Disclaimer: The works of Type-Moon and Jō Taketsuki are their own despite my most fervent wishes. This is a fan work and if anyone does pay me for it the only thing it will accomplish is to get me into trouble. This is being done purely for fun, constructive criticism is welcome, and flames will be ignored. Please be gentle though, this is the first fanfic I've put on the net.
I have to say that this chapter was a bit of a task to write. It would seem that after banging out the Campione VS Campione fight scene over the last couple of chapters my muse decided to go on holiday and left me to plough my way through this on my own. Still despite my slight lack of inspiration I think I did a fairly decent job, even if the chapter is about 8000 words longer than I originally planned.
A number of my readers have noted in their reviews that I tend to be a bit more verbose in my writing than need to be, indeed on TV Tropes one of the tropes for this fic is Narrative Filigree. I am aware that this is a weakness of mine, but it stems from my style of writing. When I write I tend to just put my thoughts straight onto the computer, I might go back and tidy up afterwards but generally I like to just keep the flow going. The end result is that I do have a fair bit of extra wording in there, but the simple fact is that I find it easier to write a thousand words in that style than I do to condense it down to seven or six hundred words. I am aware that it's something of a weakness, but since it allows me to write fairly quickly I think that it's a decent trade off.
Yes, I am aware that I could go back after I've written the whole thing and trim it down, but I challenge you to spend who knows how many hours working on a chapter and then going back on it to shorten it.
I take a certain pride in my update rate being one of the better ones, not as great as some I freely admit, but I do feel it's pretty good. I suppose my readers can take my narrative filigree as being part of the price for that update rate.
Now in regards to my last chapter, it seems that my Sakura statue idea has received a somewhat mixed reception. I did admit that having a statue of Sakura in the centre of his world was a bit on the heavy handed side, but it was necessary so that Venus could immediately recognize the one that was denying her full dominion over Shirou's heart. My original plan was for there to be a grove of cherry trees in bloom there, however as I wrote the scene that struck me as too impersonal for Venus to hate, so I put a ten foot statue in the centre of the grove. Then my Beta pointed out that such a set up was far too over the top and I was forced to agree. That led to the smaller statue that was almost unnoticed, something I thought far more appropriate.
I'd like to thank everyone that made suggestions for Shirou's new Authority. Some of you will see your influence on it in the description that I've added to the bottom of this chapter. To all others I offer my thanks for the inspiration that your suggestions provided during a time when my inspiration was running pretty low.
SPOILERS.
This chapter sees the revealing of the true identities of my two Divine Ancestors. Tiamat was mentioned in the original Light Novels as being a dragon that Perseus slew in order to save the princess Andromeda. To me that hinted pretty heavily that Andromeda was a Divine Ancestor and so I decided to run with the idea. Tiamat has been a goddess I always had a certain interest in ever since I was little and saw those old D&D cartoons. Even after I learnt that Tiamat was a real goddess rather than the dragon character I remained interested in her for no other reason than that I liked the sound of her name. As such it was pretty much a given that I'd work her into a story like this one.
Just to be clear I'm using the whole 'he', 'him' and 'his' thing for Lancelot only when writing from the perspective of someone that is in the know about 'his' secret and true identity. When writing from someone like Shirou's perspective I use the male forms as appropriate.
In regards to Lancelot comparing Arondight to Excalibur please remember that he's comparing it to the Campioneverse Excalibur, not the Last Phantasm one. Sadly my information on the Campione one is a bit limited, but from what I've been able to determine Excalibur is a massively destructive Authority that is designed to defeat and slay Campione. I'm not too sure how that would stack up against the Nasuverse Excalibur, but given that the King of the End is regarded as one of the most powerful entities in the Campione world I imagine it to be a worthy counterpart.
In answer to the inevitable question: yes, Tiamat is the latest victim of The Hero's Bride, even though she doesn't know it. I've been trying to write her as different from Guinevere which has proven a bit of a challenge, but I think I got it more or less right in the end. In all honesty I've been planning for her to be a romantic interest ever since I introduced her way back near the start of the fic.
The Omake at the bottom is just a little something I threw in for fun, although as it turned out Doni is a surprisingly hard character to write. For those of you that think he's having too easy a time against Gilgamesh; please remember that at this point Gil is only using lower rank Noble Phantasms such as C and D since he doesn't want to break out the higher stuff for these 'mongrels'. I figured that since Authorities are almost all on par with high level Noble Phantasms that Doni would have no trouble handling them. Once Gilgamesh starts to use his more powerful weapons, that's when the odds change.
Over all I'd say that Gil is more powerful than Doni, but since the Campione has an Authority that allows him to send other Authorities (and as a Servant other Noble Phantasms) out of control I think the odds aren't too bad against him. Well, those are my thoughts on the matter anyway.
Chapter Twenty Two: The Tempest: Part 3
At that very moment Shirou didn't know what was going on.
It was an experience that he'd had to endure before, the first time he'd met Saber was an excellent example. But this time was different; it was as though his mind was in shards that weren't connecting properly. He was rescuing people from a fire . . . no, that had been some time ago. He could remember doing other things, but he couldn't fully comprehend what those things had been. There were flashes of things, power, fighting, the feel of flesh beneath his hands, a memory of a memory that he couldn't quite assemble into something he could understand.
And there was pain.
Shirou had known pain in the past, pain of a type that very few humans ever knew and survived. Yet despite that the pain he was experiencing at that very moment was something completely new that was not merely of the flesh.
Grief roared in his heart, unutterable inconsolable grief, and yet despite the intensity of the emotion he couldn't think of who or what it was for. The emotion was as directionless as a river bursting its banks in a flood; it covered all without distinction or regard, threatening to drown him in a sea of emotional pain.
Around him he could feel Unlimited Blade Works dispelling, fading as the real world rushed back in to take its rightful place. Wait, Unlimited Blade Works? How was that possible, he didn't know how to manifest his internal world upon reality, his aria was incomplete and the internal world itself was too different from anything he was familiar with to use the memories of his other selves to close the gaps in his method.
Except now that was no longer true, he could feel them in his mind. The words to speak, the path to take, the method to use, all were complete now, the steps ready and waiting to be taken as soon as he once more wished to invoke his Reality Marble.
And that brought him to his next realization, namely that his body felt as though it had been fed through a meat processor and then inexpertly been put back together. Everywhere ached, his bones, his muscles, even his magic circuits burnt as though someone had poured battery acid into them.
He was utterly exhausted, so much so that right now he didn't even have the energy to rise from where he lay. Instead he simply rested his face in the dust before him as his mind spun in frantic circles.
What had happened to him? Why was he hurt? Why were his reserves of magic so low they were almost on par with the aftermath of his battle with Mordred?
And, most importantly, why did it feel as though his heart were trying to rip itself apart in his chest?
Laying in the dirt the King of Steel remained unmoving as pain and weariness competed to see which could drag him into dark oblivion first.
-()-
Lancelot was not at all familiar with uncertainty.
'He' was a god that knew 'his' duties and his pleasures and followed through upon both without reserve or remorse. 'His' duty was to protect the beloved child that had once been the white Mother Goddess that had sworn to serve their mutual master. 'His' pleasure was to battle the foes that would rise in Guinevere's path, those that would stand in the way of the revival of their King.
For more than a millennium those certainties had been the guiding paths for the Knight of the Lake, all else had been unimportant, irrelevant at best and a mere distraction at worst. 'He' had been content to wait in 'his' legend watching over 'his' charge with eternal vigilance, ready to descend to the mortal plane by way of the great enchantment upon 'him' so that 'he' could come to her defence.
The Knight of the Lake had known failure and grief, those had been 'his' when a Devil King had succeeded in slaying Guinevere despite Lancelot's efforts. Perhaps if 'he' had been a Heretic God at the time the sting of failure would have been lessened, but within the realm of legends there had been no such temperance to the pain.
Lancelot had known much, but uncertainty was not something 'he' had ever been forced to encounter with any kind of frequency.
But now that emotion loomed colossus-like within the deity of Steel's mind, and what made it even more disconcerting was the fact that the unfamiliar emotion came not from a single source, but rather from multiple ones.
The first and most obvious was the impossible world that King Shirou had created. Lancelot was a god of War and Steel, 'he' had encountered many Authorities and magics in 'his' long life, 'he' had even stood in the presence of Artus at the height of his power and witnessed the incomparable power of the Strongest Steel. Yet despite all that never had the Knight of the Lake ever seen anything like the endless field of swords that had taken the place of the mortal world.
When first the eighth Campione had invoked the strange world Lancelot had thought it to be similar to the Authorities of some gods that created a new space that was their domain and then drew their foes and allies into it. However that assumption had been quickly dispelled as 'his' divine senses had reached out and made 'him' more aware of the world into which his spirit had been drawn.
It was different; there was no other way that the deity of Steel could explain it. This world, this Unlimited Blade Works, was utterly different from any Authority that 'he' had ever encountered before. It's function, its basis, even its very existence was beyond the scope of anything that the Knight of the Lake had ever experienced before.
Yet despite all its strangeness the world of weapons that Sir Shirou had created hadn't felt wrong, despite how different it had been it had none the less stirred a feeling of kinship within the God Knight's breast. This was an entire world of Steel. Not merely the countless weapons, the sky, the earth, the very air, all were saturated with a power that made 'him' feel as though 'he' once more stood in the presence of the mighty King of the End.
Was this what Guinevere had seen within the young God Slayer? Had she sensed that this . . . this impossibility that had nested within King Shirou?
The experience of that impossible world would alone have been enough to rattle 'him' but it hadn't been the end of the surprises to come. 'He' had thought the creation of the world to be a miracle, but that impossibility was eclipsed by the power that this strange world possessed.
A rain of swords to shatter a sword Authority, a sword of such dimensions that defied the rationality of even a deity to destroy an Authority of defence, another rain of weapons that laid low both Campione and their allies. Again and again this Unlimited Blade Works surpassed all expectations, surpassed what should have been the limit of human magic.
And this was a mortal magic, of that 'he' was certain. Its scope and nature might be beyond anything that he'd imagined humans could accomplish, but there was no trace of divinity to its power. 'He' could sense divinity clinging to some of the weapons that were held by this world, that they were of divine origin, but the world itself? That was the creation of the Campione himself, not one of his Authorities, not some power usurped from a god, this world was his, that as clearly as though it was written across the sky in burning letters.
Then, as though the shocks of the existence of this impossible world as well as the power it possessed hadn't been enough, there had been the sword.
It had appeared in King Shirou's hand, not in a flash of golden light as his other weapons had but rather in a burst of dark blue mist that had condensed instantly into the form of a broadsword. Its body was of some dark metal and had been forged into a somewhat unusual design, one more elaborate than the clean lines of a normal sword with runes and writing worked into it. Lancelot had only had time to see it briefly, but that too short glimpse had been burnt into 'his' mind.
That sword . . . there was something about it, something that called to 'him' in a way that the Knight of the Lake had never felt before. There was a link, a connection, there that 'he' couldn't fully understand. Precious Guinevere had said that the sword was called Arondight and that was a name that was known to Lancelot. In some tales of 'him' that was the weapon with which 'he' had performed many mighty deeds. Indeed, in some tall tales the sword was said to be the sibling sword to Excalibur, a notion that had amused the deity of Steel for its sheer level of foolishness. As though any sword could equal the blade of Divine Salvation that 'his' beloved King had wielded, the very idea was absurd to those that had witnessed its power.
But that sword . . . after seeing it for the first time in 'his' existence 'he' had the seeds of doubt that the sword of his King was truly as peerless as he had thought it to be.
This Arondight didn't seem to possess the same destructive power that Excalibur did, its stab was accompanied by no torrent of power or platinum energy. Yet despite that the same connection that tugged at Lancelot's senses also let 'him' instinctively know the strengths of the blade before him. The sword didn't send its power outwards but instead joined its strength to that of its wielders, to merely hold Arondight was enough to increase one's power enormously. Not only that, the sword was the natural enemy of dragons having tasted their blood in the past and gained strength from it so that it could inflict greater harm to such foes. And to add to such potent powers was the simple fact that this Arondight was strong, strong in a way that few weapons could ever match. This was a sword that could clash with Excalibur again and again and not be destroyed by the contest.
And yet, such a sword could not exist.
Arondight was the creation of some bard of lost name in ages past. Lancelot had never wielded such a sword and Excalibur had never possessed sibling blades. In the past the King of the End had allowed his favoured companion to use the power of Excalibur for 'himself', that was the origin of the so called brother and sister swords of Excalibur. Later scribes had invented swords of power to be wielded by the other Knights such as Excalibur Galatine, Clarent . . .
And Arondight.
Was this how Guinevere had felt when she was confronted by the impossible spear that King Shirou had gifted to her? Had she also experienced this sensation of familiarity and bewilderment?
As for the Witch Queen herself, she seemed to be more focussed upon the perplexing Devil King to such a degree that she hadn't yet shown any real reaction to the incredible world that he had created and which was now fading from view around them. Within 'his' armour Lancelot smiled. It would seem that 'his' earlier teasing of 'his' most precious charge might have been more accurate than previously thought.
Well, that was something that 'he' had no objection to, Guinevere's adoration for their King hadn't been amorous in nature, but rather that of a devoted follower. The legend of her being the wife of Artus had been one of the many embellishments that had grown up over the centuries as bards and scribes had retold the tale again and again. In all truth the Knight of the Lake derived a certain level of amusement from some of the stories that had grown up; the one of how he and Guinevere had been illicit lovers had been one such amusing development.
In all truth the idea of this young Campione becoming their ally if the precious child sought to pursue him wasn't objectionable. Guinevere was constantly drawing closer to their goal and having a powerful ally such as this young King would only strengthen their hand. If he would aid their cause then the return of Artus would occur that much sooner.
That was an interesting thought; how would the King of the End react to meeting a God Slayer that was acting as an ally to his servant? In the past he had faced Devil Kings in battle, but that had only been when they'd come to him seeking conflict or when they committed sins grave enough to draw his attention. Despite his power and the force with which he defeated his foes Artus was not one to seek battle for its own sake, so Lancelot doubted that he'd have too much of a problem with a Campione being an ally. Indeed, the deity of Steel thought with some amusement, the novelty of having a natural foe for an ally might be of great interest to the sometimes world-weary and laconic god.
"Someone's . . . coming. There are . . . three of them, and one of them is strong, very strong."
The words drew 'him' out of his thoughts as 'his' ghostlike form glanced at Guinevere. Her face seemed unusually apprehensive, almost fearful as her eyes locked upon the river that flowed by the scene of the battle that had been fought.
Yes, now that 'he' focussed 'his' own senses the aura of divine force that was drawing near was unmistakable.
'Strong' wasn't a large enough word to cover the power 'he' sensed, the approaching force was colossal in a way that Lancelot had only rarely seen in the many millennia of 'his' existence. At the very least it was on par with the likes of Mordred at his height or possibly Artus himself when he wasn't drawing upon his full strength.
Beneath 'his' helmet the knight's eyes narrowed.
What was going to happen now?
-()-
She gloried in her returned power as the currents of the water bent to her will and carried the bubble of air containing her and her allies to their objective. For so long this power, her power, had been denied to her as she was locked in that pitiful imitation of her former majesty. Her Authorities had been stripped from her, her memories had been sealed away and her very identity had been subsumed by the new personality that had been born of her defeat. For three mortal lifetimes she had lovingly existed as the wife of the hero, the god, that had so bound her. She had borne him children and served at his side even as she slowly grew old while he remained young.
It had been death that had granted her her freedom, that had lifted the bonds that had held her mind. The end of her semi-mortal life had restored some parts of her lost divinity and raised her to the level of the immortal child sorceresses known as Divine Ancestors.
Never in all her existence had she felt such pure and incandescent hate as she had at the moment when her faculties had finally returned to her. The knowledge of what had been done to her, what had been taken from her, what had been lost to her, had almost been enough to drive her into insanity. But she hadn't succumbed to madness, instead she had poured her anger and resentment into her efforts to regain what she had lost and inflict some measure of vengeance upon the one that had done this to her.
And now, finally, her long lost glory was restored to her.
She was beautiful once more. Beautiful and terrifying.
Her body was no longer that of a child as the full richness of womanhood was returned to her. The beauty that had once bespelled even other gods was restored, her skin lost its former whiteness as it darkened to sun kissed bronze, her hair lengthening as the tints of blood and ocean that flowed through it rearranged themselves into a new pattern.
And that divine beauty only served to contrast and highlight her more inhuman aspects. Her scales gleamed like gemstones, her horns shone like polished ivory, and spines and membraned fins flashed like pristine daggers.
"We can leave your prey behind," Brynhildr's voice broke her from her comfortable revelry of her returning magnificence as the blonde Divine Ancestor addressed Athena, "But slaying the other two now would ensure that they will be unable to interfere in the future."
That made sense, that was the prudent course. Taking this opportunity would allow her to eliminate a powerful God Slayer that had lived for more than two centuries as well as a younger Devil King that had shown fearsome promise and who had reason to hate them personally. It would be far more prudent to ensure their ends instead; after all she was certain that her return would lead the other Campione of the world to hunt her in time, no need for that number to be more than necessary.
Yes, the idea was beginning to gain favour in her mind.
Exhausted though they might be the Devil Kings still retained their resistance to magic as well as their formidable endurance, only their ability to strike back was worn out. A cruel smile touched her lips as she mentally caressed that thought. Durable enough to last against some of her attacks but weak enough not to be a threat.
Perfect test subjects for her returned powers.
As a goddess the deity that had become Andromeda had never had much interest in the arts of mortal entertainment, such as theatre or poetry, but as a Divine Ancestor that had changed. As the centuries passed and the methods of amusement grew more sophisticated she'd come to enjoy some of them despite their origins as mortal works. In the last two centuries she'd developed a taste a particular genre that mortals were apt at putting into writing and their screenplays.
To be specific she was something of a horror enthusiast.
It was a low and guilty pleasure that was unbefitting of a former deity, let alone a renewed goddess, but none the less she had spent some quiet nights alone in cinemas that she'd slipped into using her magic watching tales of fear and horror. Of course to one that had once birthed the very monsters of legend the majority of the mortal creations were more farcical than terrorizing, meaning that the creations she could enjoy were few and far between at first. Vampires, ghouls, werewolves and mummies, the original monsters of Hollywood and Europe had failed to engage one that knew the truth behind such tales. However there had been one book that she'd enjoyed immensely when it first came out, one that she'd read again and again over the years and had gone to see eagerly when it finally came to be played upon the silver screen.
Frankenstein.
It was strange; she was a being of power and immortality that even in her reduced state far surpassed any mortal no matter how accomplished. She had known fear in the past, fear of gods, fear of 'heroes', fear of failure, yet when it came to the macabre pleasure of making her own flesh creep she had come to find that tales of human science and the abominations that its misuse could produce were what most chilled her bones.
That was her private amusement, to indulge in the horrors of mankind's science becoming warped and dangerous. It was a minor diversion, something without consequence, and yet despite the return of her full divinity she still found amusement and interest nesting in her heart at the thought of treating the God Slaying Devil Kings as mere test subjects.
