21st Century Schizoid Man

by silverbug28

A wannabe gangster gun nut (OC) becomes the Master of one of the haughtiest Heroic Spirits in the Throne of Heroes. No, not Gilgamesh. The other blonde with a massive ego. Let's see what happens when this goofy wack job has to fight for his life alongside history's biggest ham. Remake of Genderbent Emperors and Gallivanting Eccentrics.

10. Dreams

Disclaimer: Similar to my other story, 'Transparent', this entire chapter is going to be in the third-person perspective. Which may be good or bad depending on your preference. Also, in case it wasn't obvious, I changed the cover image to something besides nightmare fuel. Let me know if you guys feel it fits the story better or worse.

---

Chapter 10- Dreams

She watches over her Master as he lay before her unconscious. Somehow, Nero had miraculously managed to free him from their watery coffin. It had been a struggle. Dragging him out of the wreckage with one arm and pushing through the back window of the Nissan they'd been submerged in. But something had snapped in the small girl's mind when she saw him slump over in front of her. A call to action had gone off in her brain, forcing her to push past the pain, past the doubts, and to grab him by the wrist. She was Nero Claudius Augustus Germanicus, Emperor of Rome. She'd been through worse. She wouldn't let it end this way. Those were the trio of thoughts that had forced themselves upon her. A determined triplet of beliefs that assured her she could save him. They had proven to be true.

He'd been heavier than she thought he would be. Still, the strain on her shoulder had been minimal. Unfortunately, the pain in her knees had been exacerbated by the need to tread water. Now, Saber sits next to her Master on this beach, her legs splayed out in front of her. She caresses his face, all while tears trickle down her face. He's breathing. She had made sure of that as soon as she'd brought him out of the water. But repeats of Babe Watch only show you so much in how to apply proper CPR.

He's breathing, but he isn't doing so on the best of terms. "Come back to me, my Praetor." She begs the man to awaken, to sit up and utter a veritable stream of vulgarities at the situation they were in. He doesn't. Instead he just coughs up a bit of seawater, all while remaining asleep.

Saber props his head up, hoping that the increase in elevation would allow him to breathe better. She does this by using her lap as a pillow, because of course that's how trained medical professionals would recuse a drowned patient. The lap pillow is a technique highly praised in all the big doctoral textbooks. Right up there with the indirect kiss.

Nero leans back into the sand, allowing herself to relax as she waits for her Master to awaken. Her injuries had all but completely healed a few minutes prior, and that single fact is the only reason she hasn't started tearing the city down in search for a doctor that can save him. If she's healing, he's providing a steady enough flow of prana in order to allow her to heal. And if he's doing that he isn't in critical condition. He's going to pull through this. Saber believes this. But she wishes he'd pull through a bit faster.

The monster hasn't surfaced, but that doesn't mean that it has died either. The thing had probably gone into spirit form the second it'd touched water. Something that she hadn't been able of doing on account of her needing to help Dante out of the car.

Now, she can do that if she wants. But she doesn't. It's much nicer to sit here like this. Even if it isn't the aftermath she'd hoped for, at least they've both survived. "Praetor. Why did you do that?" She rubs his head, taking great delight in the softness of his blond locks.

"Why did you not leave me?" Despite saying this as if it is a bad thing, Saber can't help but beam at the man in her lap. He had not run. He hadn't charged to her rescue, perhaps, but he hadn't turned tail and retreated either. It's progress.

She closes her eyes, taking great pleasure in the peaceful end to their battle.

A vision crosses Nero's mind, an image of a small dark-haired little boy holding what could only be a youth rifle. Saber knows little of such things, but the rambling thoughts of her Master have enlightened her ever so slightly. To the point where she can at least label the firearm correctly as being a rifle.

An older man, his face covered with a salt and pepper beard and a baseball cap, helps the boy stabilize his aim. He uses his hand to push the child's back into a proper posture and pantomimes with his arms exactly how the firearm should be held. Saber doesn't understand where these images are coming from, but they flood her mind, overwhelming her senses.

The young woman suddenly feels the soft caress of woodland brush tickling her legs. Her ears pick up the babbling of a nearby brook and the chirping of birds echoing off into the distance. Without warning, an audible gunshot rings out, cutting through the peaceful serenity of the scenery surrounding her. It isn't loud enough to be discomforting, but it nonetheless stands out against the calm forest ecosystem around her.

"Left and high, Tommy. Remember to bring the rifle to you." The older gentleman is decked out in what could only be considered hunting gear. Camouflage adorns his body, a tool meant to conceal his presence in the woodlands around him. He gestures for the child to hand him his rifle. "Safety on? Chamber empty?" The boy nods, his head bobbing up and down in a comically exaggerated manner.

The man accepts the rifle from who Nero is assuming to be his son. He keeps the muzzle pointed into the distance, avoiding the possibility of an accident happening. With his finger off the trigger he checks the chamber of the carbine.

"Atta boy, Tom. Atta boy." He quietly compliments the boy without even looking in his direction. The child brightens considerably upon hearing the praise, his mouth spreading into a dopey looking grin.

Nero wants nothing more than to ask these two where she is. But something inside her forbids such a transgression. She's the audience here, and like any courteous member of the peanut gallery she's supposed to be silent. After all, if anyone ever had the gall to interrupt her art she would be disappointed, to say the least. How could she do exactly that in this situation?

Besides, this play that's unraveling before her is absolutely enrapturing. She's captivated by the interactions between these two. This father and son duo. She is watching the past train the future in the present, and that's something she can't simply interrupt.

Proper etiquette is important in these sorts of affairs, after all.

So Saber watches and listens, but does not speak. She will save her questions till the end of this performance.

"Now," the man speaks in a stern manner, hoping to make his son focus on what he's about to show him "remember, you need to bring the rifle up to your aim. Not shift your aim to compensate for the rifle's position." He demonstrates by looking intensely at what Nero can only assume to be their target, a liter of cola sitting on a rotten stump.

Then, without moving his head in the slightest, he brings the sights of the rifle up to his face. And he fires. The shot pierces through the bottle, knocking it back several feet and causing soda to gush out of it like a geyser.

"Wow!" The boy exclaims in awe, clearly impressed with his father's marksmanship.

The man chuckles, and Nero believes that right then, if his eyes were visible to her, she would see nothing but joy. "It's not that impressive, kiddo. Just takes a little practice." He flips the safety on and holds the rifle out for the boy to grab. "Here, now let's see you do it."

The boy gulps, somewhat unsure of himself, but he takes the gun from his dad and shoulders it much the same. "Remember to bring the gun to your aim and not to bring your aim to the gun. See if you can hit that pinecone there." He points to one off in the distance, the cone far smaller than the liter of soda he himself shot.

"Dad?" The boy questions his father, perplexed as to how his father could expect him to hit such a target.

The father shrugs. "You've got eight more shots. Take your time and see how close you can get."

The boy looks away from his dad, turning to the pinecone he was told to shoot. His back stiffens as he shakes like a leaf in worry. Then, his father places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You can do it kiddo. I know you won't miss."

His son's eyes widen, shocked from the confidence in his father's words. Nero can't see the older man's eyes, but she knew his son could. Something in that man's eyes changes the boy's entire demeanor. His posture straightens. He lifts his chin. Those eyes previously filled with worry harden into a determined glare, one that he directs straight at the pinecone before him.

"Thanks, dad." His tone is warm, a voice that does not match the steely gaze the boy bares.

His father chuckles once again. "Don't thank me. Just believe in yourself."

The boy nods, once, twice, three times. It's a stiff movement, nothing like the head bobbing he'd done previously.

He focuses his vision on the pinecone off into the distance. Then he raises the rifle's sights to his eye, copying the exact way in which his father took aim. There's a brief moment in which he steadies his breath, measuring exactly how much of a window he has to take the shot between his breathing.

A loud crack echoes off into the distance, stirring a few birds from a nearby tree.

The boy flips the safety on his rifle, and points it's muzzle at the earthy soil.

There lies the pinecone, twenty yards away, fractured into three smaller pieces. He'd hit it right in center mass.

"Good job, kiddo!" Pride swells within the boy at the sound of his father's praise. The older man pats him energetically on the back.

"Now. Go ahead and hit it again."

The boy freezes in place. His shoulders slumping in defeat. "Daaaadddd …." He whines. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

The middle-aged man slaps him upside the back of his head. "Language!" He cries testily, upset by the wording of his child. The father crosses his arms over his chest as he watches his son rub the back of his head to soothe it.

"What did I say? Believe in yourself! And believe in your rifle!" A massive grin splits his face, as he bares his teeth wide for the world to see. All Saber sees of this man is a beard, a hat, and a wide smile. A vague image of his identity, but one that will stand out in her mind. "If it's aim is true and your sight is solid you shall never miss!"

The boy groans, clearly having heard this pep talk before. "But daaaadddd …. I miss all the time!" Another bitch slap greets his complaints.

"And that is because you spend more time whining and less time trying! Believe you can do it and you will!"

The boy sighs deeply, completely disregarding the advice his old man gave him. Yet he shoulders his rifle, albeit while muttering a few choice expletives regarding the situation he's found himself in.

"That's it! You've forced my hand! We're having my famous nine pepper chili for supper!"

The boy whips his head around so he can properly stare in wide-eyed shock at his father. "Not the Nine Circles of Hell!"

"Mwahahaha!" The man's evil cackle wafts through the canopy of the forest around them. It's abruptly cut short when he realizes what his son had said. "The only reason I'm not smacking you is because you used it in proper context. However, say it again and I'll …." The man flexes his hands menacingly. "Wring the life from you, you little brat~" The singsong voice that emanates from him does not at all fit his look.

