does not have a life-size portrait of Saber displayed on the wall! Wait ...why are the eyes sparkling? Are those diamonds in her pupils? How much did that cost, huh?! Where did she get the money to pay for that, huh?! But more importantly …. Where the hell am I?!
"SABER?!"
AN: Remember how I said each chapter's title would be based on a song from the 60s, 70s, or 80s? Well, better get your pitchforks and torches because I changed my mind. Come on, you guys have to agree that this song fit the chapter way better than anything else could have. Ex Deo certainly does have a way with words. Even if I don't necessarily agree with their message. Next chapter will be the Money for Nothing one. As I said in the disclaimer this chapter has been split into two parts. Which means it ends on an awful cliffhanger. My sincere apologies for that, but this just seemed like a perfect spot to end it. On the bright side this means the next chapter only needs about a thousand words before it's finished, so it should come out rather soon. Emphasis on 'should'.
Now, on to the part where I reply to you guys' reviews. I figured I'd get a lot of questions and concerns over last chapter. What I did was somewhat controversial. Making it so Dante could harm the Jabberwocky? Preposterous. Well, I have a few ideas to explain my ridiculous Metal Gear esque stunt. (Was it that Transparent that I had blitzed through Phantom Pain prior to writing this?) My main one focuses on Dante screwing up, but somehow suceeding through blind luck alone. Yes, I know that's a very big coincidence, but I'm hoping I'll be able to pull it off.
My basic thought process goes like this: 'Dante focuses on alteration and transmutation. The internal components of the RPG rely on copper. Copper, when chemically altered, can become malachite. Malachite is the element used to create the Vorpal Blade by Rani.' There's a lot of factors at play here. The main one being the realistic nature of this (I know, this is a story where a man summons a female Nero and performs a rocket jump to take out the first boss). Would trace portions of malachite be enough to harm the Jabberwocky sufficiently to stop him, at least temporarily. Would an RPG even function properly if the components were altered ever so slightly? Does transmutation and alteration even work this way? Is this too much of a stretch? Well, I leave those questions to you my wonderful audience! Because to be frank, I have no goddamn clue. I researched this topic for ages and still am left at a dead end. I'm sure there's someone out there that's way more knowledgeable about all of this than I, hopefully they'll call me out an my ridiculous stunts. Otherwise, long live the Hideo Kojima in all of us!
As a secondary explanation *cough excuse cough* a suggestion was given that involved the Jabberwocky's prana saturating the material Dante altered. A la Hercules in Unlimited Blade Works harming Saber with the rocks he kicked up merely because his prana contaminated them. It'd be basically Dante fighting fire with fire. Let me know which of these ideas you like better. Maybe you guys would even prefer a combination of the two? Or perhaps you have an idea I didn't even consider that's makes more sense.
While this AN has gone on far too long I feel I should answer your reviews directly as well. I like doing this when I can because it makes me feel like I'm building some weird little community surrounding my borderline crack fics. And also because I don't want to leave you guys hanging if I can help it. Feel free to PM me if I don't answer your questions sufficiently here.
Gundam-Knight-Chris: I assure you the goal of this story is not to make your brain cells die. If this occurs you clearly didn't read the possible side effects before reading. Or perhaps I simply forgot to mention them! :P. Thank you for the review. If I'm doing my job correctly there's going to be many more times to come where you want Dante to suffer. And do not fret, for he will suffer in the future. Mwahahaha.
Guest 1: I added the number just to be safe. You could after all be two guests and not simply one. I like you. I like your idea. Therefore you might be seeing it in the future. After all, we may or may not be seeing Rani eventually.
Guest 2: Hopefully I sort of answered that question this chapter. A normal Servant would be able to easily dodge it. In that case Dante would use the anti-personnel type of warhead. It's effectiveness would depend mainly on whether or not Dante caught them off guard. Easier said than done considering he's going to be fighting demi-gods and whatnot.
King0fP0wers: Last but not least. Thank you immensely for following all of my work! It's awesome to see that I actually have managed to entertain someone with both of my stories (despite how different their universes are). As a heads up, I will be answering your Transparent review in the AN of that story's newest chapter (which I haven't started yet). I'm hoping I sort of replied to most of your review in the rest of this AN, but I will directly answer the question as to whether or not Dante's attack was magical in nature. I should have described less of the mechanical work being done and more of the magical skill taking place. Essentially Dante did the same to the RPG warhead as he did to his rifle's grenade. In layman's terms he pulled a Tohsaka, loading the thing like she loads her jewels. Safe to say Rin's going to be pissed to see Dante using magic similar in theory to her family's in order to improve mundane weaponry! XD
On to the next chapter! I pray that I'll be able to shorten the AN down considerably next time. It is rather distracting to see this massive blob of bold text. Till then, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
PS: Completely forgot to mention the most important thing. Thanks so much King Keith for betaing this chapter for me! Remember to check out his work too, guys!