"So long as Kusanagi Godou is unharmed I do not care about the others."
Ah, it would seem that the disagreement had come to an end. For a tiny moment irritation surged through her at the thought of one of the Kings being declared out of her reach, but with the discipline learnt over the centuries of being a Divine Ancestor she clamped down upon the emotion. There was no need to allow her pride to overcome her reason, not now that she'd regained what she'd lost, there was no need to forget the lessons that she'd learnt over the years. The principle weakness of a deity was the inability to curb their desires, that was the very aspect that had led to her diminishment. She would not fall into that trap again; she would not abandon all she had gained from her weakening.
"Then we have an accord," she said, relishing the sound of her deeper and more mature voice for the first time in millennia, "He is yours, but the others shall be mine."
-()-
The technique that Luo Hao was using was one that she hadn't needed to employ for more than sixty years.
The Jīngshén Zhōuqí de Fùxīng Liú, or Revival Flow of the Spiritual Cycle technique was a method that she'd personally developed in order to take fuller advantage of the enhanced channels of power that she'd gained as a God Slayer. The skill had proven to invaluable to her in her first century as a Supreme King as it allowed her to recover rapidly from even severe injuries, however as the years had passed and her mastery of her Authorities had grown she'd needed to use the technique less and less until it had become totally unnecessary.
But today, for the first time in more than three decades, the Ruler of the Martial Realm had been injured.
This hadn't been some minor cut or trifling bruise. This had surpassed even the mighty blow that her adopted brother had dealt her when he'd managed to defeat her in their match. Today her flesh had been torn, her blood had been spilt and her form struck down to lie in the dirt, how long had it been since she had tasted such experiences? How long since she'd tasted defeat?
Because she knew that defeat was indeed what had been dealt to her. Luo Cuilian had seen her defences broken, had been caught by King Shirou's trap, had felt her strengthened body scream as the force of the exploding weapons had struck her like a gnat before a hurricane. She had survived, it had been close but she had been able to endure the assault upon her, but even as she had tried to rise once more she had felt the bone deep exhaustion dragging her down and had known that there was no way that she could endure another such barrage.
Helplessness was almost anathema to the Ruler of the Martial Realm. She was one with the power to destroy whole mountains, to single handily slay entire armies. She was a paragon of Martial might, the ultimate example of what those that focussed upon their art hoped to become. Yet in that instant, that brief period when King Shirou's sibling had been exchanging words with the Heretic Goddess Venus, Luo Hao had realized there was nothing she could do. Her Qi had been exhausted and her body battered to its limits. She could recover from her state, indeed she was doing so now, but for that moment in time her life had hung at the mercy of others.
In the end she had been saved by the vain Goddess pushing her hold upon the King of Steel too far. Luo Cuilian had experienced great satisfaction at the sight of the bewilderment and incomprehension that had swept across Venus's face as she fell with King Shirou's sword impaling her. But that emotion had been tempered by the knowledge that it could just as easily have been her that could have been slain; all that would have been needed was a single more of those rains of weapons.
As her thin streams of remaining energy began to circle through her system the Chinese Campione gazed at the young King that had unquestionably defeated her.
To look at him right now it seemed impossible that mere minutes before he had stood over their defeated forms like some conquering deity. Now he lay in the dirt, his limp form somehow radiating bewilderment, exhaustion and hurt.
"Do you know what just happened?"
The question shook her from her thoughts and drew her attention back to her younger brother. Kusanagi Godou seemed to have managed to endure King Shirou's last assault better than she had, but then she supposed that was only to be expected. No doubt the eighth Campione had focussed the greater part of his attack upon the more dangerous of the pair of enemy Kings. As it was he still looked as though a part of the park had tried to attack him, but she didn't appear to have any major wounds. The principle problem he seemed to be suffering was fatigue, he was enduring it admirably, but to one of her vast talents the signs were obvious.
Still, the battle was over. The Heretic Goddess was slain and King Shirou had been released from her control, there was still the aftermath of the battle to be dealt with, but that was what those who chose to serve the Kings were for. The various magical organization of this island would see to clearing up the debris of the battle and repair the damage that had been wrought.
"The goddess is dead and King Shirou is free," she answered her adopted sibling, "It seems to have cost our fellow Supreme Ruler dearly, but his mind is now his own once more."
"Oh," in all truth the young Kusanagi sounded more than a bit dazed, as though he couldn't quite get a handle on what was going on, "That's good then."
"Uhhhhhh!" the low moan of discomfort came from the side as the blonde Italian mage knight tried to stand only to fail as her legs seemed to give out and she collapsed into a somewhat undignified sitting position.
Luo Hao's eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the state that the European magic user was in. Despite having been almost right next to her King she didn't seem to be as injured as the Ruler of the Martial Realm had been expecting. Her clothes were scorched and bruises and scuffs were almost everywhere upon her exposed skin, yet despite that she looked more like one that had been thrown from a horse than one that had just barely survived an assault able to bring down a Supreme King.
More groans sounded about her as those that had been standing allowed themselves to sit down and the others levered themselves up from their prone positions. Even those Hime-Miko who had little to no combat experience of their own seemed to be in surprisingly uninjured form given the assault they had endured. Her own young eagle seemed to be a bit on the worse for wear side, but that he was alive was a most welcome surprise.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced over to where King Shirou's sister had pulled herself to her feet and was staggering over to her sibling. Having been protected by her hulking servant the snow haired girl had managed to fare better than the rest of them, though even so she was sporting a tottering limp as well as some scorching of her own. It would seem that her earlier assertion to the heretic Goddess had been accurate; King Shirou had somehow managed to aim his barrage so that it was merely incapacitating rather than lethal.
Unbelievable.
Luo Cuilian had been aware that the two Kings of this land in the Far East were young men of immense potential, but she hadn't been expecting to see it so . . . forcefully confirmed. This was an example of the heights that King Shirou could reach in time, that potential had been brought forth by the enslavement he was under releasing him from the constraints upon his mind and body. She was well aware that with time and training he'd be able to reach those same heights at will, but even so there were too many aspects of this battle that, though she was loath to admit it even in the privacy of her own mind, she didn't understand.
And this . . . Reality Marble was at the top of her mental list.
However she was aware that now wasn't the time to begin her investigation. The battle was done and all her allies were exhausted. Even she was more bone tired than she could remember having been for decades. Her use of Jīngshén Zhōuqí de Fùxīng Liú might be accelerating her recovery, but that only meant that she felt bone weary as opposed to crushingly exhausted. Now was the time to wait for the servants of King Godou and King Shirou to arrive so they could all leave the battlefield and-
The aura of power rolled across the broken park like a tsunami crashing down upon an unsuspecting beach. It was smothering, overwhelming, the kind of strength that under normal circumstances would have made the Chinese Campione's blood sing at the thought of fighting it. But here and now she was at the weakest point that she'd been at for more than a hundred years, even when she'd faced the Great Sage Equal to Heaven after her battle with King Godou she hadn't been this weak. She would never allow cowardice to touch her heart, but for the first time in far too long she felt a seed of hopelessness germinate within her.
-()-
The only thing that kept Illya from collapsing to the ground again was the support of her puppet Berserker.
She felt terrible, as though she'd been forced to endure one of the more brutal forms of 'training' that her dear loving grandfather had heaped upon her, but that was something she could handle. Pain was a familiar companion of hers, one that she'd grown to be able to endure over the years. The changes wrought on her body, the lessons and practices that she'd been forced to endure, the agony of supporting Berserker's existence without the aid of the Holy Grail, all those experiences had contributed to her knowledge of suffering as well as her ability to endure it.
Her skin might feel cooked and beaten, but that didn't matter. All that was important was that her bones were unbroken and her muscles, though bruised, were intact. She could move, she could act, and most importantly of all her magic was still fully functional. At her side her false Servant was regenerating, the steady flow of Prana running to it fuelling the repair. Her puppet might not be the equal of the original and the same was true of its imitation Noble Phantasm, but even its diminished version of God Hand was still an immensely powerful asset, one that allowed her creation to regenerate swiftly even from the crippling injuries it had suffered.
Now, as her shocked mind began to race, she was forcing as much Prana into the puppet Berserker as she could, doing all that was possible to accelerate its recovery. Both its legs were fully healed now, but its right arm possessed only partial movement and the left one still hung completely limp. Inwardly she snarled in frustration at the pace of the recovery, had the real Berserker been in the same position he'd already have completely regenerated and be in full fighting form.
Even as she poured more of her magic into her construct her eyes were flicking about, trying to locate the origin of the huge aura that had suddenly appeared. Illya might not possess any of the local talents for sensing the Divine powers of the deities, but in this case she hardly needed such. The skills that she'd honed to aid her in the Holy Grail War were more than enough to allow her to feel the crushing presence that was drawing closer.
She'd now been close enough to several of the gods of this world to be able to get at least some idea of what they were like. All had differences to them, and yet at the same time there were also common aspects. Angra Mainyu, Perseus, Hades, Sun Wukong, Venus, none of them could possibly be described as feeling human, not at their cores. Their presence had been too huge, too overwhelming, to ever be thought of as human. It had only been her own experience with Servants that had allowed her to endure their existence without being totally overwhelmed.
Now she tried to use that familiarity, that experience, to trace the source of the huge power bearing down on them all.
She needn't have bothered.
Even as she reached out with her senses the river running next to the park began to rise into a hump of dark water. In defiance of conventional physics the mound of liquid didn't flow apart, instead it clung together as it rose higher and higher, growing in mass until it was a huge hill of water more than fifty feet high and large enough to cover a house. Then, with a thundering crash, gravity regained its hold on the river and the water fell away with a resounding roar.
The force of the falling water rippled out in all directions. A wave nearly a metre tall rushed towards both banks of the river and came crashing to a halt as they broke on the concrete rises that lined either side. Spray was thrown into the air by the force of the impact, catching the light from the still working street lamps and for a brief instant their yellow light was defused into an almost golden halo in the night air.
However the Einzbern heir wasn't in the least interested in the surprisingly lovely effect. Instead her whole focus was upon the trio that had been revealed as the water went crashing back down into the river.
Two of the figures were young girls, little more than children in truth. On the left stood a pale skinned girl in her very early teens if not younger. Her hair was a silvery grey-white and her eyes were a purple bordering on blue. She was dressed in a school uniform with a yellow knit sweater vest, a dark grey skirt, blue thigh socks and had a blue knit cap on her head. Her face was oddly calm, almost to the point of being expressionless, but it didn't detract from her beauty and there was no mistaking the power that radiated from her.
The girl that stood upon the right was slightly younger in appearance, perhaps as young as ten years old, and while no less beautiful than the other girl, hers was more the promise of future beauty rather than the budding loveliness of her companion. Her hair was a silken curtain of golden blonde that reached down to the back of her knees while her eyes were an almost shockingly bright emerald green. She was clad in dress of a vaguely gothic cut, though rather unusually for the style it was in shades of brown and grey rather than black. Unlike her companion her face was clearly gleeful, a cruel sort of delight that seemed out of place on such adorable features. There was power coming from her as well, though it was considerably less than that of the other girl.
However both their appearances and power were merely peripheral, the true focus of Illya's attention was the figure that towered between them.
Standing nearly fifteen feet tall the giantess between them was clad in a sheer white robe that served to reveal far more of its wearer than it concealed and hinted at what was covered. Large portions of her midriff, bust and shoulders were all uncovered, yet despite the exposed lightly tanned skin the display wasn't vulgar or erotic, rather it seemed to be a showing of perfection, an unashamed exhibition of the giantess's confidence in her beauty.
And she was beautiful.
Despite her size she was perfectly proportioned with a figure that would heat the blood of any who saw her. Her frame was slender but lightly muscled as though she was no stranger to physical excretion. Her hips, waist and chest curved into lines that might well have made even Rider feel some mote of jealousy and a hint of inadequacy. Even her face was a model of beauty, her features smoothly curved and regal, yet sharp as a blade. She possessed a different exquisiteness to Venus though, the Roman goddess had been temptation given flesh, allure incarnate. This giantess was more regal, her beauty possessing a more distant quality than that of the now dead Heretic Goddess.
That loveliness was also touched with inhumanity though as non-human features adorned the giantess like distorted yet divinely crafted jewellery. The back of her head extended into a trio of horns that formed a sort of crest, the one on each side extended outwards and diagonally up and away from her temples while the shorter central one came to a tip like the back point of a crafted helm. Scales of gold gleamed on her forehead like some kind of organic tiara while crimson scales the same shade as her horns decorated her shoulders and upper arms. Delicate fins, like aborted wings, extended from her shoulders and reached just far enough with their ruby membranes to form a sort of frame about her face.
Long hair that reached past her shoulders and ran down to the small of her back in a sea-blue wave with highlights of red running through it like trails of blood spilt in water. Eyes the colour of a stormy ocean gazed out upon the world from a face set into an oddly placid face.
Illya felt her legs tremble beneath her, felt her knees begin to buckle, and it was only the gentle hand of her puppet that kept her from collapsing to the ground. She heard muted gasps behind her and the gentle thud as more than one of them found themselves without the support to remain standing, but she didn't turn to look at them. Instead all her attention was focused upon the towering giantess as she and her companions stood upon the waters of the river as though they were the paving of a road.
Angra Mainyu had exuded raw malevolence to such an overwhelming degree that it had nearly broken her mind. Perseus had radiated charisma and heroism of such magnitude that she'd found herself slightly hesitant to move against him even when he was a clear enemy of Shirou. Hades hadn't paid her more attention than he would an ant in his path, but even so the force of his presence had borne down on her like a crushing black weight. The Monkey King had been like the sky, something huge hovering over her, something she could never touch or influence in any way. Venus had felt muted, but even with the majority of her power obviously focussed upon controlling Shirou the beauty of her divinity had none the less swept across the field of battle like a gust of invisible wind.
This goddess . . . her power felt similar to that of Sun Wukong in its vastness, yet rather than being the sky it instead felt heavier. The only way that Illya could think of describing it was as similar to the sensation that you had if you were in a cave under a mountain. You were suddenly aware of the thousands upon thousands of tonnes of stone and dirt that existed above you, just waiting to come loose and then come crashing down with irresistible force. They might be held up and safe, but you still felt the potential, the waiting weight that was there.
She was powerful, of that Illya was absolutely sure.
Adrenaline rushed through the snow haired girls veins as her mind flew. Escape, that was the only option. To fight was utterly impossible, only Campione could stand up to a god, and right now all the Campione in the area were on their last legs. The only thing to do was to escape, heal and re-engage her when they were recovered.
But how? That was the question. Certainly her false Berserker could grab her and Shirou and then hightail it out of there, its speed was certainly sufficient for the task. The problem was that such a strategy would only work if she was willing to abandon all her morals and throw all present to the goddess in order to buy the time Illya needed.
She considered it.
It was only for an instant, but for that brief period of time she considered the option of betraying the allies that had fought at her side to save Shirou and simply leaving them to their fates so she could save her adopted brother. She could do it, it would mean striking at her own allies in a surprise attack so they couldn't move to block her escape and so that they couldn't make their own move to flee. Their deaths would serve to buy her the critical few instants that would let her make her getaway.
But she couldn't do it.
It was the sensible thing to do, the course of action that was most likely to let her and Shirou survive, but she just couldn't do it. She wanted Shirou to live, but she also wanted Godou and his 'harem' to live, she wanted Kaida and Manaka to live, she even wanted the irritatingly confident Luo Hao and her put upon student to live. It was illogical and irrational, but she couldn't bring herself to just throw their lives away.
This was what came of watching too much anime, the absurd thought drifted through her head as incongruous as a balloon in a slaughterhouse, too much black and white morality interferes with one's logical reasoning.
That and the fact that Shirou would be disappointed in her.
Any further thoughts were cut off as a sudden surge of water came rushing at her. There was no time for thinking, only action. Her puppet seized her roughly in one arm while the other hand reached out and snatched up her adopted brother's limp form as though it were a rag doll.
Then the water hit.
-()-
She watched the wave of water surge up over the concrete bank and slam into the ill prepared combatants. This wasn't her water, it had no salt, it flowed to the ocean not from it, yet as clear and rain-born as it was it still answered to her Authority and lashed out as she directed.
The mortals were scattered by her attack, even the Campione were unable to set themselves in time and were swept along with the wash of water. It was so . . . easy. This was her power, the power that had allowed her to once rule over all other gods in her pantheon, even her first fall hadn't reduced it, in the end only her defeat at the hands of Perseus had broken her.
But now she was whole once more.
"I am Tiamat."
The single sentence was spoken quietly, but there was a joy to it that defied all words. This was the first time in nearly two millennia that she'd spoken her true name aloud. It had been her vow, her solemn promise made as soon as she'd regained her memories, that she would not call herself by that name until she was restored to her true self. So for century after century she'd used the name that she'd been given when she'd been the wife of Perseus, Andromeda.
For so many years she'd borne that name as a quiet mark of shame, as a punishment to herself for having fallen so low as to be unworthy of her true identify.
But now . . .
"I AM TIAMAT!"
This time her words weren't soft, they were a cry, a bellow of defiance to the god that had reduced her, to the enemies before her, to the very world that had been witness to her defilement.
The churning white waters before her exploded as a blizzard composed of blades of wind came flying at her. Tiamat didn't blink; instead she allowed a small smile to edge its way onto her face. She had never expected the Devil Kings to simply lie down and die; she had expected them to battle until the very last breath of life was forced from them. They might be in a grim situation, they might be facing overwhelming odds, but did that really matter? After all if an enemy of overwhelming power was all that was needed to kill them then they'd never have become Campione in the first place.
Without even needing her to consciously direct it the water upon which she stood responded to the threat, tendrils of clear liquid leapt into the air and formed a protective web which in turn exploded into spray as it blocked the flurry of wind blades. Even as the mist of water blew past her, carried by the weak breeze that was all that remained of the attack, the goddess could smell the tang of brine in the air.
The smile on her face widened slightly, her pearly white teeth flashing in the night. Already her powers were extending, growing and reinforcing themselves. The fresh water upon which she stood was transmuting into the salty brine that was the waters of her domain. The very primordial chaos that was the earliest oceans, her home, her kingdom, her Authority.
Her eyes fell upon the Chinese Campione as she stood tall and prepared to attack once more. Of all the combatants she was the heaviest wounded, the most exhausted, yet she was also the first to regain her footing and retaliate. Blood still flowed from a number of shallow cuts, soot blackened half her face and the throb of her internal energies had faded to barely a flutter of its former strength, and despite all that she still rose to face a foe that even at her best would have been a grave challenge.
Admirable.
The earth beneath Luo Hao's feet suddenly exploded upwards, a shower of pebbles slamming into her slim frame like the pellets of a shotgun blast. Tiamat knew that under normal circumstances the Chinese Campione would have sensed the attack coming and either dodged or blocked it with ease, but exhausted as she was she was spread too thin, unable to focus as she normally could.
In her legend, Tiamat had been slain and her body used to forge the heavens and the earth upon her primordial sea. That connection to the ground beneath them answered her Authority as another assault, this time of larger rocks, struck the reeling God Slayer and battered her to the ground.