"Now! Pull the trigger, baby!"

The boy shudders in disapproval of his father's command. Nonetheless, he complies. Taking aim at the left fragment of the cone and squeezing the trigger of his .22.

Crack!

It just barely hits, the shot grazing the side of the pinecone and ricocheting into the woods.

"Eh?" The man picks at the inside of his ear. "Did you even fire? I didn't hear anything?"

The boy takes that as a cue to shoot again.

Crack!

This time he misses completely, the bullet launching a clump of dirt into the air upon impact.

"Wow, you couldn't hit the broad side of a moisture evaporator!"

"What ever happened to "believing in yourself"?!"

"Hmm?" The older man scratches his scalp. "You must not believe that much in yourself if a little quip like that gets your panties in a twist!"

"What the hell is wrong with you, you deaf daft bastard?!"

"What the hell did you call me you shitty punk?!"

"You just said it!"

"What?" The man questions, as he attempts to not-so-convincingly whistle innocently.

"You just cursed!"

"Like hell I did you fucking shit!"

"You just did it again!"

"At least I did something, you're just sitting over there with your trigger finger up your ass!"

"I'm going to use this trigger finger on you, you bastard!"

"I'd like to see you try, you'd probably miss!"

"That's enough!"

A third voice rings out. A feminine one. And just like that, a woman arrives, seemingly from nowhere. She grabs both males by the scruffs of their necks. And she does something that causes Saber to balk. She slams their skulls together. Bonk. It sounds exactly like two coconuts being banged together.

"I leave you numbskulls alone for a few months and this is what you get up to?" The growl that comes out of her mouth does not compliment her in the least. A slender, well-endowed woman, with long chestnut colored hair tied into a ponytail. Her appearance is the exact opposite of the older man. While he looks like he just crawled his way out of a jungle, she looks as if she just walked straight off a runway.

"Dang. I thought you were going to be gone for a few more days?" The man groans while rubbing the back of his head. Saber's unsure as to whether this is brought about by the blow that struck him or the woman's arrival. Perhaps both?

The woman scoffs. "After seeing what you've been up to? I wish I'd have come back sooner."

The man raises a finger into the air, opening his mouth to protest. He's silenced when his son cries out in joy. "Mommy!" The smaller boy runs up to his mother, grabbing her waist and hugging it tightly.

She pats the boy's head, chuckling to herself over the boy's antics. Then she tenses up. "Dammit, David. What did I tell you?" She glares intensely at the man she'd addressed as 'David'. "I will not have my son handling these … these crude, primitive, uncivilized–!"

David meets her glare, cutting her off before she delves deeper into her rant. This is getting good. Saber thinks to herself. If only I had a morsel to snack on, then I'd be content. A bag of popcorn would have hit the spot while watching the soap opera level dialogue going down.

"One month. Bring him back to me safe, Claudia."

Claudia. That name causes a shiver to run up Nero's spine. How many women close to her were named Claudia? Her first wife. The slave girl she had an affair with early in her marriage. Her … daughter …. No! Do not remember that! Saber forces those memories from her mind, seeking to avoid a crippling headache that could send her into a panic. She cannot allow that. Not now. Not here. Not amidst the performance before her. This is not the same Claudia. Claudia was never a mother. Never allowed to be a mother. They are not one in the same! And with that she drives those unpleasant memories away. Sending them back out to sea. Adrift in the lonely ocean known as her subconscious.

"I won't ever forgive you if you don't." David speaks as if he's swallowing a bitter fruit. The scowl on his face is the epitome of the word 'displeased'. He moves to his son, ignoring the hard look Claudia gives him. "Listen, kiddo. Be good. Don't go too far. Ok?"

The boy nods, the emotion in his eyes shifting from happiness to sadness when he realizes his father wouldn't be coming with him.

"Alright." His father offers a forced grin. "When you get back we'll come back here and continue where we left off."

Claudia opens her mouth to argue that point, but once again she's cut off by David, who looks at her with a face that could melt ice. "Whether your mother agrees, or not."

And with that he huffs off, walking away from the pair and deeper into the woods. Only stopping to pick up the Ruger 10/22 rifle his son had dropped on the ground in his haste to meet his mother. He waves goodbye without turning back to them, the final words he says resound throughout the clearing. "After all, she didn't need my approval to do this. Why should I need hers?" And he's gone, disappearing into the surrounding brush with nary a sound.

The woman grimaces at his departure, but that look of apprehension fades once she looks down to her son. "Ignore him, Thomas." She tries her best to smile for the boy, but the sight is even more forced than the grin his father had given him before leaving. "I already have all your stuff in the car. So we won't need to stop by the house before leaving." The boy doesn't answer, instead he keeps looking at the spot in the forest his father had walked into.

"London's going to be great!" The woman's forced cheer comes off as incredibly cheesy, even to Saber's (the King of Ham's) ears. "We can see Big Ben and the Royal Palace! You've seen pictures of those funny hats the Queen's guard wear, haven't you?" The boy nods, still not meeting her eyes.

"Well, you'll get to see them in person. It'll be sooo much fun~" She chirps in a sing-song voice, failing miserably to draw the boy's interest. She coughs when she realizes it's pointless.

"And you'll get to meet some of my, err, colleagues." She plasters an eager grin on her face, hoping to gain the boy's interest. "They're a … colorful bunch." The woman quickly waves her hands placatingly in the hopes of dissuading any suspicions that might arise in her son's mind at that description. "But you'll be able to learn so much from them! So much that you'll–!"

Her son cuts her off with a flat look. "Ok, mom. Let's go." His voice is dripping with disgust. He sounds like a carbon copy of his father, and the sheer wrongness of this causes his mother to go pale.

She gapes like a dying fish, shocked that her son could be so rude to her. A fake cough into her fist breaks the moment. "Yeah … let's get going Thomas." She sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "It's going to be a long flight."

She walks in front of the boy and off in the opposite direction his father had gone. He follows her without a word, the shuffling of his feet rustling the dead leaves lining the ground.

Saber is watching this sight in anticipation. Surely, there will be an interesting climax to this story. The father will charge back from the brush, grasp his son in open arms and liberate him from his mother's clutches. Or … perhaps the mother will turn around and with a rousing speech she'll boost the boy's morale, winning him over to her side. Better yet, why not have both? The father and mother, reuniting with a passionate kiss, their words of anger and spite falling to the side as the two lost lovers rejoin each other's side.

None of this happens, much to Saber's disappointment. Instead, the boy is led to a limo parked amongst the trees a few hundred feet away. The white paint of the vehicle is coated with a healthy application of dirt and grime, and the windshield is practically covered with squashed insects.

"Bloody hell, why did we have to come to such a godforsaken place! Is America still stuck in the Carboniferous period!" The man who can only be a butler (judging from his suit, bowtie, and white gloves) swats at a mosquito buzzing around his ear. "Blasted bugs! I put an entire can of insectide on. What does it take to kill these bastards! Anthrax!"

The man freezes when he notices Claudia and Thomas arriving. He greets them with an impromptu salute, his eyes bulging comically when the mosquito lands on his cheek.

"Ma'am!"

"At ease, Jeremiah."

Without hesitation the man smashes the palm of his hand against his cheek, squashing the mosquito and leaving a rather large blot of blood on both his face and his glove.

"Is this your son, Madame?"

The woman straightens her back, her entire posture shifts upon making her presence known to this Jeremiah fellow. It dawns on Saber that this man must be her servant. It makes sense she's more formal with him.

"That he is. That he is …." Her eyes linger on the small child's bored expression.

"It looks as if Mister Davy spoiled him. How … troublesome."

The woman grumbles, not at all pleased by the indirect insult he's tossed her son's way.

"Go fuck yourself you pussyfooted fossil." No one is prepared for the vile words that leave the boy's mouth. For a child no older than ten, he has a tongue laced with venom.

The balding butler blubbers in terror at how he's been addressed so … harshly. "Madame …? Can we leave him here? He fits in with the wildlife."

The woman glares. Hard. "Shut up Alfred. Just drive."

The butler's shoulders slump. "That's not my name ..." He mumbles under his breath, too cowardly to audibly voice his complaints.

"Would you rather I call you Jerry?"

The blank look on the man's face is the perfect response to Claudia's question.

"Please refrain from doing so, Madame."

"Come on Jerry, ole bean, let's get this show on the road." Thomas pipes in, a pseudo-English accent lacing his words.

"Yes, Jerry, let us be off. We still have to drive to the airport after all." His mother plays along, likely enjoying a chance to bond with her son. At the expense of her servant's dignity of course.

Grumbling under his breath, the balding manservant opens the door for his passengers to enter. Thomas goes first, sliding into the seat without waiting for his mother's approval. She tuts at the boy's manners, but nonetheless sits down next to him without much verbal complaint.

Jerry closes their door before walking towards the driver's side and opening his own door.

"Thank the Lord that I'll be free from this place." As he opens the door a pinecone falls from the heavens and smacks him on the top of his head. "Ow!" He cries, rubbing his wounded noggin. "Why you little–!" He looks up to where the cone had come from only to lock eyes with a chortling chipmunk. "In the name of all that is–!" The rodent knocks a second pinecone down, this one landing on the ground when Jerry takes a step back.

Saber can't help but chuckle at this, caught off guard by the Chip and Dale type of humor that's occurring before her.

"Is that the best you have, you little rat?!" Cue a dozen or so pinecones hitting him at once. "Godforsaken vermin!"

"Jerry! Stop playing with the squirrels and get in the car!"

"Mom, those are chipmunks."

"Oh? Are you sure about that? They look more like squirrels to me."

