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.
This chapter has been a bit delayed for a number of reasons. The first and foremost is that it has been fighting me a bit. I know where the chapter has to go; I had that planned out months ago. The problem is that I had to fill in the path to get there; otherwise the whole thing would have felt horribly rushed. It was a bit of a struggle, but I think that I've managed to get something decent together for you to enjoy.
The second problem was that I recently purchased Persona 5, and I have to say, it is a damned good game. I haven't finished it yet, but so far I have already sunk more than seventy hours into it, and I've lost none of my interest. Persona 3 was a favourite of mine, and I loved Persona 4, except for that wretched fishing game, that I loathed with every fibre of my being. This one has proven to be a most worthy successor, and I recommend it to anyone that's looking for a good game to enjoy. A big plus, in my opinion, is that the bloody fishing game was a fair bit easier this time round, enough that I actually enjoyed it. YAAAYYYY!
I'd also like to offer a pair of thumbs up to whichever reviewer it was that wrote me that short story about Waver ranting to his class about the previous Holy Grail Wars in my reviews. It was a mite unbelievable, but who cares; because it was damned funny to read. My thanks for sending it, it proved to be a pleasantly refreshing diversion. To all my readers I recommend taking the time to find it and have a read, it's definitely amusing to see the good professor having his meltdown.
Many thanks to those that sent in Master ideas. I managed to fill in a couple of the blank spots, though there are still two open spots for the time being if anyone still would like to send a suggestion.
I'm also pleased that my last chapter went down well with the vast majority of my readers. As I said; I was a bit uncertain about it, but it seems that for the most part my fears were unfounded.
This chapter was delayed somewhat by the need to rewrite certain scenes, and to write in some extra bits. I know that it pushed back the release of this chapter, but I assure you that it was worth it. While I was initially somewhat reluctant to do so I have to confess that my Beta was right to strong suggest it. This chapter definitely feels smoother and more cohesive for the changes he recommended I make.
SPOILERS.
I've had this whole 'Cultural Festival' part of the storyline planned for a while, but I confess that it has turned out differently from how I originally envisioned it. When I first came up with the idea I was going to have more misadventures with the idiot trio, namely Kaida and Manaka arriving at the festival in their maid uniforms to inform Shirou of some urgent development. This would lead the trio to going rather mad with jealousy and trying to capture Shirou so they could put him on 'trial'. However as I got closer to the chapter I realized that a lot of the elements I was planning to use just didn't make any sense.
This chapter is more about advancing things without feeling they're rushing too much. Well, that and trying to have Shirou and Godou interacting a bit more before the next mess comes to a head. I also wanted to get a few laughs in, since things are going to get more serious soon.
I would like to be clear about the bit where Shirou finds Erica attractive; this is not her coming on as a new love interest or anything of that nature. I wrote that scene because I wanted Shirou to actually notice another girl, even if it was purely as a moment of animal attraction. The thing is that aside from Illya, Manaka and Kaida almost all of the females in Shirou's company are quite literally supernaturally beautiful. Part of the reason that Sakura stands out in my mind is that compared to Shirou's other canon romantic interests, namely Saber and Rin, is that she is much more flawed, yet to me that makes her more relatable. Don't get me wrong, Saber is awesome, and Rin is only slightly less so in my mind, but I just like Sakura more on a personal level.
I suppose that basically I didn't want to write Shirou as totally oblivious to the women around him. There is a very fine line between him being dedicated to Sakura, or being one of those harem protagonists that you wonder if they suffered a minor brain injury at a young age.
In case you're wondering about Sorimachi's run of bad luck, this is due to him still being under the effects of the curse that Shirou placed on him quite a few chapters ago when he was apparently perving on Illya. It is a minor curse, considering what his Authority can produce, but it has also stuck with him. Basically any time that Sorimachi tries to interfere with either Illya or Shirou himself he'll suffer from terrible misfortune. Not enough to actually endanger him, but stuff like I describe in this chapter happens with far more regularity. If it had been out to really hurt him then it would have allowed the letter to reach Shirou unimpeded. I'm sure you can imagine how he would react to someone flat out telling him they were lusting after his apparently under aged adopted sister. The bloodstains would take forever to clear up.
As to the ending, this is something I've had planned for a while. The problem with writing Shirou in this story is coming up with credible threats for him without falling into the trap of repeated escalation. To date his most powerful opponent, at least in terms of sheer stats and power, has been Mordred, who managed to edge Luo Hao out by a fairly minor margin. Venus was more like a poisonous spider in comparison, while Odysseus relied upon guile to close the distance. I'm trying to shape Ahriman into an opponent that is dangerous without having to be overwhelmingly stronger, and as you can see, he now has a nigh perfect shield with which to battle Shirou.
Once more I wish to offer my sincerest thanks to my Beta, the general quality of this chapter would certainly have suffered without his excellent advice, not to mention a few of the other mistakes that would have gotten by me. This chapter is definitely the better for his aid.