"Thus speaketh Lord Mithra. The sinful shall be met with justice. May spines be crushed, may bones be broken, tendons torn; hair, brains and blood mingled and trampled together with the earth! The one unblunted and unapproachable! Oath breaking sinners be purged by the iron hammer of justice!"
Ah, the other Campione had also recovered. Having faired better than the senior King the claimed prey of Athena still had a sizable amount of his magic left to him, enough to call upon one of his more destructive Authorities. As Kusanagi Godou spoke the sacred spell words to his divine power the broken pavement behind him exploded upwards as the colossal form of the Boar shouldered its way out to stand over its master. With a single cry the young Devil King sent the great beast charging at her.
Interesting, she was aware of the limitation that the Authority suffered, that it could only be used against a large target such as a building or a giant. It would seem that in her current state she was sizable enough to be an acceptable target for the destructive divine beast. Still, this didn't concern her; even if the Authority had been restored the Boar had been slain during its battle with King Shirou no longer than a few minutes ago. A mighty Authority it may be, but not even an incarnation of destruction such as the boar could simply cast aside the grievous wounds it had received so recently. Under normal circumstances the beast would be given time to regenerate any wounds while the Authority regained its power, but even with the healing it had received from the Authority of Luo Cuilian it simply hadn't had a full chance to recover.
"To avenge my mate I fashioned monsters. To battle my foe I sent them forth. Their rage is my rage, their spite my spite, their victory my victory. Let all my creations bring terror and pain to all that would stand against my will and purpose!"
As the giantess spoke the last word a shimmer appeared in the air before her. Sparks of dark blue and red light poured forth from the shimmer, a huge tide of them as though a river of the motes was trying to force its way through. In the space of a single heartbeat the sparks of light drew together, merged and became flesh and blood. The charge of the boar was arrested as it was met by a beast of equal size and ferocity.
This was the Mušḫuššu, the Furious Snake, one of the many dragons that had been born of her flesh during the days when she'd waged war upon the god Enki. Though of equal mass to the boar her creature was longer and thinner, much of its size going into the length of its neck and body. Its hind quarters were those of an eagle while its front legs resembled those of a cat. A crest adorned its neck and the whole of its body was covered in dull yellow scales, as though the beast had tried to be golden but had failed and had instead settled for a dull imitation.
The Boar slammed into the dragon and the two beasts went down in tumbling mass of grunting, hissing, biting, flailing scales and bristles. The tusks of the boar dug into the dragon's side, but Mušḫuššu's neck arched around and its teeth and claws sank into the black beast's back and neck. Neither monster gave an inch; they simply kept tearing into each other as their struggles shook the earth like a minor earthquake.
Tiamat was certain of the victory of her creation. The Boar might be putting up a splendid fight but in the end it had come to the battle already tired, its wounds scabbed over rather than healed. The divine beast was a mighty weapon still, but for all the power it held that didn't change the fact that it was a brittle weapon to wield. By contrast her dragon was fresh from the forge of its creation, her own renewed power rushing through it, that strength wouldn't wane for a long time, more than long enough to outlast the already weary boar.
However the ancient goddess had no interest in allowing a prolonged battle to ensue. Once she might have made that mistake, would have sat back to enjoy the spectacle while unwittingly allowing her foes the time they needed to rest, recover and regroup. Centuries of weakness had taught her the values of discretion and caution, had shown her the flaws that came with too much power. Now that she had her full might restored she had no intention of forgetting the lessons time had taught her.
She tapped deep into her power, drawing upon an Authority that was at once an intimate and alien part of her. She was a goddess of the earth and the ocean; she was the mother of dragons and was also a dragon, a serpent, herself. And all dragons possessed a power, a trait, that was almost the signature of their race. It was this aspect of herself that Tiamat now drew upon, felt it gather in her chest, felt it rise up through her throat, felt it play over her tongue.
With a roar that would have made any of her monstrous children proud she opened her mouth and breathed forth a tide of fire.
Fire wasn't the nature of her power. At her very core she was the incarnation of salt water, the primordial chaos from which the world had sprung. To channel a force of nature so contrary to that origin was . . . not easy for her. On the other hand the dragon was a part of her nature, an aspect that had only strengthened over the years as her children, some of the first and oldest of their kind, grew in reputation and strength as their siblings in other pantheons added to their legend, which had in turn added to hers. She was the mother of dragons, one of the original dragons herself, ocean-born though she might be the ability to breath fire was almost as natural to her as was the scent of salt water.
The flames that issued forth were edged with purple and had a golden core that wasn't natural to the element, but then these were the fires of divinity, one could hardly expect them to be as mundane as the mortal flames the world well knew. Both of the beasts were consumed by the flames, their mystic heat searing even the flesh of these divine creatures down to ash. Since her dragon was of her own creation the attack simply dissipated it back into power which she reabsorbed, but for the young King the results were nowhere near as gentle.
The Boar was a destructive Authority and was also a hardy one. Normally if it was destroyed or slain Kusanagi Godou wouldn't suffer a backlash from its severing due to that nature. Now though the beast was wounded and weakened, the magic making up its body brittle and incomplete due to the haste of its summoning after its last battle. Over where she stood the young man flinched back as though struck and then collapsed to one knee as though he'd just received a gut punch.
Tiamat didn't hesitate, she wasn't going to give her enemies a chance to recover, one hand lashed out as though delivering a back handed slap to some invisible offender. In response the water beneath her once more heaved itself up into a small tsunami, only this time the smell of brine hung strong in the air even as the white frothing edge of the wave sculpted itself into the semblance of hideous beasts.
To her surprise it was the servants of the Campione that moved first. Well, perhaps that was to be expected since they seemed to have faired somewhat better than their Kings. The grey giant that served King Shirou's sister carried him and her while the two European Mage Knights appeared on either side of the kneeling Kusanagi Godou. Luo Hao was aided by both her student as well as the sword wielding Hime-Miko with long black hair. All of them moved with commendable speed and were able to help the Kings dodge the main 'bite' of the crashing wave.
However they weren't fast enough to evade it completely.
Though able to dodge backwards and away from the spot where the waters came crashing down all they managed to do was avoid the death stroke. The concrete and rubble where they'd been standing before was pulverized by the wave's force, but the surge of water continued even after the wave broke. The retreating figures were all swept under as the boiling mass of surf rushed over them. The few remaining trees and structures were all flattened as the destructive bank of water surged over the remains of the park. Then, its fury and strength spent, the waters retreated, flowing into drains and along paths as they fell back to reveal the sprawled forms of the Campione and their allies.
Any normal mortals would have been dead, either drowned by the wave or broken by its power. Yet despite being subject to forces that would have been sufficient to destroy entire seaside settlements, with groans and curses both Kings and followers were dragging themselves to their feet.
This . . . this wasn't what Tiamat wanted. From deep within her welled up a sense of dissatisfaction.
"Yesss," the drawn out word brought the restored goddess out of her thoughts and drew her attention to her blonde companion, "This is magnificent. Look at them, crawling in the mud like the worms that they are, that is what should be, what they deserve."
Tiamat's eyes narrowed slightly at the tone and words that Brynhildr was using. Something about them was wrong. The younger Divine Ancestor had always been vindictive; indeed the main motivation behind her drive to restore her godhood was her desire to exact revenge upon the god of Steel that had reduced her to that station in the first place. The Mother of Dragons had possessed different reasons for her own quest to return to being a deity, but she'd never considered Brynhildr's reasons to be unworthy. For the most part the blonde Divine Ancestor might be prone to carrying a grudge, but she'd never allowed it to become a problem.
That was why her current behaviour was . . . too much for her. Brynhildr had always been vindictive, but she had never been cruel, she'd never taken pleasure in the suffering of others. Even as Tiamat thought that Brynhildr looked up at her and the restored goddess was taken aback by the light of bloodlust that gleamed in her long-time companion's eyes.
"They don't have anything left to them," the blonde former divinity declared, "Just one more attack will be enough to slay them. Send a monster, that's what they deserve, they've hunted and slain gods in the past, let us see how they enjoy being killed like beasts, by fang and claw."
"Not Kusanagi Godou."
The quiet words from Athena seemed to cut into her friend's blood thirst and jolt her out of the dark glee into which she'd fallen.
"Of course, he is your prey as has been agreed, but these others . . . they and their servants must learn the price to be paid for raising their hands against their betters."
There it was again. Brynhildr had never said anything in the past about such things as betters and lowers, that wasn't how she thought. And she'd never taken the idea of mortals raising their hands against the gods in so personal a manner.
"Tiamat? What are you waiting for? Let us finish them and be on our way."
Yes, she could do that. None of them really had anything left to them, the Campione were exhausted and their servants were nothing to be concerned over. It would be no great chore to spare the young King that her ally had claimed as her prey, the others could be slain with ease.
So why was she hesitating?
"Tiamat?"
With one hand she waved her blonde ally into silence even as she gazed down upon the slowly rising forms of the fallen. Though beaten and battered they still forced themselves to their feet. The grievously wounded Luo Hao, the still unsteady Kusanagi Godou, even King Shirou, who was still suffering from the Authority Venus had used upon him, was using a nearby piece of wreckage to clamber to his feet.
They were heroic, that was the problem. Faced with insurmountable odds and a foe they could not hope to defeat they none the less rose to their feet and faced her rather than try to flee or beg for their lives.
And her . . . was this what she'd laboured for for so long? Was her first act as a restored deity to fall upon brave men and women in their moment of weakness and slay them like some hyena seeking an easy kill? This . . . this was an act of cowardice and dishonour pure and simple. To be sure it was the intelligent course of action, it was after all only logical to take the opportunity to eliminate so many threats. When else could she hope to gain such an opportunity?
But . . .
"No."
As she spoke the single word she slowly shook her horned head. For some reason the action felt right, as though the regained weight upon her head lent her a gravitas that she'd long been missing. This was the correct decision, she was sure of it.
"WHAT?!"
The enraged question took her aback with the sheer venom it contained. Tiamat had expected Brynhildr to be upset with her choice, but this was beyond what she could have anticipated.
"You're just going to leave them alive?!" despite the difference in their sizes the Divine Ancestor unflinchingly glared up at the restored goddess. "They're helpless, they're vulnerable. Why are you just leaving them?! Kill them, KILL THEM NOW!"
"Brynhildr . . . they have no strength to fight, I will not kill them like wounded beasts, it is dishonourable. Even though they are God Slayers they deserve better than th-"
"NO THEY DON'T!" the enraged shriek cut the Mother of Dragons off mid-word and she could only stare down as her long time friend gestured savagely towards the fallen Kings and their allies. "They deserve death, nothing more! Savage, vicious abominations deserve no mercy, not after they've dared to raise their hands against those that sheltered them in the early days of mankind! Do they think they were able to survive the giants, ogres and other monsters on their own? NO! WE protected them, WE gave them sanctuary. And how did the repay us? By taking up the curse of that wretched witch and usurping what was never theirs! By betraying us! By SEALING us!"
The bile in her voice was caustic in its vitriol, hatred, pure and simple, dripped from every word.
"They had nothing to do with our sealing Brynhildr," Tiamat spoke slowly, calmingly, as she tried to reason with her oldest ally, "That was done by gods of Steel ages past. These children of Pandora had nothing to do with our humiliation, but they've fought bravely here and have earned their lives. Let us leave and be about our plan, if they wish to hunt us once we both have our divinity restored then we'll grant them the death they deserve. For now this is enough."
"When did you become so weak?"
The single sentence was low and quiet, but the contempt upon it was enough that the goddess of the Primordial Ocean actually flinched back in surprise. Never had she thought that she'd be addressed in such a way by her ally, not her, not in this way. The shock only lasted for an instant though, then it was replaced with anger.
How dare she? Brynhildr might be her long time ally but that granted her no licence to speak so impudently to her. Tiamat was a restored goddess while her blonde companion was still merely a Divine Ancestor, this was like the lowest farm hand speaking against the mightiest empress, the gap in hierarchy was too great a gulf to measure. With an effort of will the Mother of Dragons repressed the urge to lash out in retribution for the slight. Something was definitely wrong here, Brynhildr might not be as great an advocate of Reason as she was but that didn't mean she was prone to idiocy. This rash, dangerous behaviour was too out of character, too against her grain.
"We are leaving."
The words were spoken as a command as she turned away from her ally. This farce was over; she wouldn't disgrace herself with the cowardly murder of these brave warriors, that was decided. She was more than willing to face them in the future if needs be, but that would be a fair battle, a battle worthy of both them and her. With that decision made the next matter of concern was to learn just what had happened to Brynhil-
PAIN!
The pain came so suddenly, so utterly unexpectedly, that Tiamat had no chance to prepare or brace herself. It caught her completely off guard and rooted her in place, her body vibrating as the muscles all locked up even as they shuddered with the trapped tension. She couldn't even scream, her throat was locked up, as immovable as the rest of her treacherous body.
The moment only lasted for an instant, but that brief moment seemed to stretch into eternity from the perspective of the restored goddess. This was more than mere pain of the flesh, this was something that ran deeper; this was something that ran soul deep. In that helpless paralysed instant Tiamat felt more violated than she had even when Perseus broke her mind and desecrated her very self.
Then the moment was over and her senses swam as for a brief instant the world about her seemed to spin drunkenly. Then, with a bone shaking crash, she ploughed into the earth with enough force to dig a trench into the concrete that she struck. Distantly she thought she heard a voice that could have been Athena crying out in pain, but she couldn't focus upon it. It was no mere pain of the flesh that left her so disoriented, within her the pulse of her power had lost all harmony and the channels of her divine magic were thrashing about like snapped ropes in a gale.
This . . . this wasn't right. She'd regained her power, her divinity, her godhood. All that she'd lost had been restored to her. So why did she feel so weak? Why couldn't she bring herself to rise from where she'd fallen?
Why . . . ?
-()-
Athena had been prepared for something, but what actually took place caught her completely off guard.
Given how agitated the blonde Divine Ancestor had been the fallen goddess had expected her to do something foolish such as lash out at the weakened Campione. Under normal circumstances she would have been no threat to them given how far above the likes of her the Devil Kings loomed, however right now they were battered and exhausted to a level that was rarely seen in the God Slayers. As inconceivable as it was the possibility existed that she could indeed slay them in their current state.
As such she'd been prepared to deflect some move to attack the children of Pandora, she was utterly blindsided when Brynhildr pulled some sort of obsidian dagger from the folds of her dress and lashed out at Tiamat's turned back. It was absurd, the very notion that a Divine Ancestor would attack a fallen goddess like herself, let alone a powerful and fully restored one like the Mother of Dragons, defied all rationality. Even as she'd seen the move the onetime goddess of earth and darkness hadn't moved as she could see no way that the action could have consequence.
Then, as the dagger made contact with the right leg of the giantess, there had been a huge surge of divine power a burst so vast that it numbed Athena's mystic senses just as a dazzling flash would blind the eyes of a mortal. She didn't hesitate though, despite her 'blinding' Athena recognized a threat when she saw one. In an instant her scythe was out and she was swinging it at the apparently treacherous Divine Ancestor. She used the handle of the weapon rather than the blade, hoping to strike a disabling blow rather than a fatal one. She might not have any love for Brynhildr, but Tiamat might become displeased if she slew her long time ally before they learnt what had prompted this sudden attack.
She needn't have bothered to be so careful. Brynhildr dodged her, but the speed at which she moved was beyond what she should have been capable of, she was moving faster than Athena herself, she was moving with the speed of a god.
The fallen Mother Goddess barely had time to react, but she was able to bring her scythe about into a defensive stance fast enough to block the black dagger that came stabbing at her face. Even so the force of the impact was more than enough to send her flying back from where she had been standing upon Tiamat's platform of water. She quickly paused in the air, using her own flight to maintain her place, but the sight that greeted her as she looked down was not what she'd been expecting.
Brynhildr stood in the centre on the platform alone. Tiamat had been flung onto the battered battlefield by that immense release of power and now lay all but insensate half buried in the broken pavement. Athena could feel her power flickering and wavering, could see how the fluctuations in her divinity were causing her form to warp as well, but for now her eyes were fixed upon the blonde Divine Ancestor.
She was surrounded by an aura of divinity so strong that it was visible to the naked eye without any need of mystic senses; it surrounded her as though she were standing in a golden bonfire. However even as the radiance surrounded her thin lines of black ran across her exposed skin as if the veins beneath had been injected with ink. The discolouring lines ran along her arms, throat and face giving her a strangely sickened look as though she were suffering from some malignant illness. However in counterpoint to her unhealthy appearance Brynhildr's face was set in a mask of unholy delight.
"It worked."
The aura around her shrank, but rather than diminishing it was instead flowing into the Divine Ancestor, her flesh literally beginning to glow as she absorbed the power. Before Athena's eyes the childlike form of the one time goddess began to visibly change. Limbs stretched, features sharpened, her height grew and the curves of womanhood developed, in the space of only a few seconds Brynhildr went from a girl of eleven or twelve years old to a young woman in the prime of her life. The elaborate dress she was wearing faded and was replaced by more simple robes in verdant green with wood coloured sashes holding them closed. A wreath of oak leaves adorned her head as proudly as any crown while golden acorns served as earrings.
"It WORKED!"
This time the words that were spoken came out in a triumphant shout that echoed through the wrecked battlefield that had grown quite in the wake of her sudden betrayal.
"How . . ."
Athena didn't even realize that she'd spoken the words out loud until Brynhildr's emerald stare focussed upon her. As the eyes of the betrayer fell upon her the goddess of art and wisdom saw the dismissive contempt in them, the disdain of one that knew they towered over the one upon whom they stared. Athena felt her fingers instinctively tighten their grip about the scythe she held as she stared at the Divine Ancestor.
No, that wasn't correct anymore.
Athena wasn't sure how she had achieved it, but somehow Brynhildr had managed to steal a huge portion of Tiamat's divinity and claim it for herself. The goddess of darkness had no idea how such a thing had been done, as far as she knew the feat was impossible, but there was no doubt as to the results.
Brynhildr was no longer a Divine Ancestor; she was now once more a full goddess.
-()-
There once was a goddess in the lands of the far North. She was a goddess of the earth, of things that lived above it and of the treasures that were buried beneath it. She was old, powerful and had once ruled the gods.
Then time passed and the matriarchal reign of the Mother Goddess came to an end as the male deities of her pantheon rose against her. However unlike other Earth Mothers this goddess didn't fight the change, but instead chose to move with it. Thus the onetime queen was cast down without blood and a new king rose to take her place, to commemorate his ascendancy the new king took the past queen to his bed in an act to cement his dominance.
Once again the goddess defied all expectations by forgoing resistance and willingly agreeing.
It was only as time passed that the reason for her compliance was revealed. A son was born from the union, a child that the goddess dearly loved and who in time grew to become a great hero, a deity that featured in many legends and carved his name into the minds of the mortals that came to adore him. It was for him that the goddess had accepted her fall, for the son that had existed in her dreams as she waited for the time to be right.