"Yeah, see how they have a stripe? Dad teaches them tricks and stuff."

"Your father does what?! Jerry get in this automobile at once! My son needs a bath!"

"Yes, Madame!" The butler salutes once again, despite being bombarded with a few more well aimed pinecones. He then shuffles into the driver's side, closing the door to save himself from one last Hail Mary launched his way. "Blasted forest. What kind of uncivilized ruffian would live in such squalor?"

"Jerry?" The ice in his mistress' voice shakes the butler's very soul. "I suggest you shut up and start the car."

"Yes, Madame."

This's the last Saber hears of the conversation, courtesy of her inhumane hearing, before the vehicle starts and the limo began to pull out of the forest.

She watches them go, curious as to who they exactly are and confused as to why she's been brought to this place to witness these events.

Sadly, this is not the end of this tale. It's merely the first act.

She's allowed nary a second to contemplate the implications of her being here before the world seems to shatter. The trees twist, warping straight out of this plane of existence. The slight smell of gunpowder lingering in the air, the calming bubbling of the nearby brook, the chattering of wild animals sitting in the trees, all of it disappears. Replaced by what Saber can only describe as a lifeless hell.

Act two takes place in a scorched desert stretching out as far as the eye could see. Shrapnel litters around the landscape. Craters are carved into the earth, dotting the land so frequently that it looks more akin to the surface of the moon than any place on Earth. Sand blows into her face; her eyes water from the mild stinging sensation.

"What is this? Where am I?" She asks to no one in particular, taking note of the emptiness of the apocalyptic setting she's been thrust into. And then, as if the gods themselves were answering her, a barrage of artillery fire sounds off in the distance. The thrusters of what can be no less than a thousand rockets flare off as they soar in the sky above Saber's head.

She watches in awe at the subtle beauty of these modern day scorpios, as they remind her almost of distant stars twinkling in the night's sky. Saber makes one mistake here. She's ignorant of the purpose of these missiles. Somewhere, deep in her mind addled by self-centeredness, she has an inkling of dread. Some small sixth sense that informs her that these were not fireworks set off to celebrate her arrival. But Saber doesn't listen, instead she enjoys the view she has a front row seat too. Up until these rockets careen back to the earth.

The concussion from this attack would have knocked a normal person to their knees, and as such Saber can only pity any poor soul that's been caught in the sights of such a monstrosity. She can't even see the blast zone, and that tells her more than enough about these weapons. For there to be such a thing, a barrage of cannon fire capable of hitting targets kilometers away, she must have been summoned into a particularly gruesome time.

And that disgusts Saber. She despises war, despite being summoned to partake in one. It is an ugly sight, and something that only creates unnecessary bloodshed in the long run. These are the thoughts that ramble along Saber's brain. "War is bad" "It is ugly" and "I must stop this." These three thoughts.

She's forgotten the argument her Praetor had made in favor of war. It hadn't been a compelling argument to her in the least, and as such she's tossed it aside like so many other pointless pieces of drivel she'd had to hear in her reign as emperor. There's no time for semantics when such an atrocity is taking place.

She moves towards the source of the bombardment, rushing with all the speed she can muster. She doesn't even notice the complete loss of the wounds she'd suffered in the battle against Lancer. Doesn't even notice how she runs not out of her own free will, despite thinking such, but out of a tugging compulsion that drives her to relocate to the origins of such a cannonade.

She freezes once she realizes what she's stumbled across. An army. Of less than a hundred men.

But for what they lack in numbers, they certainly do not lack in armaments. Rifles, just like the one Dante had used, are slung across their backs. Pieces of artillery are positioned across what could only be their base of operations. These men laugh. They cheer. They joke. She watches them as they begin to reload the vehicles that idle nearby, a contributing factor to the shells that had rained down a few moments ago.

One man stands out amongst the rest. A young Caucasian man with dark black hair strung into a short ponytail. His eyes shine with jubilance as another man, one of Arab descent claps him heartily on the back in joy.

"It worked, Thomas! We hit right on target!"

Thomas? He'd referred to him as 'Thomas'. Is this the same boy she'd just witnessed? Is this where life has led him? Saber isn't given any time to ponder the implications this holds. The scene continues to unfold before her without any regard for her unanswered questions.

Another man strides up to the Arabian, his face covered completely by a balaclava. "Raman, Lady Tohsaka's trying to call. What should I tell her?"

Raman grins, his teeth sparkling in the desert sun. He winks at Thomas, who seems curious about what's happening.

The balaclava covered man hands a smart phone to his commander, who immediately hits the speaker button on the phone so everyone can enjoy what's about to happen.

"Why the hell are you in Yemen, you idiot?!"

Raman holds a finger up to his lips to silence the roar of laughter coming from his men. "Yemen? Mistress Tohsaka, I feel you should recheck the GPS. My men and I have been in the outskirts of Dubai for the past three weeks. Clearly there is something amiss her if …."

"Listen to me. You. Complete. Fool. I placed a gem in your bag. I've been tracking you for the past three weeks."

The barely stifled laughter in the background utterly ceases at the revelation. Until it reignites, with only once voice chuckling now. The only one that is unrelated to this very tense 'gotcha' moment.

"Holy shit, Raman! Remind me never to directly work for her!"

"Who is that?! Raman, you have a lot of explaining to do! Why did you stop in Pakistan for two days?! Why are you now in Yemen of all places?!"

No answer comes, as Raman and his balaclava comrade are playing hot potato with the phone in the hopes that someone else will have to take the blame for this.

"Just tell the poor girl, Ra. Otherwise she'll blow an even bigger gasket."

"Can you not read the mood, my friend! We'll all be skinned alive if we so much as–!"

"General Raman." The frigid iciness in which she calls his name solidifies the blood in everyone's veins, save for Thomas and Saber. The ponytail sporting man is still grinning cheekily as he bites his tongue to avoid making an inciteful remark.

"Tell me. What you have been doing. Right. Now!" That voice. It tells the men one thing. Lucifer is not a man. 'He' surely must be a woman, because he's speaking to them in a very feminine voice at the moment.

"Lie!"

"Lie to her, Ra!"

"Don't tell her the truth!"

"You can do it!"

A dozen or so men attempt to coax their leader into fibbing. Their attempts almost work too, if not for one soldier speaking up too loudly.

"For the love of all that is good, do not tell her we came to Yemen to buy MGM-140 rocket artillery from some shady dude in the desert!"

Silence. Complete. Utter silence. The air seems to just displace, trapping these poor men in a vacuum cut off from sound. Even the oxygen wants no part of the rant that's about to go down.

"Rocket. Artillery. You traveled to Yemen. Without telling me and certainly not on my orders. To buy rocket artillery vehicles from some 'shady dude in the desert'." It isn't a question per se, but more of a restatement. Almost as if the young lady is trying to process the absurdity of what she's just been told.

"Well, in his defense, I'm not really a 'shady dude in the desert'. I kind of just came her because I had a contact around here that could set up the deal. So …."

"Was I asking you, you sniveling worm of a man?"

Thomas whistles at the sheer ferocity in the girl's tone. "Two things. One, Raman, this witch of yours just doubled the price of my goods."

"But–!"

"No buts, I don't take insults like that lightly." He directs his next sentence to the Tohsaka on the phone. "You should get to know people better before tossing baseless remarks like that at them. Some people in my line of work would react less … civil, than I."

All at once the soldiers ready their weapons, focusing their aim on the man that's just indirectly threatened the girl they apparently follow. Even Raman draws his pistol from its holster as he glares at Thomas heatedly.

"Two, I'm guessing your Rin Tohsaka, leader of that Hack & Slash terrorist group?"

Rin audibly grinds her molars on the other end of the line. "That's 'Hack & Crack' you–!"

"Well in that case the price tripled."

Jaws drop across the board. Even Saber can't help but gape at the bravery of the man for saying something so ballsy in the midst of armed men.

"What are you–?!"

Thomas cuts off the random mook that's piped up, completely disregarding the man as worthy of debating. "I'm giving you lot top of the line gear at an eighth of the standard cost. With this shit you'll be on the level of the U.S. of A's ground troops. And instead of prostrating your miserable little grimy selves before me you've insulted me, crushed the good spirits I was in, and generally pissed me off."

He raises an eyebrow as he frowns. "If this is how you morons do business, well, I'm not at all surprised you're losing the fantasy football-esque war you've thrown yourselves in."

The girl on the other side of the phone seems to be choking on something, either a drink or air itself. She takes a deep, loud, breath in order to calm herself and then releases it as she begins to lay into the arrogant man child that's dared to speak to her in such a way.

"Listen to me you slimy, good for nothing, piece of garbage! No one, and I repeat no one, dares talk to me in such a way! I am Rin Tohsaka, Hero of the Resistance, and I will not have a glorified gun dealer treat me like a common grunt!"

"Well, then, all I can tell you bitch is that you better get used to it. Or else take your business someplace else and see how much you're going to have to pay."

"I don't even want artillery! What the hell could I do with that?!"

"A wise man once said 'artillery is the god of modern war'. You saying such a statement tells me you know nothing of combat. You call yourself a hero? What have you done that's remotely heroic? Name me one thing?"

"She's been in every battle! Every victory has been because of her!"

Thomas turns to Raman with a cold hard stare. "Bullshit, Ra. How many of these soldiers have stood by your sides in those battles as well? How many of them do you recognize as being a 'hero'?"

"But without her we couldn't have won!"

"And with her you can't even get proper equipment to continue winning!" He snarls, going so far as to spit in the sand to show his disgust.