For years and then centuries she watched quietly from the background as her son grew and carved out his legend, content with her anonymity as she watched her legacy develop. Yet in time, after her son had grown, wed and founded his own house, she grew to feel confined within the role she had taken up. Desiring to stretch, to abandon the persona of the minor goddess she had slip into, the form Earth Mother descended to the mortal realm and assumed the form of her earliest divinity, the winged serpent that was the true form of many earth deities, a dragon.
With her Authorities she drew up great hoards of gold and silver from the depths of the earth to make a comfortable bed for herself, then as entertainment she crafted the precious metals into intricate designs. In time she decorated the items she made with gemstones to grant them colour. As year after year went by her bed became a trove of riches that surpassed the wildest imagining of the greediest of men.
And as was their wont mortal learnt of the vast hoard of treasure as well as of the beast that seemingly guarded them. Many came to try to slay her, but they were but mortals and proved to be little more than a minor diversion and an occasion repast. After the first few met their bloody ends at her claws and teeth the rest learnt the lesson and the annoyances dwindled to a trickle.
Then he came.
He was a god of Steel, the natural enemy of her kind. He was a young god yet, but despite that he was strong and he was cunning. During their battle both of them levelled the landscape and brought such forces as to slay even gods against each other, yet in the end he sought out her weakness and was able to cut her deeply. However when her blood had washed over him she had thought that victory was hers as the magic in her life fluid scorched and seared him with the magic within it that was her final weapon. But that hope had been crushed when rather than burning her foe the skin of the young god had absorbed the power in her blood and used it to reforge the Steel of the god so that he gained a new and powerful Authority.
In the end the dragon was slain and the goddess was sealed into the form of a mortal woman, however rather than claim her for himself the young god of Steel instead gave her as a gift to one of his mortal allies. However the nature of her sealing meant that her love was for the god, yet at the same time she was bound to obey him and so she followed his command to be a loving wife. For her entire time as a mortal her mind and emotions were at war as she felt love for the two men as well as the conflicting needs within her. In time she inadvertently betrayed the young god when she divulged the weakness in his new Authority, though she didn't know how she possessed the knowledge. It was not long after the death of the god that her mortal husband also died and, bereft of the two men she loved, the goddess turned mortal soon succumbed to a broken heart and passed on.
Then she came back as a Divine Ancestor, as an immortal child possessing power beyond human capability and the memories of having once been so much more as well as the full knowledge of how she had been used.
For centuries that Divine Ancestor had been driven by a single implacable drive; Vengeance, the desire to not merely regain what she had lost but to also make the one that had treated her so suffer, that had been the cold engine that had propelled her through the decades and centuries.
In that time she had called herself by the name that had been given to her by that young god and her 'husband', for she refused to soil her true name while wearing it as she was. Only when she regained her true self, her true power, would she take up that name once more.
And now that power was hers.
For a brief instant she gazed down at the wavering form of her long time ally where she lay. For centuries they had been allies, their co-operation being their greatest strength, together they had faced challenge after challenge, shared triumphs and losses, been each other's support. For a fraction of an instant she wondered if this betrayal was the right thing to do, if her choice to cast aside that long friendship had been a mistake.
Then the black tide of hatred rose up within her and she dismissed such weak notions. Why should she wait? Why should Tiamat have her restoration while she was forced to remain suspended between divinity and mortality? If the elder goddess was so weak as to allow these . . . abominations to live then why shouldn't she claim her power now?
Her preparations for this instant of betrayal had been meticulous, every detail planned for and every possibility accounted for. In the end it had been the trusting natures of both Tiamat and Athena, their unwary acceptance, which had allowed her to fulfil the conditions that had allowed her to do the impossible.
The linchpin of her scheme had been the cradle in which the orb of Apollo had rested, both Athena and Tiamat had channelled their power into it so that it could serve its purpose, but neither of them had noticed the additional features that she'd carefully woven into the weave of runes and magic. The power hadn't merely been used to accelerate Apollo's return, afterwards it had lingered in the construct of obsidian waiting to be tapped and used.
The dagger she now held in her hand was what she had used that empowered obsidian to create. Yet the physical form was an irrelevant detail compared to the spells that were upon the crude weapon.
As Tiamat's ally she had spent centuries studying ways by which a deity could be restored to power after being reduced. The simplest way was to accept death and return to one's legend, but that wasn't a path either she or the Mother of Dragons had wished to take. Both of them had been unwilling to sacrifice their existence as who they were, an existence that would be subsumed into their 'true' selves if they were to return to their legend. Instead they wished to restore themselves as they were, to add the power of their full selves to their current existence rather than being drowned in it. It was a small but significant distinction that had made all the difference to the vast number of options available to them.
The one time Brynhildr had used that knowledge to her advantage and had cunningly crafted a trap that her allies had willingly walked into. Under normal circumstances what she had done would have been impossible, but their willing donation of large portions of their power had given her the vital components that she'd needed.
Tiamat's power had flowed through it when she was a mere Divine Ancestor, Athena's power had flowed through it and she was a full goddess if somewhat reduced from her full power. Each represented a tier of power like a series of steps with Brynhildr at the bottom, then Andromeda as the more powerful Divine Ancestor, then Athena and finally the restored Tiamat at the top. The tiers that separated them were merely one of the myriad of dangers to trying to steal a deity's divinity, under normal circumstances had the blonde Divine Ancestor attempted it she would have been annihilated by the very power that she sought to usurp. Only rituals of the greatest power imaginable, such as the curse of the Campione that Pandora had wrought, could hope to accomplish it.
But she had found a way around the natural defences that normally safeguarded a goddess's power. Within the dagger was the power of Tiamat freely given, as was the power of another goddess. The spell, the curse, that she'd woven oh so carefully into the tiny blade served twin functions. The first was to puncture the defences that protected Tiamat's well of power, a well that was still only partially formed and as such more vulnerable that it would ever be otherwise. A well that sensed its own power in the attack and couldn't react. Once that opening was made Brynhildr had instinctively reached in and drawn that power to herself as naturally as a dry sponge soaked up water. As a Divine Ancestor she was a void that naturally tried to fill itself to only limited success now presented with the well of power from which to drink her nature was like a vampire presented with blood.
Of course that power would still have destroyed her had she touched it unprepared. She would have been rendered a statue of salt, dissolved into sea water, been transformed into some monstrous beast, the possibilities were near endless as the elemental power of a deity lashed out instinctively against an intruder.
However that was where the second aspect of her labour came into effect.
As the power flowed into her it was converted into a form she could absorb without harm. The cradle that she had created had done so on a tiny scale, but once a small portion of her power was turned to Brynhildr's advantage it became much easier. That small piece of energy could change more, and the more was changed then the more could be changed. Tiamat's power had acted instinctively to cut off the flow before she was drained dry, but doing so had hurt her and it hadn't been swift enough.
Nearly two thirds of the ocean goddess's power had been stolen in that brief instant, a level of power that most mortals would have been unable to comprehend.
And now that power was hers.
A slow smile, one devoid of warmth or kindness, spread across her face as she felt the power settling into her, filling the gaping void that had been a part of her for so long that she hardly even noticed it anymore.
"I am Jord, and I am restored."
Unlike Tiamat she didn't bellow it as a defiance to the world; hers was a far colder passion than her one time ally's. Instead she simply spoke the words a voice that though measured echoed throughout the once more hushed battleground.
There was much to do, first she would slay the bastard children of Pandora, then she would kill Tiamat and take the rest of her power. Once that was accomplished she'd slay Athena and take her power as well, assuming of course that the goddess of wisdom was so foolish as to stay that long. Once that was complete she could begin work upon dragging Sigurd from his legend so she could have her vengeance upon him.
She shivered in pleasure as she felt the power that coursed through her, such wonderful power that would serve her well. Extending one arm she began to gather a thick black mist that condensed into a spinning ball of miasma.
As a goddess of the Earth Jord had been the deity that humans had called upon in order to request the blessings of the land. Harvests, fertile soil, good stone for building and the valued ores that were mined, all of these were under her purview, hers to give as she saw fit. However as with other goddesses of the Earth it wasn't merely the benefits of the land that she dispensed.
The natural gases that choked the unwary, the blights that consumed the crops, the plagues that left entire villages devoid of the living, all had been hers as well. As a dragon she had spewed forth great clouds of poisonous mist rather than the fire that most of her kind used. That was the power that she now gathered, miasma so venomous that it didn't merely poison, it dissolved and corroded all it came into contact with.
Now, who to strike down first? The Chinese Campione was the most experienced, but she was the most gravely wounded, an easy target. Emiya Shirou was still suffering from the after effects of his enslavement and was severely exhausted. No, the only one of the three Kings that still could be considered a threat was . . .
Her arm came down and the globe of malicious poison went streaking at Kusanagi Godou. Had he been at his best there would have been many ways that he could have defended, avoided or simply endured her attack, but in his current state he simply lacked the energy to call upon those options fast enough.
However before the black miasma could impact the petite form of Athena shimmered into place in front of the seventh Campione, her own dark aura of divinity materializing itself into the form of a shadowy snake whose gaping jaws came down to engulf her own sphere of death.
"Kusanagi Godou is mine," the fallen goddess of Darkness declared as her scythe once more materialized in her hands, "I shall not surrender him to you or anyone else."
Blazing anger crackled its way across Jord's mind as she glared down at the childlike deity. How dare she interfere? Did she honestly think that she stood a chance against her, even though the gap in between their powers was too great? Was she really prepared to throw her life away simply to save this boy that was her natural enemy?
One glance into the purple eyes of Athena was all she needed to realize that the answer was yes. There was resolve there, diamond hard and utterly unyielding. The fallen goddess had made her choice and was now ready to follow through on it.
The fair features of the mother of Thor contorted in rage as she glared at her former ally. So she chose to stand against her did she? Well in that case she could share the same fate as her beloved 'prey', they could perish together.
Jord once more began to gather her power, this time preparing to unleash a veritable tide of her miasma, but paused as a soft groan drew her attention. Tiamat was slowly regaining her senses and beginning to rise from where she lay. She had shrunk to more human dimensions now, an outward sign of her diminished power, but reduced or not she was still a goddess. If she and Athena were to manage to work together then they could become a definite threat, one that might buy the Campione enough time to employ one of his more destructive Authorities.
No, she couldn't allow her former ally to re-enter the fray as her enemy.
She had to be dealt with first.
It was a slight amendment to her earlier plan, but it could still work. If she slew Tiamat now then she could claim the remainder of her power and use that to overwhelm whatever defences Athena and the children of Pandora could throw together in their desperation. In fact Jord no longer needed the dagger, the wound was already open and the enchantments that allowed her to drink from it were still in effect. This was a chance for her to once more take matters into her own hands.
Or rather . . . claws.
Her humanoid body dissolved into a dark green haze as she called upon what had once been one of her favoured Authorities. The dragon was a form she had always been comfortable with; even when her nature of a serpent had degenerated into a monster she had still found it to be the form in which she was most restful. As a goddess she didn't need to assume the form to use her more destructive abilities, but it was the most warlike aspect that she possessed, the form most suitable for what she planned to do.
The form that she took was long and serpentine, the strong limbs that carried it seeming to be almost superfluous. There were no wings on its back, instead a row of spines ran down the length of her spine serving as protection that even a god would have found hard to overcome. Her head was also snake like; it was only the proud crest of fins that framed her head that kept it from appearing to be simply a scaled up version of a mortal serpent. Her entire length was covered in dark green scales save for her underbelly which was a lighter shade of the same colour.
This was the dragon that mortals had named Fafnir. Over time the legend had become twisted and distorted until the dragon hadn't been a goddess but had instead been a dwarven prince using magic to change shape, but that had not detracted from the power of the form. This was the same dragon that many heroes had failed to defeat, a monster whose memory had endured for centuries.
Her coils darted forwards in a single sharp movement, faster than any arrow could ever hope to be. Her target was the now human sized form of Tiamat, a target so small that Jord could now swallow her whole. That was a thought that pleased her, she'd consume the elder goddess entirely, take her time in absorbing not only her power but all of her essence. In all truth she was unsure of just how much of Tiamat's being she could claim, but it would be interesting to learn. Perhaps she co-
Pain radiated across her face as she instinctively recoiled.
What . . . ? What had just happened?
-()-
It had been a simple thing that had allowed Shirou to pull his mind into some semblance of cohesion.
He'd been unable to react to the situation's developments, he'd been unable to respond when his scattered senses had felt the arrival of the huge power and he'd been unable to react when that power suddenly disappeared. Even when a new power had risen the chaotic mess that was his mind wouldn't have been able to react save for one thing.
It had somehow come to him through the roiling mass of disconnected thoughts and emotions that had swamped him; there was something to that was familiar. Somehow he was able to latch onto that thought, that notion, enough to keep following it. Why was it familiar? What was it that made him need to pay attention to it?
Even as his scattered mind came to focus upon it an image rose up from his muddled thoughts. A giant clad in black armour worked into hooks and curved blades. His mind couldn't put a name to the image, but the emotions that were attached were crystal clear.
ENEMY. DANGER. THREAT.
The concepts attached to the image in his mind resonated at the most primal level within him. That knight had been his foe, and a most dangerous one at that. As that certainty had come other thoughts began to come into focus, the central thought forming a core for other ideas to form around.
This was the power of the enemy, but it couldn't be the enemy because the enemy was gone. Why was the enemy gone? An image rose up once more, this time of a sword, of power being unleashed, of the heady sensation of victory. The enemy was defeated, dead. But if that was the case then why could the enemy be sensed here?
He opened his eyes and the world spun about him, but even so Shirou was able to focus upon the blurred form from which the familiar power was emanating.
It was . . . a woman he'd never seen before? No, that wasn't right, he had seen her before, or had he? If he had then when he did something hadn't been right. His memory of that time was distorted, covered in a sheen that lent the memory an unreal quality to it, making it hard to tell if it was a memory of something real or the recollection of some sort of fever dream. She'd been different then, smaller? Younger? It was hard to get it sorted out. Bits of it kept on slipping though his mental fingers as the memory fractured and reassembled.
Then the woman was no longer there, instead there was a huge green blur, one many times the size of the woman it had replaced. What? Was that real? Was what he was seeing really taking place? His vision swam again even as he managed to pull himself to his feet. His stomach heaved and the bitter taste of acid stung the back of his throat, still he kept on though, refusing to stop.
Mordred, that was the name of the enemy. Mordred, who had pushed him so hard that he almost fell. Mordred, Mordred? Something was wrong with that, Mordred was gone, so why was he here? No, he wasn't here. That was his energy that Shirou sensed, but it wasn't Mordred.
Mordred but not Mordred.
The thought chased itself about in his mind like some overexcited puppy trying to catch its own tail. Yet as frantic and chaotic as the thought was there still remained that core that had built up, the certainty that Mordred was his enemy. That anchor held the thought in a fixed orbit, inexorably bringing it under some semblance of control.
The world that had previously swum in front of him cleared, not completely, but enough that he could now make some sense of what was before him. He could see people about him, Illya, Kaida, Manaka, Godou and his girls, Luo Hao and her student, all of them looked battered and torn but were still struggling to their feet. And off to the side was another woman he didn't recognize, her form partly buried in the concrete and rubble that seemed to have once been a pavement.
And the green serpentine blur was suddenly darting straight at her.
Shirou moved without really thinking about it. His body ached and his magic circuits burned, but even so he was able to force them to move. He didn't know who this woman was, he didn't know why she was here or why she was hurt. All he knew was that she was being attacked and he could help her.
Shirou had once asked Guinevere why he needed a reason to save someone right in front of him, and that question still held true. He might no longer pursue his dream of saving everyone, but Emiya Shirou would never believe that saving someone in need was the wrong thing to do.
But he wasn't going to make it.
He was too far away and the green blur was moving too fast. He simply couldn't cover the distance that separated them in the time that he had, not in the state he was in. Even as the realization hit him the King of Steel clenched his jaw. No, he wouldn't accept that, not right in front of him. He might acknowledge that he couldn't save everyone, but he would save those before him, that was his resolve. He just needed more speed, more . . .
Dragon Slaying Hero felt unreachable, like a steed run so ragged that it could go on no more. Reinforcement felt as though his circuits were trying to burn themselves out of his body, but it was still enough to give him some extra speed, but not enough. His mind sought for options and then seized on one.
Arondight had faded earlier, though Shirou couldn't recall what he'd called it for. Now it once more answered his summons and appeared in his hand. Even as the power of the mighty sword flowed into him Shirou couldn't help but wonder at the mystery of the blade. Once more it had come into existence from nowhere. There had been no Tracing by him, no investment of Prana, nothing. The sword had simply not been there one instant and been there the next. He had no idea how it was possible, but was thankful that it was. In his current state Tracing anything more advanced than a purely mundane weapon would have been beyond him, let alone a sword as powerful as this one.
The sibling blade of Excalibur was there in his hand though, and right now it was exactly what he needed. Renewed strength and vitality washed through him as the Noble Phantasm's effects kicked in. He knew it was only a temporary thing, that shortly his body wouldn't be able to sustain it despite the power boost, but a short time was all he needed.
He was now between the downed woman and the blur, the boost to his speed had been enough to get him there. Even as the blur before him sharpened into clear vision he was already swinging the sword he held. The blade caught the reptilian face in the side of its left 'cheek' and cut a line across the bridge of its snout as the thin scales parted before Arondight's edge. As the serpentine dragon, and what else could it be, recoiled some part of Shirou grinned at the thought that the dragon slaying blade he held gave him the advantage.
The thought stayed only briefly though because it was quickly replaced by the realization that he'd just used the last of his reserves in that strike. Even as the serpent drew back his legs gave out and he felt himself collapse into a sitting position just before the half-buried woman.
His emotions still weren't completely under his control since fear, grief and directionless anger still seethed around within him, battering at his already shaky focus. His eyes swam again, but even through the sudden haze he could see the form of the dragon coiling in midair, preparing itself for another attack. In his hands Arondight felt as though it were no longer a sword but had instead been replaced by a lead girder, something he couldn't possibly swing. Even the enhancement provided by the Noble Phantasm wasn't enough, he simply had nothing left.
"W-Why?"
The single word was spoken haltingly and quietly by the form behind him, but it managed to reach his ears.
Why? Why had he done this, it had been more of a reflex than anything else, something that had come without thought or mental debate. Still, even through the maelstrom of conflicting emotions within him he couldn't bring himself to feel any regret for what he'd done.
"Because-"
Any more of his response was cut off as the huge dragon released a roar that drowned out all other sound. Once more it struck, only this time Shirou knew he'd be lucky if he could even raise the sword he held.
-()-
Tiamat was having trouble understanding the situation.
No, that wasn't accurate, she was well aware of what had happened, her mind had worked it out in crystal clear and diamond sharp detail before the dust that she'd raised when she struck the earth had started to settle. Her confusion had faded and understanding had dawned. No, it would be more accurate to say that she was unable to accept what had occurred.
Brynhildr had betrayed her.
The thought continued to ring in her head like some huge bell that wouldn't cease. Her oldest ally, the fellow fallen goddess that she'd saved from death and made her partner, the one being to whom she'd trusted her back for centuries, had betrayed her. Why? What had she done that had broken the bond between them? For so long they'd aided and supported each other working towards the same goal, covering each other's flanks. They had never been friends, but they had always been allies.
So why?
It was around this central point that her mind seemed to be caught in some sort of slave orbit; she simply couldn't break away from the question enough to think of anything else with any level of cohesion. She had been able to pull herself together enough to roll onto her back though. It wasn't the most elegant movement, but her limbs felt as though they barely had enough strength to even move. The truth was that the sudden loss of so much of her power had affected her much as an electrical shock would have a mortal, right now she was as weak as an infant so the undignified movement was the best that she could manage.
Above her she could see Brynhildr growing, swelling out of her confines as a Divine Ancestor and ascending into a full goddess, Brynhildr no more, now she was once more Jord. Another moment and the reborn deity was gone, replaced by the great coils of a green snake-like dragon, Fafnir. Tiamat watched as the eyes of the beast fixed upon her, saw the decision being made by the mind behind them.
So, this was it. She was going to be devoured by a dragon, an ironic fate for one who had once been the mother of some of the earliest examples of the mystic beasts. Tears threatened to form despite her resolve to try to meet her end with dignity. She didn't care that she was going to die, it would only mean her return to her legend, what she hated was her helplessness, that she would be slain by a stab in the back rather than a true battle. She would be devoured by the one she had considered her ally, and she still knew not why she'd been betrayed like this.
Curse this fate.
Curse this wor-
Suddenly she wasn't looking at the oncoming form of Jord's dragon self. Instead she was staring at the back of a young man. He was standing between her and the oncoming monster, his hands grasping the same sword that he'd used to slay Venus. For a moment she wondered if he was trying to kill Jord as well, to add another goddess to his collection of kills. Then she saw his exhaustion, how his limbs trembled with fatigue, how blood still ran from the multitude of small cuts upon him staining the white shirt he wore red. How had he been able to swing the sword? Surely he wasn't so foolish as to believe he could slay a goddess as powerful as Jord in his current condition.
Then the dragon was recoiling and Emiya Shirou collapsed to the ground. He . . . he hadn't been attacking, he'd been defending her? But . . . that made no sense. Why had he done that? Why had he almost certainly doomed himself?
"W- Why?"
She was only just able to get the question out, this damnable weakness made even the act of speech a challenge to her. Though, as she tried to rise once more, she could feel the weakness starting to fade. It was a small thing, her divinity certainly wasn't regenerating, but anything that chipped away at her helplessness was welcome at this point.
"Because-"
Anything else that he might have said was lost as Jord released an earthshaking roar. Her pride had been stung, that much was clear. She'd had a plan and had moved to implement it only to be stopped by this young King who shouldn't have been able to move let alone fight. The mother of Thor was going to retaliate; she had to if she wished to sooth her wounded self-importance.
Painfully Tiamat levered herself up into a sitting position and, for the first time since her betrayal, took a good look at her one time ally.
Something was wrong about her, the scales of the dragon seemed . . . off, not quite right. Even though they had only known each other as Divine Ancestors there had been enough of their original divinity left in each of them that they'd gained a 'feel' for each others power. It was an intimate knowledge, one that could only be gained due to decades of close association. There was a certain art to it, but with enough experience one could learn how the 'flavour' of divinity affected the appearance of a god. It was a subtle thing, but one that you could learn with enough time.
And Tiamat was absolutely certain that something was wrong with Jord.
The scales of her dragon were just a little too dark, their edges sharper than they should be, thin veins of black seemed to be working their way beneath the reptilian skin, barely visible but definitely there. Even her eyes were wrong, burning a dull red rather then the molten gold that they should have been.
Jord was not as she should be, her divinity, her very essence, was somehow contaminated, twisted.
That . . . that would explain her behaviour, her sudden betrayal, her strange attitudes these past weeks, all of it. The only question was what had contaminated her.
-()-
"Mordred, it can only be him."
Lancelot nodded in 'his' armour as 'he' gazed down at the scene unfolding before 'him'.
Both 'he' and the precious child had been preparing to make a move to save Sir Shirou and his sister when Tiamat had begun to argue with her ally as to whether or not to slay the helpless Devil Kings. At first they'd thought they wouldn't need to reveal their presence, but Jord's act of betrayal and usurpation had once more changed the conditions of the battlefield.
However even as the Witch Queen had prepared to change their plan she'd frozen in place before glaring down at the goddess turned dragon.
"I too sense it; his power is within her, though how that can be this knight has no notion."
"Guinevere is not completely certain," the one time Queen of Britain admitted, "But Mordred was in truth a god of the Earth rather than a god of Steel. Jord is also a deity of the earth; perhaps sir Mordred was able to use that in some way? Could he have left a part of his divinity within her?"
Her head tilted as she examined the thought she'd just spoken aloud. Lancelot was no expert upon the Authorities of others and what they could do, 'he' was a simple knight, one that preferred to simply charge across the battlefield at a full gallop rather than thinking of all the bothersome details. Still it seemed to 'him' that such an insidious Authority would have fitted 'his' one time companion well.
"So then, sir Mordred is the one responsible for her actions?" 'He' spoke the question clearly, wanting to get it out of the way one way or another.
"It is certainly a remnant of the traitor knight that is causing her to act so," Guinevere declared. "It is only a possibility, but given time it may well consume her from within leading to a resurrection of the traitor knight."
Ah, finally something that Lancelot could get to grips with. Now there was an enemy to fight, an opponent to charge, what more could a knight such as 'himself' ask for?
"Sir Knight . . ."
And Guinevere had spotted 'his' eagerness. Truly it was fortunate that the spell upon 'him' granted 'him' more self control than 'he' would have possessed as a Heretic God, had 'he' been in that state then 'he' would already have been charging off without a second thought. However as 'he' was now 'he' recognized that 'his' lessened state could mean 'his' failure, so 'he' hesitated and gave ear to 'his' beloved child's words.
"Even though Sir Knight is a peerless knight I fear that you could never slay Jord as she is in a single attack."
That was true; even if 'he' employed both 'his' steed and 'his' lightning it was unlikely that 'he' could inflict a wound great enough to slay her on 'his' first charge. Were 'he' fully incarnated upon the world then it wouldn't be so much of a problem, but in 'his' current state 'he' would be vulnerable after 'his' charge was complete, a counterattack could leave 'him' incapable of action until 'he' regained 'himself', a window of opportunity that would leave both Guinevere and the King she sought to rescue vulnerable.
"But with this, the gift of Sir Shirou, I think Sir Knight can do it!"
As she spoke the queen of the Divine Ancestors extended one arm. A red and gold shimmer appeared in her hand, only to fade to reveal the long, plain and unadorned spear that was a dull red from tip to pommel. The head was unusually large and flat, but other than that it lacked any sort of ornamentation. This was a spear meant simply for battle, a lance not meant to look good, only to kill.
"This is Rhongomyniad, the spear of our King that Sir Shirou gifted to Guinevere at the Feast of Kings," the Witch Queen of Britannia declared, "I have studied it carefully since then and have learnt that Sir Shirou's claims that it ignores the protections of immortality are true. With this spear I'm certain that Sir Knight can inflict a grievous blow to this remnant of sir Mordred, perhaps even slay it."
Almost hesitantly the Knight of the Lake reached out and took the offered weapon in place of 'his' own lance. Yes, 'he' decided, this was a weapon meant for war, something only at home upon the battlefield; this was a lance 'he' could empathize with.
"Sir Knight will make his charge just as Guinevere uses the Holy Grail to empower one of her own spells," the golden haired Divine Ancestor continued, "Such a spell would have been able to slay Mordred during his battle with Sir Shirou, thus should Sir Knight be able to wound Jord enough then the spell will complete her extermination."
"A twofold attack, this knight approves," Lancelot du Lac agreed as 'his' white horse materialized form mist beside 'him'. "Let us be about this immediately, else I fear that the young king you are enamoured of will soon be beyond our reach."
As Guinevere tried to stutter out some denial of 'his' insinuations the armoured knight swung 'himself' up into the saddle of 'his' mount. The distance separating 'him' from 'his' target was more than a tenth of a league, yet that was no difficulty to 'him'. The white mist of 'his' Authority began to billow up about 'him' as 'he' watched the snake-like dragon recoil from the surprise blow that King Shirou had dealt it.
"Oh ho, stepping in to save one that was his foe not moments before? You have certainly picked an interesting one to become so enamoured of." The knight protector commented.
Guinevere might have voiced some protest, but her knight was now focussed upon 'his' target.
"O Winds of mist, blow forth."
Mist began to flow out from all around 'him' while at the same time the knight and the divine horse's material bodies lost colour and clear definition. The mist burst forth continuously, becoming thicker and thicker until it was like the densest fog that hung over European lakes in winter, with a visibility of less than a dozen paces. Yet even as the mist came forth it didn't spread out to envelope the area, instead it remained gathered about the knight and 'his' mount, coiled like a spring waiting to be released.
This was the finest defence that 'he' had available to 'him' in 'his' current state. Since 'he' was neither a Proper god nor a Heretic God, a number of 'his' Authorities were beyond 'his' grasp, so this was the divine Authority that 'he' would have to rely upon.
"Swift as lightning, loud as thunder, bear me into battle and victory!"
At 'his' words the mist around 'him' surged forth as though it were some beast that had finally been let off its leash. In the space of a split second it boiled forwards like a cloud with will and intent, forming a bridge between the Knight of the Lake and 'his' target. With the spear of 'his' king firmly grasped in hand and lightning crackling about 'him' and 'his' steed Lancelot du Lac charged forth into battle.
-()-
The first sign Shirou saw that he might not actually be about to die was the grey and white blur that rushed over the area he was sitting in. It took him a moment to realize that it was in fact mist; it was so thick and had moved so fast that he'd thought it was some sort of giant snake or something similar. The cloud seemed to . . . solidify, for want of a better word, into a sort of pathway. He just had enough time to wonder who the path was for before a form on a horse crashed into the serpentine dragon's body.
The attack came so fast that the King of Steel was barely able to understand what had happened. There was the impression of lightning, of movement, of something large and alive moving past him at the kinds of speeds that would have reduced mortal flesh in pounded jelly. Then there was the feeling of impact as with a terrific collision whatever had just passed him impacted.
The dragon let out an oddly human sounding scream as the mounted knight ploughed into it. In terms of size the armoured figure and his horse compared to the dragon in much the same way that a cat might to a man. However rather than glancing off the monstrous goddess's bulk the warrior and his steed had smashed into her like cannonball striking an armoured target.
The scaled form seemed to simply fold up around the knight, like some sheet that had been struck, however that only lasted for an instant as with a snarl of rage the beast lashed out at its attacker. But the knight had been prepared for this; even as the clawed forelimbs of the transformed goddess came around he twisted the lance that he'd buried in the dragon's side.
Rhongomyniad, the name rose up in his mind even as the great serpent thrashed in pain. That was a Noble Phantasm that he'd thought might well be effective against deities despite not having been able to test it yet. Why was it familiar to him? A gift, it had been a gift to someone. Who? A girl? No, it had been someone that had a connection to Saber. Saber but not Saber, Guinevere? Yes, that was it. He'd given a Traced copy of that spear to Guinevere at his Feast
Shirou blinked as the thought seemed to slide into place like the missing piece in a puzzle. As the 'gap' in his mind was filled he could feel the rest of him slowly starting to slide back into focus. There was still a lot of mess in his head, drifting thoughts and ideas that weren't 'connected' to anything yet and were simply wandering about in his mind. His emotions were still all over the place as well, undirected grief, guilt, rage and despair seethed about, but right now he was able to force them down under the Swords that made up his core. As soon as he let them out there'd be hell to pay, but for now he was able to bury them under Steel.
No, he mustn't let his mind get lost in the loose thoughts; he had to stay focused on the fight.
The knight's thrust had driven into the dragon's body below the part where its forelimbs were. In a human it would be the solar plexus, but given the beasts elongated serpentine body the comparison wasn't quite accurate. Whatever the case it was clear that while the attack had done damage and caused pain it had also failed to be fatal. With frightening speed for a creature of its size the dragon recoiled, dragging itself off the spear, then darted back at the mounted warrior attacking not with its jaws but rather with its clawed forelimbs.
With peerless skill the mount of the knight moved perfectly to avoid the attack, the movement was actually slower than the clawed swing, but the movements were perfectly made to gain the closest spot which could dodge the blow. But even as the claws passed the tail of the monster came whipping around like a striking snake.
But as it struck the blow simply passed right through the knight as both he and his steed dissolved into mist, mist that flowed away from the dragon only to once more coalesce into the form of the armoured warrior.
Definitely a god then, Shirou noted as he once more tried to stand. A little of his strength was returning to him now, as though finding some part of his mental equilibrium had translated into a second wind. His legs still felt as though someone had replaced his muscles with wet ropes, but at least they could now support his weight. For the moment the transformed goddess's attention was upon the new threat that had already wounded her, with any luck it would stay that way for at least a little longer.
He blinked as something that had been at the corner of his awareness suddenly snapped into clarity. The sword that he still held in his hand was humming ever so slightly, like a tuning fork that had just been struck.
A resonance? With what?
Wait, Arondight was the sword of Lancelot, a Noble Phantasm with a legend so deeply ingrained upon it that it had acted to save Guinevere even while only a potential existence in his Reality Marble.
Guinevere . . .
If it had reacted to the queen of the Divine Ancestors that way then it stood to reason that there was another existence that it would also react to.
"Lancelot . . . ?"
The question slipped out without him even consciously meaning to say it, but as the name was spoken the knight seemed to sit up straighter in his saddle even though he didn't turn from his enemy.
"Ah, so you have discerned this knight's identity. As should be expected of one that this one's dear child holds in such regard. Indeed, this knight is the Knight of the Lake that once served our most beloved King."
Any further words were cut off as the dragon lunged forward once more. A tide of dark green vapour surged forth from its mouth as it exhaled, but once more the mounted knight evaded as he galloped forwards. The jet of miasma struck the ground and immediately began to dissolve the concrete into slush as the acidic vapour ate into it.
For his part Lancelot came about in another charge, but this time the transformed goddess was ready for him. Even though he was fast as lightning and ferocious as a storm his charge was still broken as the Knight of the Lake was forced to become mist once more to avoid being eviscerated by the dragon's talons.
Again the mist flowed away and re-condensed into the knight's form close to where Shirou was shakily standing.
"That attack was weaker than your last," it was strange to hear so human a woman's voice coming from the dragon, had it not been for the slight hiss to the words the young Emiya would have been certain it was another speaking. "I see, your form is not yet complete, you are neither fully present within your legend or upon the mortal realm. Tell me sir knight, how much does your power wane with each passing moment? Has your opportunity to slay me already passed you by? Do you have the strength to slay Jord now that your first charge has failed?"
As she spat forth the tail of the beast rose scorpion-like over its body slowly waving from side to side like a waiting cobra. The tip of the appendage had changed at some point, earlier it had ended in a narrowing tip like that of any snake. Now though the tail terminated in a mace of bone and scales studded with thorn-like spikes.
There was a brief moment of stillness, then the mass of the tail's club came down like the hammer of a god. Again the knight's mount evaded the strike and the mace of horn and scales crashed into the earth. However for all his perfection in the art of a rider Lancelot was caught unawares as the earth upon which his steed moved suddenly shook and writhed like a thing alive.
Jord, an earth goddess, of course she'd have the ability to control the ground in such a way, the thought ran through Shirou's mind even as he was forced to watch Lancelot bring up his shield to defend against another swing of the tail's mace. Had he been a mortal the blow would have sent him tumbling from his saddle like a thrown child's plaything, however he was no mortal and the steed he rode was to all intents and purposes a part of him.
With the kind of mounted fortitude that any Rider might have envied the Knight of the Lake kept his seat even as his horse absorbed the shock of impact and dug grooves into the concrete as it was forced back. Why hadn't he turned into mist? Was his own energy exhausted to that level or had the shifting ground somehow neutralized the Authority? Ultimately it didn't matter; unless Lancelot won this battle then they were all dead. Well, perhaps some of them might survive, he could see the likes of Erica and Liliana throwing them into hopeless battle in order to buy time for Yuri or Ena to get Godou out of there, but even that was a hideous long shot.
Arondight was still resonating, the note of its hum having risen in pitch as the vibrations intensified. There was an eagerness to the weapon, a tenseness that seemed to cry out for action, but at the moment he was utterly unable to do anything about it. Even so he had a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that there was still something he could do. His body was exhausted; his Authorities almost all spent and his magic so used up that he lacked the power to use the remaining Authorities he still had, yet despite that there was a certainty that he could still do something.
"Whatever is the matter?" the dragon demanded, her voice growing smug as she struck out again, this time with her claws, "Has your strength waned so much already? Had your edge grown dull after only a trio of charges?"
The Noble Phantasm that the divine knight held lashed out in a vicious arch, severing a digit from the draconic claw, but even so it was clear that his speed and strength were indeed reduced.
"Hah! To be sure this knight is hardly at his best for this battle, but that is hardly enough of a reason to hold back. Come at this knight with all you have, I have faced many snakes and dragons before and all have been trampled to death beneath my charge. If you believe you will fare better then put forth your best effort."
It was strange how carefree the armoured figure sounded despite the situation he found himself in. Shirou found himself envying the knight's apparently unshakable certainty. Then again Lancelot wasn't a human, a mortal; he was a god, something that possessed only a vague resemblance to human reason and sensibilities. When looked at from that perspective it didn't seem so strange that the Knight of the Lake could keep such high spirits despite his worsening circumstances.
Again Lancelot charged, his movements swift and his aim sure. Rhongomyniad jabbed deep into the dragon's side as scales that would have resisted the blows of a divine war hammer split as easily as bare flesh before the Noble Phantasm's power. But even as the weapon sank in the maced end of Jord's tail crashed into the raised shield of the knight. Lancelot was sent skidding away once more, his spear pulled out before it could sink deeply and his large kite shield now visibly dented.
It was no good, without the advantage of surprise to give him the edge Lancelot simply wasn't able to deal enough damage even with the spear he bore. Jord could anticipate his charges now and could exchange relatively minor wounds for being able to inflict solid blows directly at her foe. As the deity of Steel's strength waned his attacks would grow less effective even as the toll upon him swiftly mounted.
Something needed to change the odds, grant Lancelot strength; otherwise this dragon was going to devour him and then move on to the rest of them. There had to be something Shirou could do. Something, anyth-
Wait . . . restore Lancelot's strength . . .
Once more it was as though something slid into place in the young Emiya's mind and suddenly something that had been unrecognizable before was now visible in crystal clear clarity.
"SIR LANCELOT!" his shout carried across the battlefield despite his exhaustion. The Knight of the Lake had been close to him, having retreated to avoid another hammer blow from the mace of Jord's tail, and his head turned slightly so he could look at Shirou while keeping the dragon within his field of vision. "CATCH!"
And with that single word he threw Arondight to the god.
-()-
Lancelot was a largely carefree god, but even if despair and regret were foreign to 'him' a certain level of frustration was not.