"Dorobō was right, it was a terrible idea to deal in the Middle East. I'm hot, there's sand in every crevice of my body, and I'm thoroughly parched. I came here to give some undeserving stooges a bargain and to make a quick buck. Instead I'm getting drama that's far less amusing than I hoped, courtesy of a bratty teenager that doesn't have a clue."

He starts to dial a number on his cell phone, bringing the device to his ear upon doing so. It rings. Once. Twice. And then–

"Raman. Is he telling the truth? Is he really giving us a deal here?" Tohsaka asks a question that tells Thomas something he'd already been sure of. She has no idea what she's getting herself into here. At least she has the brains to consult with someone that does.

"Yes, Mistress. Even at twice his original price we're still getting an excellent deal."

"What's the actual price we're talking about?"

"Millions. Per vehicle."

A long sigh sounds out from the phone. It sums up Rin's opinion on this debacle quite well.

"There's other ways to pay besides cash."

Everyone focuses on the man still holding his phone to his ear. He's been doing this throughout the entire exchange between Raman and Rin. Somewhat suspicious considering the phone's stopped ringing. No one notices this though, instead they wait with bated breath to hear what he's about to say.

"What 'other ways'?"

Thomas shrugs at Tohsaka's question and then, upon realizing she can't see him, he replies. "You could use your body."

A large bead of sweat drops from Raman's brow when he hears his friend say this. "Thomas!" He whispers, hoping it'll stop Rin from hearing him. "What in the hell did you just say?!"

"What the hell did you just say?!" Rin doesn't whisper. She screams. Really, really, loudly.

"Can any of you even fathom how much value the nudes of a terrorist mastermind would be worth?"

"That's not something I feel comfortable even considering."

"Oh, shut it Ra. You're telling me the thought hasn't crossed your mind? Imagine how much influence something like that could have in terms of propaganda."

"Thomas …." Raman's voice is dangerously low, he's warning Thomas to drop this subject before things get even worse.

"Have none of your ever heard the phrase 'there's no such thing as bad publicity'? Hell, just take a picture of her tits, plaster it on the web, and watch as millions of otakus march to war in her honor. Genius, no?"

"No! You accursed fool! How dare you say something like that to me?!"

"So does that mean you won't be giving me your nudes in exchange for enough missiles to wipe North Korea off the face of the Earth?"

"Never!"

"How about a back massage? I'm starting to feel a little sore."

"Go die!"

"Can I get the massage first? I'll consider the dying part afterwards."

"Please be serious Thomas." Raman rubs his temple, hoping to stop the oncoming headache that's sure to plague him. His soldiers are stuck in a strange place. On one hand, they very much want to laugh at this conversation. On the other hand, they know they'll be facing a firing squad if they do.

"Fine. How about information? Give me enough and I'll slash the cash price in half."

Everyone weighs his words in their head, contemplating whether or not this could potentially be worth it. Tohsaka is the one that replies, as she's the leader of this ragtag organization. "What kind of information?"

"Oh, just your measurements. Bust, waist, and hip measurements. Maybe your blood type too. The public surely wants to know."

Silence. Complete. Utter. Silence. And to everyone's surprise, the young lady known as Rin Tohsaka does not erupt in anger at the joke. "I'm sure they would. But that's not what you want really, is it?"

Thomas smiles, somewhat impressed by the girl for finally succeeding in keeping her calm. "No, it isn't. I'm more interested in a little side project I have in mind."

"What type of 'side project' are we talking about here?"

"You're probably unfamiliar with it Ra, but I'm sure 'Lady Tohsaka' will know what I'm talking about."

He inspects the dirt underneath his fingernails before elaborating.

"The Holy Grail War."

Everyone's perplexed by this. Everyone except for Rin. She has to fight back the urge to gasp in shock. Some nobody gunrunner actually knows about the Grail? Impossible!

"I'd like to know it's location, the basic premise behind it, the rules, and generally any other important tidbits of trivia you can throw in." He starts biting his thumb. "Give me this and I promise I won't quadruple your price."

For a while, no one answers. It's simple as to why. No one knows what he's talking about besides Rin. And she's gone dark upon hearing his demands. Finally, she seems to come up with a proper reply.

"I want the original price. Give me that, and I'll tell you whatever you want." Her voice is completely calm, it masterfully hides the anxiety she feels in her heart.

"Twice the price or no deal. You insulted me even more, and I view customer service in the highest of regards."

"We're the customers, you're the seller."

"I'm giving you goods, you're giving me income. We're both customers in our own rights. And therefore, business should be conducted in a respectable if not downright amicable manner. Would you not agree?"

A grunt from the girl is all he gets in response. "Alright. I assumed my men were off doing something stupid. Which they were!" She quickly tosses in to cut off any arguments. "I wasn't expecting an outsider to be around. I may have … been too bold with my words. Forgive me."

Have you ever seen armed guerrilla fighters drop to the dirt and claw at their ears in terror? No? Well, that happens.

"What the hell did I just hear?!"

"I must be going deaf! I must be dying!"

"My brain hurts! It hurts!"

"The world is ending, pray for salvation, we're all going to die!"

"Get off of your asses you idiotic buffoons, we're in the presence of Lady Tohsaka and you're acting like this?!" Raman silences their ridiculousness before it can continue, growing tired of the charade.

"I didn't ask for an apology. It's wasted on a man such as I." No one knows what to say to that. Not even Tohsaka, ever diverse with her wordplay, can bring herself to come up with a clever quip. "All I ask is assurance that we'll have a timely transaction. Now, like I said, twice or no deal. And that's me being nice."

The maniacal grin on his face does't seem at all 'nice'.

"I assume you wish for us to be repeat customers, no? Wouldn't it be clever to cut a deal with us the first time so as to keep us as partners?"

"You're a smart cookie when you're not running your mouth. I can relate. Unfortunately, you're assuming I care remotely about keeping you as customers." He wags a finger at their apparent mistake. "You see, I know Ra, he and I go back. But I could care less about his pet projects."

The dark-haired man shrugs. "And I have enough buyers to keep me fat and happy for the rest of my days." His eyes narrow in disgust. "And you know what? None of them use child soldiers to fight their battles for them." It's an accusation. One of the highest degrees. Something that Thomas clearly does not perceive in a good light. If the hatred in his voice is anything to go by.

"Child soldiers? What are you?" A blink in realization as Raman comprehends what his friend means. "You're talking about the kids that endorse us on social media. And those that go farther by trying to provide information. They're not child soldiers. Maybe activists, but not soldiers."

"I know that, and that's why I'm even bothering to attempt a deal like this with you all." He continues chewing his nails. "But it still doesn't sit right with me."

"There's not much we can do to fix it. But I'll see about trying. Maybe cutting back on the campaign ads aimed towards younglings." Rin's voice rings out clearly for all to hear.

"Well, then I'll cut you a deal. All the information I requested and the cash price I originally stated. Just like you asked."

"That is … fine. I'll contact you in the future and answer whatever I can and arrange for the funds to be wired to you as soon as possible. Raman, take those vehicles and get them ready for transportation. I trust you have a plan for getting them back to India?"

"Of course I do. Do you even know who you're talking to?"

"An idiot that didn't tell me he was leaving the country, set up a deal with an unknown weapons merchant, and attempted to bargain with money that wasn't his to even bargain with."

"Nope. Not happening." Thomas shoots down that proposal after they finish their bickering. "Half the merch now. Half after I have my answers. That's common courtesy, is it not?"

Rin doesn't argue, instead sighing heavily as she wordlessly accepts his counterproposal.

"And try to go easier on Ra, it's not like he's been staging a coup d'état or anything."

Nervous chuckling comes from Raman, and he whispers underneath his breath to the man in front of him. "Do you want me to suffer even more?! If she takes that serious my every move will be watched! How am I supposed to take a leak when the walls have eyes?!"

"Very carefully, and proudly I might add." Thomas whispers back, albeit with a far less somber tone.

"Now, with that done I bid you adieu. It was a pleasure doing business with you, I hope to do so again. Nice seeing you Raman. Be sure to take care." He turns away and looks to the horizon where a car is zooming towards their location. "Oh, and Rin-chan? I hope you remove that stick out of your ass before our next discussion, or else I might have to be even rougher."

And with that he begins walking into the desert, towards the Mercedes that barrels towards him. "Arrivederci~!" He waves goodbye to them without turning back, continuing his journey forward.

Time seems to stop with this mock farewell complete. Almost as if Saber is watching a movie that's been put on pause. It gives her a much-needed breather, one that she intends to take advantage of wholeheartedly.

Numerous thoughts run through her mind. 'Why am I here?' Is the most prominent one, forcing its dominance upon the others and making the more ridiculous notions like 'Did I just stop time? I must be a god!' submit. Her brain works on overdrive to come up with a logical solution to this, but even with the obvious importance of finding the answer her thoughts wander constantly into the realm of the moronic.

Why is this happening? Why is Saber acting like a moth tapping into a light bulb?

Simple. Her migraines.

They've been something she's faced in silence. A disorder she's avoided revealing to her Praetor despite the importance in doing so. They've decreased in their occurrences, to the point that Saber had thought them to be stopping.

But here, in whatever place she's found herself in, these headaches are increasingly prevalent. The previous image of a boy and his parents had been peaceful, it had been tranquil despite it's sad overtones. The threat of a migraine had only started at the mention of 'Claudia'. And once she'd shook that name from her mind she'd been allowed to rest easy. Yet now, in this world torn apart by war, she's found herself unable to process anything but the sights in front of her. These thoughts that flow through her brain juggle amongst themselves for supremacy, but even still she cannot focus on a single one.

The headaches simple do not allow it.

This is the worst she's ever experienced them. Worse than when Poppaea had died. Worse than the aftermath of Seneca's death. Worse than when the crowd had attempted to leave her performance mid-scene.