'His' initial charge hadn't dealt nearly as much damage as 'he' had hoped it would. The spear had served marvellously, its blade cutting through the nigh impenetrable scales as though they had been mortal flesh, however Jord herself had moved faster than 'he'd' anticipated. The transformed goddess had only been able to shift slightly even with her monstrous speed, but that minor shift had been enough to ensure that 'his' thrust had missed 'his' intended target of her heart and meant that 'he'd' buried his lance in her guts instead.
Since then 'he' had been able to wound her, but 'his' vigour had begun to wane and 'he' had started to feel the wretched exhaustion that always dogged 'him' when 'he' manifested in this incomplete fashion. In the past 'he' had ridden into thunderstorms so that the lightning bolts striking 'him' would inject vigour to 'his' weary form, and that stop measure had served 'him' well for centuries.
'He' was only thankful that 'his' beloved child hadn't employed the attack spell that she'd spoken of. As things stood if she were to do so the odds were such that not only would it fail to slay Jord but it would also give her position away and leave her open to a counter attack. The goddess become dragon needed to be wounded more before she would be weak enough for the assassination spell to be successful, but it was becoming harder and harder for Lancelot to deal the damage necessary.
Of course 'he' was far from out of options, there were drawbacks to almost all of them though, drawbacks that would endanger the future plans of Guinevere. The most obvious would be for 'him' to cast aside the spell that summoned 'him' in this form and descend as a true Heretic God. The disadvantage to it was that with a foe right before 'him' there was a chance that in such a state 'he' would abandon 'his' duties and seek simply to quench 'his' battle lust. The same could happen if Lancelot were to use 'his' Authority of Insane Rush to restore 'his' power.
Unfortunately the way thing were going made it more and more likely that the Knight of the Lake would be forced to risk one of these unsafe options. The simple fact was that in this incomplete state 'his' reserves of divine power were only a fraction of what they should be and were already nearly exhausted. Perhaps 'he' should-
"SIR LANCELOT!" The shout from 'his' side drew the divine knight's attention to where Sir Shirou stood despite the unsteady state of his limbs. "CATCH!"
In a single motion the young man that Guinevere had named as the King of Steel threw the sword he held towards the protector knight. It wasn't a throw meant to do harm, the weapon tumbled end over end in an almost lazy manner, at least to 'his' senses it was.
That sword . . . the impossible sword that had slain Venus, the sword that 'he' felt an inexplicable link to. It seemed to almost gravitate to 'his' hand of its own accord even as 'he' dropped 'his' shield and 'his' own fingers closed around the hilt almost on pure reflex.
As soon as 'he' had grasped it, as soon as the weapon was in 'his' grip, power shot through Lancelot like a flood of sweet fire.
Complete.
That was the only way that the knight could think of describing it. For the first time in many centuries 'he' felt as though the missing part of 'him' that had been sacrificed in order to better protect the Witch Queen had been . . . not returned, but rather something had been found to fill it. Strength, vigour, vitality, for so long exhaustion and lethargy had been 'his' constant companions that 'he' had almost forgotten what they were like. Even the vigour provided by bathing in thunderbolts was a tepid and transitory substitute for the real sensations. Holding this sword had somehow restored that lost essence to 'him'.
Lancelot had no idea how such a thing could come to pass, but it wasn't in 'his' nature to question good fortune. The sword was there and 'his' strength was restored, what more did 'he' really need to know?
"Wha-"
The transformed goddess had barely enough time for the confused exclamation before the reinvigorated knight charged towards her once more. The hooves of 'his' mount struck the ground so forcefully the craters were formed and sparks flew, after all the steed was a manifestation of 'his' power, and as such its strength and vitality had also returned.
The spear in 'his' right hand drove into and through the forelimb that was raised to protect her. The spear dug into her scaled side, entering deeply enough to draw a shriek of pain and rage from the dragon. Even as the thrashing of her body ripped the spear from 'his' hand Lancelot abandoned it and instead took a two handed grip upon the sword 'he' held.
In 'his' hands the swords was practically vibrating with pent up force, the Knight of the Lake didn't know how this blade could exist, by what miracle it could be, but one fact was absolutely clear; this was a weapon of Steel, a weapon that was the enemy of dragons.
For the first time in more than three centuries Lancelot du Lac struck out with 'his' full strength, the strength that had allowed 'him' to slay and trample many other snakes and dragons over the course of 'his' existence.
Jord was no easy prey though; she had seen the sword and instinctively grasped that it was her enemy. Even as her attacker swung at her, her body twisted about, unmindful of the way that she drove the spear deeper into her flesh, bringing her head around so that she could unleash a torrent of miasma at her tormentor.
Lancelot didn't hesitate for an instant, instead of recoiling 'he' charged straight into the stream of corrosive gas, unflinching even as 'his' armour blackened and 'his' flesh burnt. To the divine knight none of that mattered, 'his' foe was before him and a weapon was in 'his' hands, there wasn't anything else to be concerned about.
Arondight screeched through the air in a single arcing slash. It met the miasma pouring over it, but the Noble Phantasm remained untouched by the dragon's breath, its dark surface unblemished by corrosion.
The blow cut through scales and muscle, organs and bone, in a single sweeping arch. Blood gushed forth in a small crimson waterfall, the flow carrying out the precious life's fluid of the goddess even as the beast that she'd become staggered and then crashed to the ground. The blow wasn't a fatal one, to any mortal life it might have been, but to a deity it was only enough to deal pain and temporary immobility, still seeing her in such a state brought a thought to Lancelot's mind.
"Beloved child, now is the time to release the Holy Grail's mystical powers!"
-What does Sir Knight mean?- Her voice echoed in his mind as she used her magic to convey her thoughts to 'him'.
"The Holy Grail is capable of absorbing the life force of great mother earth goddesses and storing it. Now is the perfect opportunity to obtain the life force of a strong earth mother goddess and save this young King! We mustn't squander this opportunity!"
There was no verbal response, only a burst of mixed emotions, elation, pride, trepidation, greed and eagerness all mixed up. Still the sensation wasn't unpleasant; indeed it was like an invigorating warmth blooming at the back of 'his' mind.
In the next instant it had appeared beside 'him', the Holy Grail, one of the most powerful artefacts in the world.
In size the divine vessel was too large to be called a chalice, it stood nearly a metre and a half tall and was shaped like a beautifully worked urn or cup made for a giant. Despite the intricacy of its design the Grail was oddly unadorned in that it lacked such obvious decoration as golden edgework or inlaid gems. Yet despite this lack of ornamentation there was no way that any could mistake it for anything other than what it was, the ultimate vessel of divine power.
From the rim of the Holy Grail, invisible to mortal eyes, power spilt forth like mist from a bubbling potion, power that surpassed anything a human magi could ever achieve as easily as a human could surpass an ant. And yet that same power was nothing more than spill over of the true contents of the Holy Grail, the natural overflow of what it contained. Its true power, the true contents of the divine vessel . . . words could scarcely do it justice.
This was the last creation of the White Mother Goddess that had defied the unwritten laws of the world by allying herself with gods of Steel.
This was the San Graal, the ultimate mystic cup, the Holy Grail.
The flow of blood slowed and ceased, but was replaced by a golden vapour that billowed forth from the wound and flowed into the divine vessel.
"Wh-What is this?" Jord's voice sounded weak even though it issued forth from the dragon's mighty throat.
"With your stolen divinity simply defeating you will likely not be enough to overcome your immortality. However, it would be an entirely different matter if the Grail consumes all your life force. Your taken power is not yet settled and as such is easy for the Grail to grasp in your wounded state. Return to your legend traitorous goddess, there is no place here for you anymore."
"No."
Even as she spoke the one word the downed dragon began to change form, the length of its coils contracting, shifting shape into the form of human limbs. Here and there scales refused to change where everywhere else they were melting back into pale skin. In a matter of seconds Jord had regained much of her humanity, though patches of scales, a horn and talons on her fingers refused to fade.
"NO!" her denial was a roar this time, her beautiful face contorting as a look of unholy rage gathered there, "I WILL NOT BE DENIED AGAIN!"
In 'his' time Lancelot had seen many sights, been witness to such horrors and wonders as would reduce mortals to gibbering madness, yet in among those experiences the change that swept over the mother of Thor as she forced herself to her feet once more gained a special place amongst them. There was no physical change, no alteration to her features or body aside from a slight darkening of all her colourations, had there been more it would have been easier to understand. Instead it was all the intangible things about her that seemed to alter in the time it took for her to stand; the way she held herself, the placing of her feet, the tilt of her head, the set of her shoulders . . .
As a deity the Knight of the Lake had encountered spirits and ghosts in the past, sad or fearsome remnants of souls that refused or were unable to move on. Such beings had never been any sort of threat to 'him', no matter how mad or despairing they might have been, and 'he' had ignored them as a man on a walk would ignore the autumn leafs beneath 'his' feet. Yet now 'he' looked upon the figure before 'him' that was and yet was not the Knight of Betrayal and an unfamiliar chill of fear ran through 'him'.
"I'll kill you Lancelot, then I'll kill her, then I'll kill your Queen, then I'll kill the young King, then I'll-"
The words poured forth from Jord as she stumbled forwards, the hate within her seeming to propel her onwards even as the Grail drank in her divinity. Yet even as it drank her golden radiance the flow of that power was joined by another energy. This power was darker, redder, almost bloodlike in its appearance and consistency. Guinevere's protector could feel the malevolence radiating from the flow even as the Grail drank it in. This was the last remnants of the Heretic God that had been called Mordred, but at the same time this wasn't the power of the Mordred that 'he' knew. This power was a distortion, a corruption of what 'his' fellow knight had been, it was his rage and resentment without any of his nobler qualities to balance it out. There was no courage, not aspiration, no determination; there was nothing but a deep well of the most malevolent of all emotions.
This . . . this was an abomination. Mordred might have been an existence that Lancelot could never forgive, one that 'he' would have dearly loved to slay, but even so 'his' foe had been a complete entity, not this . . . this parody of a living being. Whatever twisted Authority had allowed the Knight of Betrayal to leave some part of himself behind had been as corrupted and distorted as Mordred's dragon form had become.
Guinevere had said that given enough time this Authority might well hollow Jord out and use her as a vessel to rebirth the lost Mordred, but Lancelot's instincts told 'him' that this wasn't the case. If the Authority were to run its course it might birth something, but whatever that was would not be the fallen knight 'he' had once fought beside. It would be a caricature, a distortion, an effigy, something that should NOT exist.
Lancelot wasn't a great thinker, 'he' was not famed for 'his' cunning or 'his' brilliance outside of battle. 'He' was simply a knight that loved to charge at 'his' foe straight on, to gallop across the battlefield with sword or lance in hand.
To one such as that there was only one way to stop the maturation of the corrupted Authority.
SHTHUNCK!
Arondight ripped through the air.
Jord blinked once.
Then her head fell from its shoulders.
For a moment her body stood upright, as though unable to grasp what had taken place, then in an oddly graceful motion it collapsed to the floor, or at least started to. Even as the headless body tipped forwards its fall was arrested as a huge torrent of golden and dark bloody energies gushed forth from her neck as though some immense pressure had found its release.
But even as the mix of powers erupted forth it was absorbed by the Holy Grail, the streams of divinity being drawn into it as though by some inescapable gravity that only the divine energies could feel. In the space of only a few moments the entirety of the goddess's power was consumed, power enough to plunge a country into chaos and ruin and the vessel drank it in with the ease of a thirsty man consuming a mug of water.
Still, one thing caused Lancelot's eyes to narrow within 'his helmet as 'he' gazed at the Grail.
The creation born of the sacrifice of the White Mother Goddess that had once been comrade to 'him' and Artus was meant to absorb and store the power of the Earth Mothers, goddesses that had possessed the same qualities as his fallen ally. It should not consume the power ofmalegods, not even gods of the earth such as Mordred, that was simply not a part of its nature.
So then why had it been able to drink in the power that had been the remnant of the Traitor Knight? Had his remaining touch been so inextricably linked to Jord's stolen power that it had been drawn in by pure chance?
Bah, what did 'he' care? Such worries were not the place of a knight. The foe had been met and vanquished, that was all that was 'his' duty. After matters had been attended to here 'he' would mention 'his' concerns to the Queen of the Divine Ancestors and leave the matter to her given that that was her area of expertise.
Before 'him' the remains of Jord crumbled into golden sand and disappeared into the wind. In all truth Lancelot was uncertain of how 'he' felt about the vanquished goddess, on the one hand 'he' had no trouble thinking of her as a foe to be battled, after all 'he' had faced many earth goddesses in the past so that their power might be added to the Grail. But on the other hand on this occasion 'his' foe had not battled 'him' of her own volition. Instead she had been manipulated, controlled, and for some reason that tarnished what would have otherwise been a most satisfying battle.
There 'he' went over thinking things once more. Truly deep thought was a task unsuited to a knight such as 'himself', far better to simply focus upon the matter at hand.
Such as the sword that 'he' held in 'his' hands right now.
Turning back to the young King that had lent 'him' the sword Lancelot prepared to return the weapon with suitable words of thanks, however this plan was cut off as 'he' took in the scene before him. There sat a rather confused and slightly panicked looking Sir Shirou with one hand in the grip of Guinevere while his other arm was being firmly grasped by Tiamat. Both the goddess and the Divine Ancestor were glaring openly at each other across the form of the young man that they both held, and there was no mistaking the intent in both of their eyes.
Oh ho, it would seem that 'his' precious child had a rival for the King of Steel's affections. How . . . interesting.
-()-
Tiamat had finally been able to regain her feet as the transformed Jord and Lancelot were locked in combat. It hadn't been easy, given that her limbs were still trembling with weakness, but she'd been able to hesitantly stagger over to where King Shirou had fallen without collapsing on the way. In all truth she'd been unsure of what she'd do once she reached him, indeed her mind had been a turbulent mess of notions and ideas ranging from the plausible of simply thanking him, to the absurd. However all her budding plans had been forestalled when he glanced up and her as she drew near.
"Are you alright?"
It was simple question, one could almost call it a pedestrian one, yet it struck at the now fallen goddess in a way she could not define.
"My ally has betrayed me, the vast majority of my power has been stolen and I am once more reduced to a mere shadow of myself. Do you think I'm 'alright'?"
The response slipped out before she had a chance to really think about what she was saying. Aaaah, what was she doing? She was admitting weakness in front of a Campione, the natural enemy of her kind. Not only that, this was a child of Pandora that had reason to bear her personal enmity, after all had she not been an ally of Venus? Was she not in some way complicit to his abduction and enslavement by virtue of being her ally?
Her words seemed to take him by surprise though, because rather than showing any signs of having caught her mistake he instead looked genuinely confused as he blinked at her.
"Well . . . you're alive?"
The response was more of a question than an answer and despite the danger of the situation Tiamat found her ire irrationally rising as she now glared at the red haired young man.
"Alive? Alive! Yes, I'm that at least. I'm a ruined shell of myself, but I am alive. I may have lost all that I've worked towards for the last nine centuries, but I am alive. I may be broken and helpless before the natural enemies of all gods, but I am alive. What kind of fool are you? Do you think I WANT to be alive like THAT?!"
As she spoke the final words some distant part of her mind realized that she was now shouting at him despite the peril of her situation, but for some reason she couldn't stop. All the simmering anger that had been buried under layers of shock and confusion was now finding a point of escape, and the King of Steel found himself the unsuspecting target of all the rage and despair that came with her betrayal and realization of what she'd lost. All her anger poured into the last words, her final exclamation rising to a shriek as she vented her fury.
"Why didn't you let me die?"
But once that fury was spent all that was left was despair. As she almost mumbled the last question the strength seemed to go out of the goddess as she slumped to her knees, unmindful of how the dust and debris dirtied her white robe.
"Why would you want to die?"
The question was spoken with such genuine bewilderment that it was enough to draw the Mother of Dragons out of her despair if only to look at the question's source.
"Haven't you heard a word I've said boy?!" she snarled, some anger returning to replace her gloom, "I've worked for centuries to regain my lost power, and now I'm nothing, a broken goddess barely more than a Divine Ancestor. My ally has betrayed me now I am helpless before you. Why in the name of all the heavens would I NOT wish to die?!"
"Because you're alive."
The short and simple sentence was delivered with absolute sincerity, however confused it might be, and a total lack of any sort of guile. He might as well have been saying that water was wet or that stones fell downwards, to him what he was saying was something so utterly obvious that he couldn't understand why she couldn't see it.
That effortless genuineness was enough to bring her up short, to cut off the blistering tirade as she just stared at the young man sitting before her.
". . . what?" It was all she could say; indeed it was taking every shred of her already torn control to keep her mouth from hanging open like some slack jawed fool.
"You've just got your power back only to have it stolen, correct?" the eighth King's voice was gathering strength now, gaining resolve and confidence. Almost involuntarily she nodded in answer to his question. "Well, that simply means that you can do so again. What you have done once you can do once more. As long as you live then you can strive, work and achieve. If you are dead then there's nothing, if you are a mortal then there's only the afterlife and if you are a god then you return to your legend."
His head tilted slightly as he looked up at her.
"You said you worked for centuries to regain your power, why did you do that? You could have simply taken your own life, returned to your legend and become a deity once more, but you didn't. Why?"
"I . . . I wanted . . ."
This was ridiculous; some part of Tiamat was screaming at her, why was she listening to this boy that hadn't even lived out two decades of his life? Yet even as she thought that she found herself continuing to listen to him, found herself . . . curious as to what he'd say.
"Whatever it was that you wanted, are you ready to throw it away? Are you so ready to give up on it? Was it really so worthless that you'd cast it aside after this stumble?"
With painful slowness the King of Steel forced himself to his feet.
"The dead can do nothing, but while you're alive you can keep going forwards. You say that you're broken, that you're nothing? You have at the very least what almost every mortal in the world is born with, more in fact. You have power and immortality, which most humans can only every imagine in their wildest fantasies, are you truly saying that you will give up in the face of what mortals face every day?"
Had he always stood so tall? Had this young King always seemed so grand? Despite having been shrunk down to human proportions buy her loss of power Tiamat was still an inch or two taller than King Shirou, yet as they faced each other he seemed, for just an instant, to tower high above her.
You have a goal and you still have life. Use it, chase after your goal again until you once more run it down."
What was that; command? Request? Plea? It seemed to be all of them and yet none of them at the same time. But what struck her was how accurate what he said was. Why should she despair? Yes she had been betrayed, yes her power had been stolen, and yes she was imperilled by standing here. But what did that matter?
She had regained her godhood, the majority of her power might be gone but that simply meant that she was in the same situation as Athena. If the goddess of the dark could endure and return then there was no reason that Tiamat could not either. There would need to be a plan, cautious steps and somewhere secure. In her current state she was probably a tempting target for those greedy for power that sought to become Campione, divine enough to count yet weakened enough that they believed her to be easy pickings. Well, if any upstart mortal tried to claim her life they'd learn that weakened was not helpless, but that would be tiresome. What she needed was some sort of protection, some way to stay safe until she could build up her power to a suitable level.
Hmmm . . .
-()-
Shirou had no idea where all of what he'd just said had come from.
In all truth he'd been panicking slightly as soon as the dragon lady had started to shout at him and he'd simply blurted out the first thing that came to mind, the one thing that he was absolutely certain of. After all, 'people die if they are killed' it was a childishly simple truth, but it was one that he'd always felt to be hugely important. If you died, if you weren't saved, then there was nothing, nothing that could be done, nothing that could be changed.
It was . . . hard to get that across. To him it was so utterly obvious, but other people seemed to have trouble grasping the idea, or at least that was how it sometimes seemed to him.
Still, his simple answer seemed to have set her back on her metaphorical heels because her tirade had stopped long enough for him to try and gather his thoughts. The problem had been that he hadn't been able to think of the right words to get it across. Seeing his opening slipping away the young Emiya had panicked and tried to think of what the Kings that he knew of would have said. Saber, Gilgamesh, even Iskander from the fourth Holy Grail War, he tried to imagine what they might have said to get through to this distraught and angry goddess that had been so wounded.
And then it had all come so easily. The words had flowed out even as the mask of the false King that he'd come to wear settled upon him in an almost disturbingly comfortable way. He'd said what he wanted to say, he'd said what he meant as well. And he had no idea as to how he'd managed it.
Even as he stood there, his legs still shaking beneath him, Shirou was suddenly acutely aware of the utter absurdity of the situation. Off to the side an armoured divine knight was locked in combat with a goddess become dragon and here he was trying to talk another goddess out of potentially suicidal despair? And not only that, he was actually managing to do it somehow.
Once more his head swam as he tried to remember just how he'd ended up in this situation.
"Very well, you have convinced me."
Tiamat's voice brought him out of his thoughts as he realized that his mind had wandered on him. Two gods fighting only a few metres away, another goddess nearby and a third right next to him and his mind was wandering? Something was seriously wrong here, but that was something he'd have to focus on later. Right now he had more immediate concerns.
"I shall not give in to despair; I shall regain what I have lost. Of that you've managed to convince me," despite her obviously weakened state and dishevelled appearance the reduced deity none the less managed to radiate the haughtiness of a queen as she locked eyes with eighth Campione.
"But I expect you to take responsibility."
"Huh?" Perhaps that wasn't the most sophisticate answer he could have come up with, but at the moment it was the best that he could manage.
"I was ready to end my life and return to my legend. You have given me the will to carry on, but I shall need protection and shelter until such time as I can regain enough of my power to do without either. You are the one that convinced me to take this path; therefore it is your responsibility to provide me with what I need."
There was something definitely off about that, it sounded somewhat reasonable, but Shirou suspected that had more to do with the exhaustion that was creeping up on him more than anything else. Still, at its core it was like the old proverb, save someone's life and you were responsible for it. He'd have to do . . . something. What was it? Something so she had to keep a promise, he'd have to make her do that so she wouldn't be a danger. If she'd do that then he couldn't think of a reason why he shouldn't give her his protection. There were still plenty of rooms free at the manor after all.
Damn it, it was getting harder to think with every passing moment. He felt as though he hadn't slept in days and it was all finally catching up to him.
"Promise," he said, his voice only slightly slurred with fatigue, "You'll have to take a promise that you can't break. Promise not to be a danger."
"I believe I can agree to that." There was a note of amusement in her voice now, there was also some trepidation and caution, but that hint of enjoyment was definitely there as well. "Of course I do not come to this agreement with nothing to offer, I bring my knowledge of other deities, a knowledge that surpasses that of any human, as well as what power I retain. These I offer as my side of this partnership, will you accept that along with my oath that I shall not do you or those under your protection harm?"
That did sound like a pretty good deal; at least he thought it did. Damn it, he was just too tired for this, it was like the world was slowly muting out on him, the colours of it fading as the last of his stamina gave out. He wasn't in any physical harm, at least he didn't think so, but right now he was pretty sure that sleep's tender embrace was getting ready to claim him regardless of his own feelings o n the matter. No, he had to stay awake, at least until the situation was fully stabilized, he had to-
"Oh Sir Shirou, please allow Guinevere to offer her aid."
There was a slight pressure on his lips and then sound and colour came rushing back. He still felt as though he'd been fed through a wringer, but for the moment at least he didn't seem to be in danger of passing out.
Huh, when did Guinevere get here?
-()-
The Queen of the Divine Ancestors had arrived along with the Holy Grail just as Tiamat had made her offer to the King of Steel. As the vessel began to consume Jord's divine energies the Witch Queen remained cloaked in spells and took in the scene before her. The Mother of Dragons was clearly drained of the majority of her power, if Guinevere had to estimate then she'd say that the goddess possessed about thrice the energy of a Divine Ancestor, roughly a quarter of the power Athena held in her fallen state. Though an enormous amount by mortal standards to any deity it was only a step or two removed from being crippling, certainly it had left gaps in her abilities that would remain until she adapted to the reduction, the fact that she hadn't sensed Guinevere through her veil of spells was proof of that.
For his part the red haired young man seemed to be on the verge of falling over he looked so exhausted.
Well, that was to be expected given the amounts of magic that he'd expended while under Venus's control. A Campione might have reserves of power comparable to those of a god, but that in no way meant that they were infinite. If he wanted to keep functioning any longer he was going to need someone to refill those reserves, if only partially.
Well . . . she knew how that could be done. But could she? What would he think of her, being so forward like that? Still, he did need it, this would be like when she had healed him after his battle with Mordred, this wasn't her taking advantage of his weakened state in order to kiss him . . .
Really . . .
Doing her best to keep rebellious and shameful thoughts of what else she could do the golden haired shed the veil of invisibility and appeared at the eighth Campione's side. As it turned out her arrival hadn't been a moment too soon because even as she appeared Sir Shirou seemed to slump forwards in a way that didn't suggest conscious choice.
"Oh Sir Shirou, please allow Guinevere to offer her aid."
It was a good thing that the young Devil King was already leaning over; otherwise he would have been too tall for her to reach his face. As it was both her hands drew his face down slightly and her small mouth sealed across his as she cast the spell to impart some of her own immortal vitality upon him so that his depleted reserves might be treated.
Unlike last time his lips weren't cold, instead they were warm against hers, though a slight taste of blood invaded her mouth as a split lip moved against hers. There was also some movement upon his part, nothing conscious but rather an instinctive reaction on his part. Involuntarily her mind recalled the recent revelation that he already had a lover and that his devotion to her was strong enough to overcome even the Authority of a goddess of love. Of course he had experience in such things as kissing; indeed, he probably had experience with far more . . . involved activities.
"What is this?! Just who are you and why are you being so familiar with King Shirou?!"
Guinevere pulled away from the red haired young man as the voice of Tiamat broke into her thoughts. Ah yes, she was still here. Well, it was probably best to 'stake a claim' on being Sir Shirou's ally before the fallen goddess tried to attach herself too closely to him. Turning to face the wounded goddess she held onto the Campione's arm to offer her support. The fact that it let her stay by his side in an almost intimate fashion was merely a side effect.
Really.
"Guinevere was simply lending her aid to Sir Shirou, since he is my ally that is the least that could be done."
-()-
The Mother of Dragons had been caught completely by surprise when the blonde child had appeared out of nowhere and pressed her lips to King Shirou's mouth.
What was this? Her negotiations with the young king had been going well, even if he did look like he was ready to keel over soon. Her plan had been to gain a tentative agreement from him and then highlight her own value to him by using some of her meagre stores of power to shore up his own waning reserves. But before she could put the plan into effect this interloper had appeared out of nowhere to derail everything.
"What is this?! Just who are you and why are you being so familiar with King Shirou?!"
The words burst forth before she could stop them, born on a tide of outrage and . . . jealousy? Naturally, of course she was jealous. This golden haired interloper had robbed her of the chance to place the God Slayer in her debt, certainly a feat to be envious of, that was it.
"Guinevere was simply lending her aid to Sir Shirou, since he is my ally that is the least that could be done."
The voice that spoke was utterly calm, but had a slight air of smugness to it as well. This girl knew what she'd done, she knew the plans that she'd derailed, and she was drawing some satisfaction from that knowledge.
Wait, Guinevere? That explained the divine knight that had attacked Jord, who other than Lancelot could have challenged a goddess become dragon so? But it also raised the question of why she was here, no, wait . . . didn't her and King Shirou form some sort of alliance after the battle with Mordred? Both her and Jord had been scrying the battle and had seen him save the powerful Divine Ancestor and her healing him in return. In addition to that it was well known that Guinevere had been one of the guests at the infamous Feast of Kings. Could it be that their association was closer than Tiamat had suspected?
"Guinevere was simply lending her aid to Sir Shirou, since he is my ally that is the least that could be done."
Even as she said it the childlike immortal took hold of King Shirou's arm and leaned into it in an almost blatant display of possessiveness.
Before the Mother of dragons realized what she was doing she'd crossed the distance separating them and had taken possession of the King of Steel's other arm. She was NOT going to allow her infant alliance with King Shirou to be endangered this way, she owed him a debt for his saving her from being devoured and she had every intention of discharging that debt in the way most likely to benefit her.
"I'm certain that your aid has been valuable, my own pact with his Majesty should no doubt prove to be at least as beneficial to both of us."
"Oh? So Sir Shirou has agreed to the terms you proposed? Strange, Guinevere did not hear him say any such thing."
"King Shirou had already begun his agreement before his fatigue overcame him," Tiamat declared waspishly as she emphasized the correct form of address for the God Slayer rather than the one the Witch Queen was using. "Though your timing was most . . . convenient had you not arrived when you did I would have provided the vitality needed for him to complete our negotiations."
"I hardly think he'd have appreciated such a . . . liberty from someone that he'd only just met." Guinevere responded, more than a hint of venom concealed behind her own polite tone.
Tiamat tightened her hold on King Shirou's arm, absently noting how doing so was pressing its tight muscles into her bosom. Ha, that was somewhere that she had a definite advantage over the childlike Divine Ancestor, if nothing else then one thing that she had been able to retain from the betrayal was that she was no longer trapped in a prepubescent body.
She mustn't lose her temper, not now. The simple fact was that in all truth she was not in the best position to be forging an alliance with the eighth Campione, she had been allied to the one responsible for him facing Mordred and she had been a party to his kidnapping and enslavement by Venus, if only periphery. Granted she hadn't been a direct party to anything too serious . . . apart from bringing Venus into their alliance, or aiding in Apollo's early return, or suggesting that Apollo attack Kusanagi Godou while Venus captivated King Shirou. Alright, maybe she wasn't so distant in her involvement, which simply meant that she had to secure this alliance if she wanted to discharge the debt that she owed.
However even as she opened her mouth to voice her own retort the form of the King held between them slumped as he sat down upon the trunk of one of the fallen trees. Ah, perhaps this argument could wait until such time as the principle subject of the discussion wasn't only a bit of borrowed energy away from collapse.
"I hardly think this is the correct venue for such a discussion," she declared as she seated herself beside the child of Pandora refusing to give up her hold on his arm, "I hereby swear upon my name and divinity that I shall offer no harm to King Shirou or those that are under his protection. I shall act as a guest in accordance to the laws of hospitality whilst in his household."
As she made the vow Tiamat drew a bit of satisfaction from the look of consternation that flashed across Guinevere's face before she had a chance to conceal it. She hadn't been expecting that, she'd expected the Mother of Dragons to try to give a lesser oath that would grant her more freedom. By taking the greater oath and swearing it upon both her name and divinity Tiamat had forestalled any argument that the Witch Queen might have made upon the fallen goddess's trustworthiness, or lack thereof.
Furthermore it strengthened Tiamat's position since by placing herself under King Shirou's authority she had also gained his protection, meaning that neither Guinevere nor her ally could move against her without placing themselves in conflict with the King that the Queen of the Divine Ancestors already had some sort of accord with.
"Very well, but Guinevere will be watching you, do not take any actions that would harm Sir Shirou." The golden haired immortal declared squeezing the arm that she held and now glaring openly at the fallen goddess seated on the other side of the King between them.
"Oh, I assure you I shall treat him most kindly." Tiamat replied, her own glare clashing with that being directed at her.
This was absurd, she was a goddess, no matter how reduced she might be, yet this Divine Ancestor was bantering words so freely with her. Had she still been in such a state Tiamat doubted that she'd have dared to address even a deity in her circumstances the same way. Still, this was Guinevere, she was known as the Queen of the Divine Ancestors for a good reason, possessing the Holy Grail and under the protection of Lancelot du Lac meant that she existed on a higher tier than the other immortal witches of the world. When one added her resources to her own power as well as her expertise in European spellwork she was a force that not even a being of Tiamat's level could take lightly.
"Oh ho hoooh, it would seem that this one's precious child has some competition for Sir Shirou's aid."
The sounds of amused chuckling brought her attention away from her rival in this matter and to the source of laughter. What she saw made the fallen goddess blink in surprise.
Jord was defeated, no, not merely defeated, consumed, totally absorbed by the Holy Grail. She'd heard tales of the divine vessel's power, but for it to so effortlessly consume all the power that her ally had stolen from her . . .
A chill touched her spine, all that power, the vast majority of her reserves, and it had been swallowed as easily as a snake would a frog. What did that mean for her? Would Guinevere use the Grail to consume the last shreds of her divinity and send her wailing back to her legend? It was a possibility, a very real one, and the only protection that she could have from it was the favour of the red haired young man she was holding onto. Not to mention that she was now facing Lancelot du Lac, a divine knight famed for his acts of valour, acts that included the slaying of dragons and serpents.
Tiamat felt the blood in her veins seem to cool as the full gravity of the situation hit her. Had she really been so distracted by her attempts to secure an alliance with the eighth Campione that she'd failed to grasp what was happening? Jord had been slain only a few dozen paces from her and she'd ignored it because she'd been irritated with the closeness that Guinevere had so casually shown?
What had she done?
-()-
Shirou looked up at the steel clad form of the knight that had saved him and everyone else here. His head still felt fuzzy, as though things weren't connecting properly, but at least he was able to stay awake. Idly he looked at the knight before him and compared him to Mordred, the one that according to legend had once been his peer, this knight upon his white horse.
In stature the Knight of the Lake was slighter than the Knight of Betrayal, his dimensions being those of a tall but normally so mortal. Both he and his horse were clad in armour that covered virtually every inch of his form, armour that though thick and concealing had a slightly . . . simplistic quality to it. The protective covering worn by Lancelot was of a less intricate design than that used by Mordred or any of Shirou's own armours. When contrasted against the sophisticated embellishments of his own Authority or the sinister and foreboding design of Mordred's black plates the armour of Guinevere's protector seemed, rougher, more primitive. It was as though the smith that forged it hadn't possessed the skill to combine form and function and had simply focused upon the practical aspect of his creation.
Yet at the same time there was no mistaking the strength of the knight's divinity, his armour might be simple, but it was strong. There was a connection here, something between them that let Shirou know with absolute certainty that in many ways the knight before him possessed a mettle that surpassed that of even Mordred.
A deity to be respectful of.
"I needs offer my thanks for the loan of this sword." Lancelot commented as he held up Arondight. The blade seemed to sit contented within the knight's grip, as though the resentment and curses that had corrupted it had been soothed. Indeed to Shirou's eyes it seemed as though the darkness of the sword had noticeably lightened.
"It was this fine blade that allowed me to emerge victorious over Jord. Still, though I would dearly love to retain it, I now return it to the one that lent it to me."
There was no way to see the knight's expression, not with the helm that he wore concealing his face completely. However in spite of that there was the definite impression that Guinevere's protector was smiling as he handed the Noble Phantasm back to its owner.
And the King of Steel was the owner of the sword, it may have been content in the hands of the divine knight, but as soon as he took it in his own hands Shirou got the impression that the sword felt . . . at home. Why? This was an analogue of the sword's true wielder, why would it possibly feel more at home with him?
Letting the Noble Phantasm fade he put his confusion aside, time for that later, right now he had a powerful god in front of him and that should be his focus.
Or perhaps not so powerful. As Lancelot let go of Arondight he seemed to fade, no that wasn't quite right. He remained there, but it was as though the knight were a picture that had been left out in the sun for too long. It wasn't that he faded; rather it was as though some sort of vitality leaked out of him in a visible way. The tassel of his helmet lost its snap, the white of his armour became more colourless than pristine, even his horse seemed to sag ever so slightly where it stood. The feeling of power that emanated from the mounted figure also dimmed; though it still remained strong it seemed to lose the razor edge it had once possessed.
Shirou's eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the knight to whom he had lent his sword, a suspicion forming in his mind even through the fog of fatigue.
"You're not completely here, are you? There's something missing that's leaving you as . . . less than you should be."
"Ho, it would seem that the second King of this land has a most discerning eye," Lancelot acknowledged with an inclination of his armoured head, "Indeed, in order to protect one's most beloved child I spend my time suspended betwixt the states of a Proper God and a Heretic God, though doing so does cost the fullness of my link to the earth."
With another inclination of his head the armoured knight indicated Guinevere.
"There is much that remains to discuss, yet at the same time this knight's time here grows short, soon I shall needs rest so that vitality may return to this one's body. In the meantime I trust that the King who served as so gracious a host at his Banquet may once more offer his hospitality to my most beloved child?"
Shirou blinked as he took a moment to process the offer being made. Of course he didn't have a problem on once more having Guinevere as a guest. Indeed he felt indebted to her for her aid on both this occasion and when he'd fought Mordred. But . . . wasn't he entrusting her to him a bit too easily? Shouldn't the knight that had spent centuries protecting the Witch Queen be a bit more reluctant to hand over her safety to another no matter how briefly?
"Guinevere would be honoured to accompany Sir Shirou back to his home." The blonde Divine Ancestor declared the smile on her face both radiant and adorable.
"I too shall place myself in King Shirou's care so that we may continue our negotiations." Tiamat announced her own face set in resolve despite the evident weakness in her every movement.
"This knight is truly sad that he must leave," Lancelot commented as his horse began to turn, "To all appearances your life shall be most . . . interesting in the close future, it would be most interesting to observe."
As the knight trotted away and faded like mist in the sun Shirou couldn't help but wonder if all that had just happened, however incomprehensible it might have been, was the easy part.
"So, I guess we should head back to my manor?"
The question was almost plaintive as he realized that the fallen goddess and the immortal witch had gone back to glaring at each other over his head.
-()-
Manaka felt as though she'd been wrung out like an old dish rag. She'd been in some bad spots before, but this was the first time one had left her feeling so utterly used up, every scrap of her magic had been expended to protect herself and Kaida-sama. She'd thrown up the best shield that she could and it had still not been enough, those swords had shattered it like the shell of an egg. At first she'd thought that their survival had been a miracle, then she'd heard Illya explain how Shirou-sama had been able to avoid killing them despite being under a goddess's control.
When he'd slain Venus the witch warrior had thought things were over, but the arrival of another goddess had put an end to that idea. Both her and her dear friend had been able to ride out the worst of the waves that had been unleashed by the newly arrived Tiamat, but that had been all they could do.
From there things had begun to blur after the second wave had struck, all that Manaka could do was hold onto the limp form of the semi-conscious Kaida, try to find what shelter she could while she tried to scrape together enough magic to accomplish something.