Worse than the day she had her mother executed.

Worse than the day she learned Rome was burning to the ground.

Worse than the day her daughter had died.

It isn't the pain, so much as the intense feeling of helplessness that overwhelms her as she findsherself unable to properly think.

This Tohsaka girl certainly has a shrill voice, but I find myself impressed with how she has managed to gain the loyalty of her ….

What was the purpose of this senseless act? Why sell weapons of war to people such as this? This 'Thomas', he promises nothing but misfortunate with these acts. How can he live with himself knowing ….

Perhaps Dante was right. I still find the use of those missiles detestable, but even I cannot argue there was some simplistic and gruesome beauty in their usage. Why, if one were to use them for something less destructive than war, I might even find myself appreciating their ….

Where am I? Who am I? Where is Praetor? Where is Seneca? Mother? Is that you?

Fortunately for Nero, this amalgamation of Limbo and Hell ends just as quickly as it began. Her thoughts subside as the scene begin to shift, melting away into something anew.

She finds herself in the third act of this pitiful play, and the drastic shift of tone and scenery causes the migraines that plague her to subside into a dull ache.

The scent of incense is the first thing she notices. She's in a dimly lit room. Various vapors and colored smoke waft throughout the room. Dull chanting is heard emanating from the darkness. It acts as the heartbeat to this opium den like setting she's found herself in.

"Our Prophet thanks you for your blessings. May the Enlightened One bring good fortune to your–"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Spare me the rhetoric. I came here to get paid not to get a sermon."

That voice. It's Thomas. Saber sees him standing off in the distance, speaking to a stooped over old man. She moves to get closer, waving aside the clouds of incense smoke that pollute the air.

Thomas looks … somewhat younger than the last time she's seen him. He's minus the ponytail, and instead sporting a stylish slicked back hairdo. Not only that but it's a chestnut color. Strange. He actually looks somewhat like a used car salesman. Except … angrier? Something in his eyes threatens violence, as if he's constantly holding back the urge to assault someone. Saber barely recognizes him, the only thing giving him away are his honey colored eyes. They're the exact same shade they were when he was a child. Perhaps his attitude is just because of his current company. The man he's speaking to is even shadier looking. He looks more like a snake oil vendor, with his wrinkled forehead and unsettling grin. His eyes are half-lidded as if he's half-asleep. Or … under the influence of some sort of stimulant.

"Ah, but of course. Right this way." Thomas is led out of the gloomy room they've found themselves in. Saber follows the two through a passageway to the side, taking note of the droplets of water dripping off the ceiling. She doesn't know it but she's currently underground. In a crypt-like premises built underneath the countryside of rural Japan.

"We don't get many that are willing to do business with our kind. The Prophet will surely smile upon you for helping us with our … problem."

Thomas remains silent, contemplating how he should properly reply to such a statement. "I'm … overjoyed to be of help." His voice drips with sarcasm, of which the older man remains completely oblivious.

"So polite. I wish more outsiders were as tolerant of our beliefs as you. The world would be a much nicer place."

They come to a door, one which is bolted shut from the opposite end. The wrinkled man lightly raps his knuckles against the wood. Once. Twice. Three times. Before patiently waiting for his so-called gatekeeper to open it.

With an eerie creak the door slowly swings open. Thomas makes no mention of this, something that Saber cannot help but be impressed by. She has to bite back a yelp in horror at the sheer creepiness of this place.

They shuffle forward, past the man that was probably the one to open the door. He's covered head to toe in robes, which don't look all the different from the robes worn by Franciscan monks. This man doesn't react in any way as Thomas and his guide walk past. He makes no move to greet them, not even nodding his head to acknowledge their presence.

Thomas' guide treats him the same, treating the man as if he were invisible and continuing forward without any mention of his existence. Thomas does things differently.

"You must be a part of the Brotherhood. Kill any Templars lately?" He asks the man a question, one which he doesn't expect to be answered. Surprisingly there is a response.

"Continue forward in silence." A command, as if the man has any authority in this matter.

Thomas chuckles, unnerved by the hollow sounding tone of the man's voice and continues forward, following his guide. Of course, he does subtlety rebel against the cloaked figure's commands. He flips him the bird as he walks away, a silent form of protest against the antisocial treatment he's received.

Saber stops in her tracks, looking over the featureless man that opened the door. Something about him feels … off. She can't see his face but she feels like he's staring right into her eyes despite her not really being present. It's disturbing.

She stops observing the now silent voyeur and picks up her pace to catch up to Thomas and the man leading him through this haunted house sort of environment.

"Here we are."

"Finally." Thomas sighs, likely out of relief. The older man opens yet another door blocking their path and reveals something that gives Saber mixed emotions.

She's confused.

Creeped out.

And … jealous?

Before her is a spacious room carved out of what appears to be granite. It's right then that Saber realizes they're in some sort of underground cave system, and that the facility she's found herself in must be an extension to the natural rock structure itself. The air is shallower here. Thinner. It's harder to breath, almost as if she were standing atop an unconquerable mountaintop. Here, just like in the increased elevation of a mountain's peak, the air is less prevalent. To the extent that someone would find it difficult to stay down here for extended period of time without getting giddy from lightheadedness.

Saber's gaze wanders over the occupants of the room before her, taking note of all their details and the appearance of the room itself.

Around fifty 'followers' grovel on the ground, chanting incessant religious doctrine. Incoherent ramblings that Saber can barely understand. Almost like white noise on a television, it's utterly vexing to her ears.

"The Enlightened One will show us the way."

"Through the eyes of our Prophet we shall find salvation."

"Suffering and pleasure are one in the same."

"Misery cannot exist without desire. Desire has no place without misery."

"Lust brings love. Love brings lust."

"Pain is pleasure. Honesty is a lie. Wisdom is ignorance."

Various other statements are spouted forth from the crowd as they drone on for what seems like forever. All of them speak at the exact same time, as if this were one big symphony performed by a masterful orchestra. It's a rehearsal of the damned, in Saber's mind.

There's another noteworthy thing to mention about this room, besides the cult-like behavior of the crowd. It's the satin curtains that cut off half the room from her vision. All she make out is a slight outline of what she assumes to be a person, in a seated position, on the other side.

Thomas … doesn't react to any of this. He's either seen this before, has a godlike poker face, or is as morally bankrupt at the rest of the unnerving members of this faction.

"Come, let Inu show you the path to salvation."

Thomas doesn't budge.

"Do not fight it. Our Prophet especially loves sinners. She shall comfort you. Make you whole."

Saber watches as the wrinkly man reaches out to grab Thomas' wrist. She watches as Thomas grabs his instead.

There's a loud crack. It echoes throughout, bouncing off of the rocky walls around them and cascading all around the room.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me."

If what the hooded man had said to him before could have been deemed a command, the four words that come from Thomas' mouth at that moment can be considered a proclamation from God himself. They do more damage to the psyche of Inu than the breaking of his wrist could ever do.

"My money. Give it to me."

The older man cowers underneath the sheer fury directed at him. "Please reconsider. The Prophet will be greatly displeased that–!"

"Do I look like I care?" The cocking of a pistol resounds throughout, the only noise prevalent in this room besides the monotonous bastardization of the Gregorian chant being sung.

"We have already given it. The transaction was complete the moment you entered our abode! Its in your account!"

Thomas lets go of the man's wrist, reholstering the Charter Arms revolver he'd drawn. "Was that so hard, Inu? Couldn't you have spared me all this sanctimonious bullshit?"

A dry chuckle emanates from the other man. His lips curl in disgust. "You best reconsider the actions you've taken. Our offers are very … selective."

"No thanks." Without hesitation, Thomas answers. "Not a big fan of this makeshift Illuminati shit you have set up down here. I'll sell you guns, but I have no interest in being recruited."

Thomas moves to leave, showing himself out so to speak.

"I beg you to at least meet our Prophet. She shall show you the way towards Nirvana!"

Thomas stops, within kissing distance of Nero, and looks over his shoulder. "Your Prophet is down here?"

Inu's head bobs up and down, a feral grin replaces the grimace he wore prior. He's doing something quite talented. Rubbing his hands together despite having a broken wrist. (I mean, come on, that deserves a showcase on America's Got Talent. Being sinister even after being manhandled? Kudos to this dude.)

"She is. And she was very much looking forward to meeting you. As I said, we don't get many outsiders around here."

"I wonder why." Thomas deadpans, still annoyed by how his day's gone so far. He sighs. "Alright, I'll bite. Lead the way."

If he were a dog Inu would be wagging his tail furiously. Instead he can only rub his hands together more intensely as he starts snickering. "This way. This way!"

He doesn't make it a single step before his forehead is smashed into the wall. "Let's just set one thing straight." Thomas whispers into his ear, his body pressed tightly against the man as he forces him to remain plastered against the wall. "You nutjobs fuck me over? I'll reenact Jonestown. And you won't be getting the good Kool Aid. No, you'll be drinking that Lemon-Lime shit." A loud gulp is his only audible response.

Thomas releases the man, letting him slide to the ground. Inu brings himself to his feet while refusing to meet the eyes of the man that's just abused him. Then he starts walking forward, towards the curtains.

Saber follows Thomas as he pushes his way through the eager followers. They don't react to his presence. Instead they continue chanting like automatons with only one purpose.

Inu makes it to the curtain, pushes it aside enough so he can enter, and leaves Thomas alone while he goes to speak to his Prophet. For thirty seconds Thomas is left alone in a room of cultists proclaiming that 'Through torture we find comfort' and 'From our corpses the Enlightened One shall be born'. Safe to say he has to hold back. A lot. Even Saber feels like she's in over her head, despite being a Servant. This isn't what she was expecting to be the final scene.