Now things had finally seemed to calm down, the attacks had ended and the oppressive feeling of power radiated by the deities that had been fighting had died away. For better or worse the conclusion had finally come to this entire affair.
Moving carefully so as not to jostle Kaida-sama the witchcraft user clambered to her feet and gazed around her as she took stock of the situation.
Off to one side she could see her Eminence Luo Hao seated upon a huge slab of concrete that she was using as a place to mediate. The action seemed absurd, or at least it would have if one didn't know who she was. Manaka had no doubt that whatever mental exercise the Chinese Campione was using it was meant to accelerate her healing and the recovery of her reserves. Her student seemed to stand near her looking more than a bit worse for wear but none the less prepared to remain by his teacher's side.
Over on what remained of the lawn Kusanagi Godou-sama and his aides were apparently engaged in some sort of discussion with one of the young girls that had accompanied the goddess that had attacked them after Venus fell. She wasn't human, of that Manaka was absolutely sure, the power she radiated was simply too great for her ever to be considered mortal. Something about her tickled a memory at the back of the witch warrior's mind, but whatever it was stubbornly refused to come to the fore.
Illya seemed to be only semi-conscious herself, her form cradled in the arm of the great grey giant that served her as it glared about in an oddly animated manner. The protective suit that the Campione's sister had worn seemed to have fared better in holding together than Manaka's own spell enhanced suit had. To be sure what the snow haired girl wore was torn and scorched, but when compared to either Kaida's garb or her own it was doing a much better job of preserving her modesty. Idly the witchcraft user wondered if there was any chance she could convince her king to make her such a suit.
It was that thought that led her eyes to find out just what had happened to the God Slayer to whom she'd sworn her allegiance.
Emiya Shirou looked like she felt, as though he'd been fed through a thresher, put back together and then used as a crash test dummy while lacking the traditional enhanced endurance of a Campione. To put it simply he looked awful. Right now he as sitting on a fallen tree with . . . Guinevere on one arm? That was a surprise, she remembered the Queen of the Divine Ancestors from the Feast, but hadn't expected to see her again so soon, and certainly not under these circumstances.
However it was the woman holding onto her King's other arm and glaring daggers at Guinevere that caused her to freeze in place.
That was Tiamat, of that she was sure. She might now lack the horns, scales and the majority of her divine aura but there was no way that Manaka wouldn't recognize her as the giantess that had attacked them. But what made her freeze was that now that the goddess lacked the more obvious signs of her immortality the witch warrior recognized her from somewhere else, somewhere that defied belief.
On the day that she and Kaida had entered King Shirou's service at the end of their negotiations Manaka had asked her friend what had led her to take the God Slayer's joking offer of them serving as maids in his household. After the Hime-Miko had answered her the witchcraft user had caught another glimpse of the phenomena that she'd privately dubbed the 'Destiny Sign' that hid behind Kaida-sama's Aura Sign. Back then she'd seen golden statues of herself and her friend standing beside statues of Emiya Shirou and his sister, a sense of companionship and glory linking them all. There had also been one other figure, someone that she didn't recognize but had identified as not a mortal due to her inhuman beauty and sense of power.
That statue had been Tiamat as she was now.
What did this mean? Was the goddess somehow going to get involved in their affairs to an even greater degree than she already was?
One thing as for certain, things had just become more . . . complicated.
-()-
Off to one side the Holy Grail stood alone. There was no need for someone to watch it, such a powerful artefact had a number of protective enchantments to ensure that nothing short of another god or a Campione at the height of their power could make off with it.
The vessel of power stood there its simple exterior belying the vast amount of power it held, the power of more than a dozen Mother Goddesses.
Yet if one were to gaze into the churning and seething mass of energy that it contained one might see something bobbing and floating amidst the roiling radiance of the contained divinity, something that didn't belong there.
It was tiny, almost insignificant, but it was something that should not have existed within the divine vessel. It was a spot of darkness, no larger than the seed of an apple. A small thing, and yet it refused to dissolve into the power of the grail as it should have done when surrounded with such energies. Instead a watcher would have seen it sink from view as it descended to the bottom of the Grail.
It could wait, it could endure.
And one day, it would return.
-()-
The long night of the Tempest was finally over, but the aftermath remained.
-/-/-/-
Shirou's New Authority.
Golden Cupid- Bow of Eros that ensnares the heart and clouds the eyes of mortals and gods alike, golden shaft that imparts the gift and curse of Aphrodite, entrust thyselves to my hand and place thy power in my keeping. I am the archer that shall now wield thee!
This Authority was gained from Venus and manifests itself as a golden bow that only Shirou can wield.
In appearance the bow is of a design similar to those used by the Greeks in ancient times, only much more elaborately decorated with designs resembling beautiful men and women running along its entire length adorned with gems for further embellishment. This ornamentationdoes not detract from the bows functionality, though it does make it look more like a work of art than a functioning weapon.
The arrows that the bow fires appear at its user's mental command in much the same way that Traced weapons come into existence. These arrows must then be notched and drawn after materialization since they can't be manifested in contact with any part of the bow. Once this is done though the range and accuracy of the bow is excellent, easily on par with Shirou's black bow. Using this Authority in combination with reinforced vision Shirou is entirely capable of sniping a target from as far away as three miles if conditions are favourable, though the range of the bow is more than five times that distance if he puts effort into it, the main limitation is his lack of divine sight.
Those struck by the arrows will suffer no physical damage whatsoever; indeed it is unlikely that they will even notice that they've been hit. To those without any magic of their own the arrows are completely invisible. Those with mystic senses may be able to perceive them, but only if they are actively looking for the arrows, and even then they will need considerable skill to do so.
Those struck by the arrows are subject to the Blessing/Curse of Love for which Eros and Cupid are most famous. The effect of the Blessing/Curse is always the same in that it will be the victim falling in love with the first target they see, but it is possible for Shirou to alter the conditions of that effect. For example he can refine the Blessing/Curse so that if he used it on a woman she would fall in love with the first male that she saw, or he could alter it so that it would be the first female. Other alterations are possible, based on the past actions of Venus and her subordinate deities. If he so wishes Shirou can cause targets to fall in love with family, animals or even statues.
In addition to altering the target of the Blessing/Curse Shirou can also choose the kind of love that will result. He can create true affection, raging lust, slavish devotion, destructive obsession or virtually any kind of affection that he so wishes. The degree to which the affection will manifest is also subject to his will, so if he wished he could set it up so that an affection will start small but build over time until the emotion becomes all consuming.
Once the Blessing/Curse has been inflicted it can never be fully removed without being completely overpowered by an outside force. This Authority allows them to be inflicted, but has no power to remove them afterwards. With a strong enough will or some other skill that blocks out mental interference it is possible to reduce the effects to levels where the victim can act rationally, however even in such circumstances the effects are never completely gone. It should be noted that the effects of this Authority are one of the few magical influences that Rule Breaker is unable to dispel, even in the hands of a Campione. This is perhaps due to the fact that Medea was unable to free herself from the love for Jason that was cast upon her in her own legend.
Additionally since the arrows are not truly physical objects but rather a Blessing/Curse given a cohesive form they can ignore most protections such as shields or armour. Extremely high level examples of such defensive measures might be able to divert the arrows to a greater or lesser degree, but to all practical purposes blocking them is nigh impossible. It is possible to resist the Blessing/Curse if one possesses a high enough level of Magic Resistance or some other skill that lets one fight off mental interference, but even if the effects are reduced it is impossible to eliminate them altogether.
Another interesting property of the Golden Cupid is that is has a surprisingly high compatibility with Curses without End, so long as the arrow is being used to deliver ill fortune upon its target. In such cases the Authority of Angra Mainyu will serve to enhance the qualities of the arrow making the resultant emotion a magnitude of order harder to resist. Likewise because the curse will be 'piggybacking' upon the unique traits of the arrow the normal defensive measures that would serve to block one of Shirou's curses will be rendered ineffective.
It should be noted that this Authority has an excellent compatibility with Shirou due to his own aptitude for the bow. This compatibility is so strong that it is possible for him to use the bow to fire certain Noble Phantasms that would not be compatible with his Black bow. An example is Rule Breaker, since if it were to be modified into an arrow the force of the black bow would break it apart due to its fragility before the modified athame covered half the distance. However if the same arrow were to be used in this bow then the divine weapon could propel the arrow without breaking it.
However it should also be noted that despite his compatibility and despite this being a very powerful Authority Shirou absolutely LOATHES having to use the Golden Cupid. He regards its use as a violation of the target and refuses to use it save under the absolutely most desperate circumstances. It should be noted that in his mind 'absolutely most desperate circumstances' does not include saving his own life, getting him to use this Authority for anything other than launching his Noble Phantasms would require a direct and dire threat to those closest to him such as Illya or Sakura.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Omake: A Better Berserker: Part 2
"Fool. The only hero in Heaven and Earth who is a real king is me. The rest are a collection of mongrels."
The newly appeared golden clad Servant gazed down imperiously upon the other Heroic spirit, daring them to refute his claim.
"If you want to say that much, could you first announce yourself? If you are such a king, you couldn't be ashamed of your fame?"
At Rider's banter, Archer's crimson eyes widened with a proud anger as he glared at the giant under him.
"Are you questioning me? A lowly mongrel is questioning a King like me?"
Murderous intent emanated from the golden Heroic spirit as though a personal insult had been delivered.
"I grant you the honour of my presence yet you cannot recognize me; such ignorance isn't even worth living."
At Archer's conclusion, the space around him distorted in a haze, then in the next instant the glow of beautiful blades started coming out of the empty space.
There were bare blades as well as spears. Each of them was decorated with eye-catching ornaments, and emitted a fierce magical power. It was clear they were no common weapons but Noble Phantasms.
Without a doubt, this was the same thing as the previous night, the same mysterious attack that unilaterally annihilated Assassin. All of those who were observing the Tohsaka mansion the previous night understood that.
". . ."
Waver was struck with awe, the unseen Master of Lancer audibly gulped. Kiritsugu and Maiya as well, observing at a long distance, also felt the tension building.
And there was one more, a man who, just like Rider and Waver, had been following Lancer's movements through the day and was now observing hidden in the storehouses. As events had progressed that man had been spying on the battlefield through the vision of a familiar, now he stared at Archer's strange battle preparation through his borrowed eyes and nodded to himself.
Yes, it was undoubtedly the same. Archer was definitely the golden Servant who had defended the Tohsaka mansion from Assassin's invasion the previous night, in other words, this was Tohsaka Tokiomi's Servant.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low.
"Of course, this is the kind of battle I've been looking forwards to. Shirou-kun was right when he said there'd be lots of strong people to fight here."
The cheerful tone of the answer was utterly at odds with the tense environment, as though he had absolutely no concern as to what was happening.
"The one in gold is Tohsaka's Servant, please deal with him first."
"Hmmm, he seems like a strong one. That's good, strong opponents are the best. I'd best go meet him."
-()-
Saber honestly didn't know what to make of the Servant that had just arrived. And he was a Servant, of that she was sure, no human could radiate such an aura of power, but at the same time there was something . . . off about him.
He was tall, blond and fairly handsome, but rather than armour or a battle suit the newly arrived Heroic Spirit was dressed in jeans, an unbuttoned shirt, shoes and sunglasses perched on his head. However even more than the casual clothes he wore there was an air about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Then there was the manner in which he'd arrived, not appearing out of astral form, through the use of a Noble Phantasm or even arriving in a burst of speed. Instead he'd casually ambled onto the scene as though he were a late guest arriving at some outdoors party.
"Hello, I am Salvatore Doni. Let's get along well from now on! Now, let's start, my partner asked me to fight you first."
As he completed his cheerful introduction he turned to face the golden Servant that was still standing upon the street light.
"Hold!" Rider's single word brought the newly introduced Servant to a halt as he glanced back at him. "You have not replied to my offer, will you not forsake the Grail and instead join me in my glorious conquest?"
"Well . . . tell you what, I'll deal with this guy first since my partner asked me to, but once I'm done let's negotiate over something to eat." The utterly guileless friendliness on his face was completely at odds with the meaning of his words, yet he seemed to truly mean them.
"Oh? You'll 'deal' with me? Know your place lowly dog, indeed let me show it to you."
In response to the golden Servant's words the haze behind him shifted as the emerging weapons oriented themselves to point at this Salvatore Doni. In response their target slipped the tube he'd been carrying from his shoulder and pulled a sword from it. It was a fine sword, but it wasn't his Noble Phantasm, did he really think to fight with that?
"That's the spirit. Oh, you're meant to announce yourself before the battle aren't you, I think Shirou said something about that. Anyway, I'm Servant Berserker, now let's have fun."
As the newly revealed Berserker began his dash forwards the Archer simply sneered in contempt.
"Expect no pity from me mad dog."
A sword and spear shot forth like missiles, yet at the same time were cast with all the casualness of one throwing a handful of pebbles. However even as the Noble Phantasms flew at him Berserker was already countering.
"I hereby swear, I forbid the existence of things I cannot cut!"
There was a blur of motion, a flash of silver and then suddenly both the weapons were cut from the air as though they had been drifting feathers rather than deadly projectiles.
"Not bad, but if that's all you can do this is going to be a boring fight." Berserker cheerfully declared as his now silver right arm gripped the hilt of the sword and rested the flat of the blade casually on his shoulder.
"You . . . You dare you to destroy my treasures so casually? Do you want to die that badly, you cur!"
In response to the golden Servant's outrage the haze behind him expanded once more and this time more than a dozen different Noble Phantasms emerged.
"Ah, that's more like it."
Rather than showing any sort of fear of worry the blond Berserker instead grinned as he readied his sword once more.
"Very well, let's see up to what point your petty skills and tricks can keep you alive!"
At Archer's command, the flock of Noble Phantasms floating in the air were let loose, rushing toward Berserker. A thunderous roar shook the night air, as flashes of light exploding through the sky and tore into the concrete ground of the dock. Had Zeus himself rained down lightning bolts the effect could not have been more apocalyptic.
Yet even as all about him was laid to waste Berserker took not a step back, instead he charged into the very teeth of the assault, the happy grin never leaving his face. The sword in his silver arm cut through the air like a thing alive. Every time a Noble Phantasm entered its reach the sword would lash out and slice the incoming weapon apart.
"Impudent dog!" with a snarl of anger the golden Archer released a final attack, this time aiming not at Berserker himself but rather at the ground before him. The Noble Phantasm struck and exploded into a firestorm that enveloped the blond Servant in a seething mass of superheated air. Within that cataclysm concrete, plastics and metals were all either melted into liquid or simply flat out vaporized.
"Not merely skilled and powerful but also so durable? Now I really want to see if I can persuade him to join me."
Saber blinked in surprise at Rider's words, then saw what had prompted them. Amidst the conflagration the figure of Berserker stood utterly unharmed as golden runes glowed brightly in the air all around him. Impossibly there was not even a single scorch mark upon his clothes, and the happy grin on his face had yet to shift by even a fraction.
"Now you're getting it!" he declared agreeably as he came charging out of the firestorm. "But get down here would you; we can't do this properly if you're perched up there."
Whatever the Archer might have said in answer was quickly rendered pointless as the blond swordsman swung a sword that suddenly grew to huge dimensions even as it was swung. In the space of a second the huge sword cut through the post of the streetlight upon which the golden armoured Servant had stood and brought it down like a felled tree. Even as it fell Archer leapt from it and landed unscathed upon the ground.
"Impudent mongrel . . . Are you trying to put me on the same ground as you, me who stands above you all?!"
Perhaps the Servant hadn't been injured, but his pride had been stung by being forced to tread upon the same ground as those that he believed to be so below him. About him the haze of gold appeared once more but this time the count of the Noble Phantasms emerging was more than double the number used before. Swords, axes, spears, lances, weapons of all sizes and descriptions and each and every one of them aimed at the still smiling Berserker.
"You deserve only death for your insult fool! I won't leave a single piece of your body you misbegotten dog!"
Saber gripped her invisible sword as she gazed up at the impossible arsenal that was about to be unleashed upon this war's Berserker. Could he survive? For that matter could the rest of the Servants present survive simply being in the same area of such an onslaught? Not for the first time since the beginning of this war the former King of Britain regretted the fact that her Master had chosen to hold onto Avalon rather than entrust it to her.
There was a pause in time, an instant in which the world held its breath as it waited to see what would happen next. Then the moment broke as Archer glanced off into the distance an angry scowl upon his face. A few words were muttered under his breath, then he turned to face his grinning foe.
"It looks like you've dodged death by a hair, dog." His eyes came up and swept over the other assembled Servants, his haughty gaze judging and then dismissing them all. "As for the rest of you mongrels . . . Be sure to cut down the mob next time. I will tolerate no less than a real hero to stand in my presence."
With that final careless remark, Archer cancelled his materialization. The golden armour lost its materiality and disappeared, leaving only the remains of its glow to mark its passing.
"Oh? Why'd he go, things were just getting good?"
The somewhat childish complaint of the sword wielding Berserker seemed almost jarringly out of place on the devastated battlefield. However that thought was soon dismissed from her mind as Saber saw that he had turned and was walking towards them. Was he going to challenge them now? If so then she wasn't in a good position to fight him. His sword skills were top notch despite his Class and with the wound that she'd received from Lancer her ability to employ Excalibur's full power was crippled. With her Noble Phantasm's most destructive powers effectively sealed would she be able to overcome the defensive abilities that Berserker had demonstrated?
But rather than attacking the Servant that had introduced himself as Salvatore Doni simply came to a stop a few feet from them and grinned at them in a friendly manner.
"Hey, you're Saber, right?"
The question was so unexpected that the only response that the King of Knights could offer was a guarded nod of her head.
"That's marvellous," Berserker declared with enthusiasm, "Shirou-kun always said that you were the greatest sword master he ever met so I therefore request a match between us."
He paused for a moment as his eyes traced her hands where she held her blade in a ready stance.
"You're wounded? You can't use your full strength!" His eyes flickered over to Lancer, "Ah, so I'm too late for a duel, someone's beaten me to it and already started."
Saber could see that Lancer was tensing, readying himself in case Berserker would try to 'free' Saber to battle him by eliminating her current 'partner'. But rather than attacking he nodded in a slightly disappointed manner.
"Well, I guess I'll have to wait until you're finished before I can fight the winner," He suddenly cheered up as a thought seemed to strike him. "Yes, the winner will be the stronger one, so that'll mean it'll be a better fight."
Clearly quite pleased with himself for his logical deduction he smiled broadly at the two Servants.
"Let me know which of you wins so I can have a match with them." He made the request as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
Turning away from the two slightly confused Servants as though they no longer registered in his mind Berserker ambled over to where Rider stood in his chariot and offered a grin to the red haired King of Conquerors.
"Right, shall we go get something to eat so we can negotiate?"
As the mounted Servant and the 'mad' Servant disappeared, while discussing where would be a good place to eat, Saber came to a conclusion.
Berserker was either brilliant or an idiot.
Possibly both.
And who on earth was Shirou-kun, and how did he know her?