"She will see you." Inu shuffles past Thomas, scurrying away like a rat as he exits the room.

Thomas pushes aside the curtains as he also pushes aside a part of him that tells him this is going to be a terrible mistake. He ignores the inner voice in his head giving him advice, and continues forward with Saber at his heels.

Inside he finds something that shocks them both.

A young adolescent girl. Falling somewhere in the age bracket of twelve to fifteen. Sitting up in her bed with a small smile on her face.

"You came."

Thomas didn't answer, Saber sees that he can't even if he wanted to. His jaw is firmly glued to the ground.

"Welcome to the Shingon Tachikawa school, Thomas Edmond Victors. I am Kiara Sessyoin. It is a pleasure to meet you." The girl speaks with a tone of maturity far beyond her years, despite her voice being rather meek. She's a frail looking creature, almost anorexic in her appearance. Her hair is as an ebony color, as dark as the shadows surrounding them. Her eyes are amber colored, like that of a golden dawn stretching across the horizon. She wears the same robes the rest of the cult members wear, except hers are obviously made with a child's smaller proportions in mind. Even so the clothe drapes itself over her, oversized because of her diminutive figure.

"You know my name?" That's the first question that comes out of Thomas' mouth as he gathers his wits together.

Kiara giggles. "But of course. Everyone here has been talking about you for days. You're the first outsider to grace us in months."

"You're their Prophet?"

Another giggle. "Yes. I am their shepherd and they are my flock."

"What have they done to you?" There's a tinge of outrage coating that question, as Thomas scowls in disgust at the girl's condition.

Kiara's smile turns sad. "Don't blame them for this. I've been like this since birth, and I fear I'll be like this till death."

Silence reigns supreme as both Thomas and Saber digest those words. Then, it's broken. Not by a comment but by an action. Thomas walks towards the girl, and without asking he takes a seat at the corner of her bed. All at once the weight of the world seems to hit him. His shoulders, kept confidently upright on his journey here, slump as his posture relaxes. His face softens as he loses the intimidating aura that surrounded him moments before.

"You're no Prophet."

The girl doesn't respond to this, instead allowing him to continue.

"Why allow them to make you one?"

Here is where she responds, and her words shatter something deep inside Nero and Thomas' heart. "Because they needed one."

For a while it seems as if Thomas isn't going to respond, the gears in his head seems to jam up as he processes what she's just said.

But then he speaks. Or rather he murmurs as he takes a soft-spoken approach. "I don't like this."

Just a simple statement, so simple it could almost be labeled childish. And yet, the way he says it makes it seem as if a rule of law has been decreed.

Kiara shrugs. Not really knowing how to respond. She'd wished to meet this stranger out of curiosity and boredom. Already he's shown to be pushy. Quite pushy. Is this how all outsiders are? Vocally opinionated on things that they have no connection to?

These two unusual people sit in silence. Thinking about one another, and how different they both must be.

"How is it … out there?"

Thomas sighs at the girl's question. It figures that being so sheltered would make her curious about the outside world.

"You've never seen it for yourself?"

She shakes her head in the negative.

For a second it seems as if Thomas is going to erupt in flames. His eyes bulge dangerously, almost as if they're about to pop out of his sockets.

"I never asked to."

And with that the air of malice overcoming him dissipates, fizzling out of him as he recomposes himself.

"It's … entertaining."

The girl raises an eyebrow at the adjective he uses. "How so?"

Thomas chuckles nervously, scratching the side of his chin as he decides exactly how to answer her. "It's ever changing. When I leave this place the world is going to be different than what it was when I entered. It will never stagnate."

Kiara thinks this description over, debating exactly what she should take away from it. "So it is … perpetual chaos."

"One could look at it like that. But you could also say it's just constantly evolving, constantly progressing into something new."

The girl giggles, "That sounds somewhat scary, don't you think? It makes me glad I'm down here." She's teasing the older boy, enjoying the look of disapproval that flits across his features.

"You should never fear something you've never experienced. It's pointless."

Kiara thinks his over, once again contemplating her words before vocalizing them. "Well … I suppose you have a point. Perhaps you could show me the world?"

Thomas mulls over this, and from the vast array of emotions that wash over his face Saber can tell he's arguing internally about how he should respond.

"Is there not anyone else?"

"Around here? No. None of them have seen the sun in months. Or last convert arrived in June of last year."

"They can't take you outside?"

"I do not wish to go. When I ask you to show me the world I merely ask for you to tell me your experiences. Nothing more." When she put it like that how could he refuse? It's not anything particularly difficult for him to do. He wouldn't have to babysit her or teach her anything. All he'd have to do is tell her bedtimes stories about the world around them. Not exactly a grave responsibility.

Still, Thomas rebels against the idea, disliking the implications of such a request. In agreeing he'd have to continuously traverse his way down here. Interacting constantly with an organization of lunatics just to talk to a teenage girl he knew nothing of. That seemed like it'd lead to a gradual indoctrination. Eventually he'd find himself less willing to leave.

"I have no time to waste on fraternizing with little girls."

Kiara actually pouts at this. "I'm not a 'little girl'. You're only five years older than me."

How does she know that? The shock on Thomas' face tells Saber that's the question he's wordlessly asking.

His response?

A sly grin.

Kiara wiggles a finger back and forth in front of his face. "I told you we had an interest in you."

That's an extremely unsettling thing to hear. But it'd be even more unsettling if she knew more than his age, something anyone could discern with a quick Google search.

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"You look much younger."

"It is the illness."

"You're bedridden." It comes across not as a question but as a realization. It dawns on Thomas just how sickly this girl is. Her appearance isn't just a farce used to pull at his heartstrings. It's an earnest representation of her condition.

"Oh? Did you think I was not? That makes me happy."

"Why's that?"

Kiara smiles, a happy little grin that seems out of place on her ashen face. "You knew immediately I was quite unwell but you still believed me to be strong enough to walk."

"Is there any way to answer that without sounding like a sentimental fool?"

"Not unless you'd rather be a coldhearted villain."

Booming laughter sounds off from the man sitting at the corner of Kiara's bed. "Perhaps I'd rather be a villain if it kept me away from demons such as yourself."

"Me?" The girl smiles sweetly at him, putting on a completely forced innocent look. "A 'demon'? But I am a Prophet?"

"You are neither of those things and yet your try to be both." Something about that hit the girl hard. She reacts … unpleasantly. Her eyes go wide as she releases a gasp of air. It's as if she's been hit in the gut.

"I …? What?"

Thomas stands up, removing himself from his siting position. His posture straightens considerably, and his expression is once again overtaken with a somber look. "You're a complete fake. Transparent. Anyone that's looking close enough can see you for what you are." He shrugs as the girl gasps at him. "But I enjoyed our conversation. I might return sometime if I have the chance." He moves towards the curtains, not turning back as he leaves.

"Thank you."

A meek voice bids him farewell with words of gratitude. Saber watches as tears stream down the younger girl's face, unseen by Thomas as he's already halfway gone.

"But ... could you tell me what I am then?"

Thomas doesn't stop to answer her, instead continuing his departure from the compound without a single goodbye.

---

Saber hadn't even noticed she'd fallen unconscious, likely implying she'd passed out from exhaustion. She frantically scrambles to her feet, hoping to find out what had happened.

What greets her is something completely unexpected.

She's in a luxurious king sized bed. Crimson sheets stenciled with gold cover her body.

Saber sits up, her head turning from one direction to the next as she desperately tries to figure out where she is.

"The mansion." It hits her like a sack of bricks. The decor has an uncanny similarity to that of the manor she'd purchased in her Master's name.

Which means only one thing.

"Praetor!" She bolts out of bed … and halts in her tracks.

On the bedside nightstand there's a vase filled with a bouquet of roses. A small card is placed next to it.

Saber carefully picks up the card, handling it as delicately as possible to avoid damaging it.

On the front page there is text, it reads as follows: "Thanks! You're a …" And underneath this is a … bright red colored wheel?

There's writing on this strange wheel shaped object. "Lifesaver". Saber doesn't understand what this is a reference too, but even she can put two and two together.

"Thanks! You're a lifesaver." She reads it aloud so as to assure herself it's in fact real. She opens the card, and upon doing so notices there's a rather hideously signed signature. It is so terrible that describing it using the phrase 'chicken scratch' would be an overzealous compliment.

But Saber is gifted with the inner Rosetta Stone all Servants have, courtesy of the Grail, and because of this she can read it.

"Gratias tibi for the save, partner. -Dante"

She reads it four times. Then she reads it four more just to make sure she isn't hallucinating from a migraine. Once she accepts this as being reality, she turns towards the roses set beside her.

They're beautiful, healthy, and look to be freshly picked. The aroma that saturates from them livens up the room considerably and sets her mind at ease.

Nero, fifth emperor of the Roman Empire, knows of only one thing to do in response to this gesture.

She needs to find her Praetor.

Saber rushes down the halls of the mansion she's in, striding with purpose in search of the man that considers her a 'partner' and not a 'Servant'.

She finds him in less than a minute.

He's surrounded by a gaggle of men in the foyer of the building, barking orders at them like a general commanding his army. His appearance has been changed drastically, and for the better in Saber's opinion. He no longer wears the scraggly jacket, raggy t-shirt, and faded jeans that seemed to be his customary attire.

Now her Praetor is decked out in his finest, wearing slacks and a buttoned-up dress shirt. Minus the tie of course, and with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. To complete the look her sports an oversized white leather jacket draped across his shoulders. The handgun he constantly carries with him is finally resting in a proper holster at his hip. It's almost breathtaking how different he looks. His eyes are no longer bloodshot, and the bags underneath them have seemingly disappeared. He's clean shaven. His shirt is even tucked in. The only thing left unchanged are the bandages that conceal his hands.

This is something completely unexpected.

"I need the usual serving sent to Taiga. Make sure she pays for it this time."

"What of the materials, boss? We'll need more than scrap to take care of this."

"Still at the Junkyard. In the shed with the rusted Mazda in front of it. Head by there and restock. All the old tools should be lying around."

"And what of their condition? It's been years since anyone's been there?"

Dante turns to the slouched man that's questioned him. "I make good shit, pal. Those tools will be sparkling when you find them."

The bowed man scribbles down a couple of sentences in the notepad he's carrying around.

"Alright, that's it. I'll be checking up on you and a few days. Tell Kaz to call me if anything goes wrong before then. And stay indoors during the night."

"Why?"

"I'd tell you to stay inside all day if I could, but then you idiots wouldn't get anything done. But avoid going out during the late hours, there's something going down in this city that I don't want any of you caught up in. Any questions?"

None whatsoever.

"Good. You're dismissed."

The men pour out of the front door, rushing to complete the tasks set for them.

Dante watches them go, and Saber watches them with him.

"Pesci, I hate accountants. Glorified bookkeepers."

"Praetor?" She is going to thank him for his gift. She's also going to use this to her advantage, teasing him about the kindness he has shown her in order to push him forward. Hopefully it will work better than her attempts at making him jealous with her talk of harems. After this is done she is going to assure him his thanks are unnecessary. Tell him that the smile on his face is all she needed. Lay on the cheesy bullshit in the hopes of buttering him up, just to coax out the softer side of him that clearly has to exist. There is no way a barbarian would get a woman flowers. No. Praetor has to be a secret romantic.

She's going to say these things to him and she's going to assist him in his metamorphosis into love!

Or at least that's what she thought was going to go down.

Instead the bastard immediately sidetracks those ideas by acting as if nothing is different.

"Good to see you're awake Saber." He turns to her, a smirk plastered across his face as he places his hands inside his slacks' pockets. "Are you hungry?"

Her sheepish grin answers that question for him. "Well, don't let me keep you waiting. Chow down." He dismisses her in much the same fashion he'd dismissed who she assumes to be secretaries.

And in doing so he squashes any chances she has at attempting to get through to him. At least for the moment. Saber is a dedicated woman after all. Rome wasn't built in a day.

"Praetor? Where are you going?"

"Hmm?" He turns towards her, the smirk disappearing completely, replaced by a questioning stare. "To take stock."

Stock?

He leaves, stomping down a set of stairs that she assumes lead to this building's basement.

She follows him, as he hadn't told her not to despite implying she should eat. There will be a time for that later. After all, it isn't a requirement for Servants to eat. In fact, it's practically useless for them to do so as the prana gained from the act is minimal at best.

She makes it to the bottom stair right as she hears a click-clack echo throughout the room. Her Praetor is holding a weapon Saber knows nothing about. It looks unlike the other long guns her Master has used, lacking a pistol grip and having a pump instead of a charging handle. It's a weapon that had seen use in both World Wars. It'd been in Korea, and Vietnam, and even reportedly used in the Gulf War. It's truly a 20th century classic born at the turn of the 19th. A shotgun like no other. A war veteran in its own right.

It's a Winchester Model 1897. Otherwise known colloquially as the Trench Gun.

But Saber doesn't know that. All she sees is a gun that her Praetor admires with a whistle before putting it down.

"Those morons actually managed to follow through with my requests. Colored me surprised."

In front of him there are numerous sheets of metal, of varying degrees of thickness. A stack of lumber is piled in the corner of the room.

"With this I can make practically anything, 'sides for something requiring plastic or glass. Ugh." He frowns. "Which rules out practically every modern gun in existence, along with any sort of magnified optic."

He begins making his way to a pile of what Saber can only assume to be ammunition. It's stacked haphazardly in the corner of this cellar they are in. She assumes this is his de facto workshop. That's after all something a mage has. Isn't it?

Dante bend down to pick up a cartridge. He checks it for any defect, and upon finding none, tosses it back on the pile in front of him. Then he does something Saber doesn't expect.

He jumps into the pile. Like a child diving into a bouncy ball pit.

She winces, closing her eyes in anticipation of the yelp of pain he'll force out after landing.

It never comes.

"Didn't I tell you to go get something to eat, blondie? What the hell are you doing down here?" Despite the crassness of his second question, there is no ill will in his tone. Nothing but joviality.

Saber opens her eyes and the sight that greets her throws her mind for a loop.

Her Praetor sits amongst the bullets, using them as a makeshift chair. They've shifted around his weight providing a proper support for his back and rests for his arms. He looks very much like a king sitting upon their golden throne.

Except this throne isn't made of gold. It's made of copious amounts of brass instead.

"Not really anything exciting going down here. I was just about to gather up some explosives to set around the perimeter before we head out." He shrugs, nonchalantly disregarding the seriousness of such a statement. "Least those dumbasses did two things right. I have enough material to set up shop for a year, and enough explosives to make the Tunguska event look like a mere fireworks display." A visible drop of sweat shines on Saber's forehead as she realizes the implications behind this. Dante has explosives down here. A lot of explosives. And they're in a room filled with guns and ammunition. It's a veritable powder keg willing to blow. And yet her Praetor has somehow made himself right at home.

A sigh, and he begins holding his face in his palms. "Now if only they hadn't been lazy. I asked for casings, primers, and bullets, and they grab pre-made cartridges. I'll have to break these down first before we can get anywhere." Yet another sigh, and for a second Saber assumes her Praetor is going to go into some sort of rant at the expense of his 'employees'. But such a thing never comes, as a massive grin overtakes his entire countenance.

"Well, I can't complain too much. They did try." That. That right there is the final straw. Something is seriously wrong with her Praetor.

"Praetor? Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" He glances up to her, bewilderment evident on his face. "Oh. I'm just pleased by how things turned out." The grin returns, growing in enormous proportions until it looks like it'll slide off his face.

For a brief moment she almost thinks he's talking of his gratitude for surviving the night prior. Saber prepares herself, seeing a clear opportunity before her. She could use this as a segue into talking about the card. This is her chance to–!

"The insurance money came in."

Or … he could instead bring up a completely unrelated tangent.

"…. Insurance money?"

"Yup. Turns out Kiara did me a solid. Brainwashed the surrounding neighbors and the police that showed up into believing it was a gas leak that set it ablaze." He busts out in a fit of laughter. "And of course I took advantage of that the second she told me on the phone. Filed the claim online while you were asleep. It came a few hours ago. I suspect she 'coaxed' them into accepting it too."

"Does this mean what I think it means, Praetor?" That you haven't yet straightened out your priorities?

"Correctamundo. I've just added insurance fraud to the long list of offenses I've committed; and I'm no longer broke!" A dark look crosses his features. "I'm still not exactly rich. Thanks to someone we both know. But I have something to support us for the time being."

She frowns as he brings up her actions yet again. The man could certainly hold a grudge. "I trust this will put to rest that particular issue, will it not?"

"Not on your life~." He chirps. "You still burnt my house down. I'll hold that over your head until we're both dead!" He cackles as Saber groans in discomfort. There goes any attempts at taking control of this conversation.

"But right now I have better things to do. I believe we should start going on the offensive."

"The offensive? You do not mean–"

"That I do. We've been on the defensive the past few days. And look where it's gotten us. The only time I've been on the offensive was the night I swiped you from that kid."

"Mmm, you do have a point, Praetor. The enemy certainly does not hold back. Why should we?"

"Exactly. We'll start hunting them down one by one. That's how we'll win this."

"I admit, I am somewhat surprised by the change in heart, Praetor."

He blinks. "What change of heart?"

She tilts her head to the side, perplexed as to how he doesn't understand her comment. "Were you not the one that fled from battle the moment we could?"

The grinding of his teeth is all the answer she needs. But it isn't the only one she gets. "Have you ever heard of guerrilla warfare?"

Saber nods in the negative.

"Well, basically, our main objective is to survive. In order to do that and also weaken the enemy it's best to retreat when we know we're pushing it." He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "We have to avoid giving the enemy a reason to use their Noble Phantasms. In order to do that we need to hit hard and fast. It is entirely possible we could have died had we not fled in the past two battles."

"Is this not the cowardly way of fighting, Praetor? Do you know nothing of pride? How can you speak so nonchalantly about running away?"

Dante groans at her series of questions, sounding completely fed up with her line of reasoning. "Have you ever heard of a 'tactical retreat'? Cutting your losses before you lose everything? That's how you win wars Saber. Pride, honor, decency. They have nothing to do with it." He shrugs. "Surely you must know something of this. Rome was known for its legions. Did they not ever flee when defeat was evident?"

"Absolutely not. No proud Roman would turn back even in the face of death."

"I'm fairly certain that's historically inaccurate. But that's beside the point. Don't you think it's important to fight another day, even if it means retreating?"

She processes this, judging his logic for what it's worth. "Perhaps, but surely you understand the effect constantly retreating has on your troops? It is a gradual degradation of morale, and that cannot end well."

He blinks at her. Twice. Completely flabbergasted by the point she's made. "Where the hell did you hear that from?"

Saber shrugs. "I had excellent tutors and Sextus, being a soldier at heart, was quite fond of military tactics."

"That … that actually makes a lot of sense." Dante strokes his chin in thought. "Wait." He freezes as he realizes what she's getting at. "You don't mean to tell me you're depressed we're constantly losing."

Saber clears her throat loudly. "Well … I would not use the term 'losing' per se, but …."

"I feel the same."

The temperature in the room drops a couple of degrees.

"Praetor?"

He looks down at his shoes, refusing to meet her gaze. "I had a different goal in mind in the beginning of this thing. I had an idea of how I was going to proceed. But I'm just now realizing how useless all of those plans I made are." His head shoots up and he glares into Saber's eyes defiantly. "But who gives a damn? I don't need plans. I don't need anything but my guns and my wits. And you." He holds his hand out for her to grasp. "We can do this thing. We can win. I know that, beyond a shadow of a doubt."

Something about the look in his eyes tells Saber he's telling the truth. The utter conviction in every syllable of his speech awakes something within her. Is it hope? Saber doesn't know. She doesn't care enough to question it. No one in her life has ever shown her such trust, such honest to God trust. And now, a paranoid, suspicious, shallow shell of a man is entrusting her with his victory. He's gambling everything on her being able to hold up to the task. Despite his flaws, his fallacies, despite his vices, the man is being upfront with her.

He's showing a completely different side of himself.

Perhaps he is merely bipolar, and all of this is just hot air he will believe for now but forget when it becomes less important. Perhaps he's just a better manipulator than Saber gave him credit for. But from her experience with her mother Saber can tell a thing or two about how people act when they are being deceitful. Dante doesn't set off any of those alarm bells. He seems completely genuine. Time will only tell as to whether or not this trust could last. But for now?

For now ….

Saber grabs his hand in her own.

"We shall win this … together. I trust in your Praetor. I believe in you. Just as you believe in me."

He seems to choke on air at that statement, inhaling deeply and coughing loudly upon doing so. But he fights back the urge to grimace and instead smiles sufficiently for her sake.

"Likewise, we've saved each other's asses enough for that to mean something. Now, let's just turn things around, take the fight to them instead of letting them come to us." He chuckles. "Molon labe only starts a fight, but it doesn't end it."

He smirks widely for her. "'Requiescat in Pace' is what ends it."

They stand there, their hands in each other's in a firm handshake for what seems like an eternity. Saber doesn't ask him to let go, and he makes no move to do so. It's … nice to stay like this.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door. And all at once the passionate light in her Praetor's eyes seems to be snuffed out as he's replaced once again by that cynical shadow of a man she's become accustomed to.

"Those morons are something else. What'd they forget this time?" He lets go of her grip, turning his back on her and striding towards the stairs. She follows behind, shadowing him as he steps up the stairs and towards the main entrance.

He makes it there before her, opening the large oak double doors without a second thought. His back blocks her from seeing who's at the entrance, but something about the stiffening of her Praetor's shoulders tells her it can be no one good.

"I finally found you, you Servant stealing bastard! You better pray to that Pesci guy you ramble about! Because you'll be meeting him really soon when I'm done with–!"

Dante slams the door in the blue-haired prepubescent boy's face.

Muffled screaming comes from the other side of the door. It quivers underneath what can only be a torrent of blows from the unexpected 'visitor'.

"Saber? Did you hear a knock at the door?"

Nero decides to play along, seeing the alternative as much worse by comparison. "A knock? Praetor, I do not think I did. Did you?"

Dante shakes his head furiously. "Nope, maybe it was just the wind outside." He shrugs, completely ignoring the frantic wailing from behind the door. "Why don't we go get something to eat now. The boys brought over a feast fit for a king."

Saber smiles, enjoying the idea of taking a break. "That sounds lovely, Praetor. Let us be off then."

He smirks. "Ladies first."

They make their way to the kitchen, completely disregarding the quite audible roar that comments on their departure.

"Get back here you cockblocking piece of shit!"

---

AN: Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for the hiatus that's going to be happening to this story for the next month or so. I'm being vague with my time frame because I'm unsure how long it'll take me to whip up chapter eleven after focusing on my other story for a while. On the bright side those of you who have been waiting for me to update Transparent for the past three or four months can rejoice! I plan on whipping up at least three chapters before coming back to this story. Then I'm probably going to alternate between the two, updating both stories one after the other. That's at least my main goal.

Anyways, let's not dwell on such things, I have some reviews to respond to!

Synthetic Knight: Thanks! I was kind of worried about how I ended up introducing him, especially since he's popping up much earlier than he did in GEGE. I'm glad to hear you think I did ok with him. I'd probably cry more than you if I stopped updating this story XD. I've put an awful lot of work into it, so unless I become physically unable of updating it I won't just stop out of thin air.

Gundam-Knight-Chris: You know, this is exactly why I feel his luck would be EX. It jumps all over the place. One minute he's surviving impossible fights, the next he's close to death. I don't know if that's terrible writing or perhaps I just enjoy making him suffer too much to let him die, lol. And I would not worry about Rider. For better or worse the Fate universe's notorious trap paladin will not be showing up. Nor will Broskander. I don't want to spoil it too much, but it's going to be somewhat obvious who I pick for Rider. She is after all the main Rider Servant in Extra. Take my word for it though, Dante and her are going to get along well.

King0fP0wers: I like your ideas, Jim XD. 'Suicidal Confidence' is a term I'm particularly interested in. Mind if I end up using that in the future? You'll be properly accredited and whatnot. You know I was thinking of making Vlad the Berserker of the war (hence him lacking in the speech department) but I also feel the other Servant I have in mind is just too perfect of a juxtaposition for me not to use her. Small hint though, we're not going to be seeing Lu Bu in this story. I'm still debating if we'll be seeing Rani. Tsk. You've caught me ... not! I have an excuse! Err ... I mean, I have an explanation! Remember the Arturia vs. Hercules fight in UBW? The first one. Herk strikes the ground sending a ton of shrapnel at Saber when she charges him with her prana burst. What looks like a rock slaps her in the side of her face and causes her to bleed. Thus, with some use of my artistic license, I figured it'd be justified to say Robin would be a little bruised/bloody from his encounter with Dante and the Great Jabby. Also, blood makes everything more dramatic ... just trust me on this XD. And of course I must end on a cliffhanger! What do you take me for, compassionate?! Hence why this chapter ends on a cliffhanger as well! MWAHAHAHA! As for the Dead Apostle situation: well I haven't yet read through Tsukihime so I can't testify exactly as to the accuracy of this but ... Arcueid is a True Ancestor is she not? And a True Ancestor is essentially a higher version of a Dead Apostle, no? And Tsukihime does have a romance route for her involving sex so ... yeah you can fill in the blanks there. Not so sure about the food thing, but I'd imagine it'd work kind of like a Servant. They can eat, but it wouldn't do them a whole lot of good (probably less than the prana gain a Servant gets from it).

Guest: Hmm, on second though Arsenal of an Aficionado would probably sound better than Arsenal of an Anarchist. Just because those blasted Antifa have degraded the label 'anarchist' so soundly, lol. Wet Dream of a Texan must stay though. I don't want to brag but I'd argue it's the best named Noble Phantasm in the history of Noble Phantasms XD.

Guest: Ah ha! A fellow Grand Order player! You don't know how giddy I was to see Kiara as a Servant. And you don't know how not giddy I was after wasting all my quartz on her and getting nothing but damn CEs, lol. From what I can tell the Grand Order Kiara is slightly different than CCC's version. Unlike CCC she actually interacted with normal people in her childhood and she ended up becoming some sort of therapist type. I'm sort of going for a blend of the two versions here. I agree with your view on Mephisto and Dante. It'd be fun ... for a one-shot. Writing an entire story about their bromance would only work if they didn't spend most of it screwing around, and I just can't see those two doing anything but that upon meeting each other. There has to be a semi-straight man in a comedy duo (in my opinion) or else there's nothing to contrast the humor. So I'd have to contrast Mephisto's zaniness with Dante's more sarcastic sense of humor. Now ... Dante and Andersen are another story. They'd compliment each other immensely, and unlike Mephisto and Dante they'd probably disagree a few times too. Which would add a necessary conflict in their relationship. Dante would probably only disagree with the severity of Mephisto's actions, especially if they were directed at himself or children, but he'd mostly give the guy free reign to do what he wants. Which would get boring. But Andersen and Dante would constantly be trading insults at each other like old friends, and that'd be hilarious to witness. With the whole Medea-esque buffing you're making me think of two other possible candidates. Shakespeare. And Alexandre Dumas (he's in Strange Fake). I think Dante would get along with the two of them as well. And let's not forget Medea herself! I wonder how the heck that team would work?

PS: I'm curious as to what your guys' take on pairings is? Personally I prefer the idea of Dante staying single throughout this thing (because I'm godawful at writing romance), but I'm still somewhat interested in everyone else's opinion. So, what I'm going to go ahead and do is set up a poll on Space Battles. The link is of course threads/21st-century-schizoid-man-fate-au-with-oc-master.496022/

Fanfic will probably censor it though, so if that doesn't work I'd just suggest typing '21st Century Schizoid Man' into the search bar to pull it up. It's going to be obvious which one is for this story (hint, it's the one with Nero as the cover image).

Otherwise you can always just go ahead and post your vote as a review. I'll be taking into consideration what people think on this. Romance is not a main focus of this story though so don't get your hopes up (sorry to all you Dante x Jabberwocky fans, it's not gonna happen XD).

Besides that feel free to send me an PMs or comment on the forum with any questions, comments, or concerns you have. Reviews also work, but I won't probably be responding to them until I finish working on Transparent so who knows when that'll be.

As a final note, I'd just like to thank every last one of you for reading this. We now have more followers on this story than GEGE ever had and that's mindblowing considering we're only on chapter ten. I'm very grateful for all the support.

Also, shout out to King Keith once again. Dude's a balla for helping me edit all these chapters.