Chapter Thirty Six: Shadows at a Festival
Kamiyoji Akino was not one of the best agents that the History Compilation Committee had ever trained. In fact, if he was to be completely honest, he was one of their poorer ones. His magical abilities were lacklustre at best, and what administrative skills he could claim to were equally shoddy. The only reason he had been able to secure a position as a field agent had been that he had a knack for finding trouble when he needed to, though this seemed to be due more to luck than actual skill. Still, it was a useful talent, but not one that inspired much respect or appreciation. Akino was well aware that some of the less kind members of the society referred to him as a 'canary', in that if things really went bad then he'd probably be the first to die, given his propensity for being near trouble.
Perhaps that had been one of the reasons that he had been eager to throw in his lot with the newly rising faction in the History Compilation Committee. He might not have been very influential or well known, but he'd hoped that his role in a new restructured organization would do something for his standing.
In the end he had been both pleased and disappointed. On the one hand he had not been able to move up the ranks, and he hadn't received any greater respect from his colleagues. On the other hand he had begun to receive assignments that were of a bit more fun than his previous ones, so that was something to feel better about. Right now he had been told to investigate Odaiba, and quite honestly he didn't have a problem with that. Normally the assignments he got handed led him to spending far too much time in the back alleys and dives of the city's underbelly. Having to conduct one of his searches in a well known tourist trap was a nice change of pace, and he was hoping that once he was done with his searching he could spend some time relaxing in Tokyo Leisure Land for a couple of hours on the Committee's yen.
Still, that was for later. Right now he had to see about getting the information that he'd been sent to find, the only problem being that his actual goals were still somewhat murky. As he understood it quite a few of the Hime-Miko with any gifts for foretelling had all begun to produce prophecies that foresaw an oncoming tide of darkness. However even though the image was strong there were almost no details on the nature or origin of the darkness to be had. The general consensus was that Athena might be returning to face King Kusanagi once more, but this was still contested by many. How this related to him was that some of the more talented mages in the Committee had sensed small traces of something in this area, and so Akomi and several others had been dispatched to run reconnaissance in the area.
At first the dissatisfied field agent had been careful, always on guard, always checking with his limited mystic senses. But that had been several hours ago, and he was sure that if there had been anything in the area then he would have found it by now. After all, if Athena had returned and wished to face the Campione that had defeated her before he doubted that she would be hiding like this.
So, here he was, skulking around Shiokaze Koen Park and counting the minutes until he could call in to tell his superiors he'd found nothing and then go and hit up the best arcade he could find. Oh well, it wasn't as though it was all bad, from his spot close to the water he had a pretty good view of the Rainbow Bridge, and with the sun starting to set it looked pretty spectacular. The area was also oddly quiet, which made his job easier, but at the same time was a bit on the odd side. He had taken small samples of bark from a random selection of the trees there and had held each one against the talisman that had been provided to him, each time giving him a thankfully negative result. It had been a fairly easy job to handle, just time consuming.
Well, that was alright, Akomi only had one more task to finish before he could call the day ended, at least as far as his responsibilities to the History Compilation Committee went. All he had to do was head down to the park's waterfront and test the water and sand at five different sites. If he was quick about it then the whole thing could be done in less than an hour and that would be it.
Would that it had been as simple as he hoped.
As things emerged he'd underestimated both the size of the beach and the time it would take him to get all five of the sites done. By the time he was almost done night had fallen and the stars were starting to come out.
"Come on, come on."
The field agent muttered to himself as he laid the charm down on the sand and waited for it to complete its process. Given his own limited talents in that area he wasn't quite sure of just how the large parchment talisman was working, but at least he knew what its task was. The design was meant to absorb a tiny part of the local mana and filter it to see if it contained any darker traits that weren't natural. So far it had found nothing unanticipated, simply the normal pollutions and corruptions that came from the city. Certainly not anything overtly malicious.
Akino felt the flow of energy through the talisman slow and stop, and reached down to grab it up, eager to get the job done so that he could move on. His hand froze just above the parchment as his fingertips were illuminated by a harsh red glow. The designs upon the talisman were shining where each time before they had remained dormant, and not just that, the light coming off them was the colour of freshly spilt blood.
That . . . that was bad, that was very bad. The field agent's mind stuttered for a moment as he tried to wrap his head around what he was looking at. The design that had been worked onto the parchment wasn't a particularly powerful one; it was instead more concerned with accuracy than it was with sensitivity. As it detected maliciousness it would glow yellow, then cycle through to orange and then red as the strength of what it detected increased. Red like this . . . he had no idea what could produce something like that.
Almost without thinking his left hand dipped into his jacket pocket, his fingers fumbling for the small cell phone he knew was there. It wasn't easy, his hands were suddenly slick with sweat, and his fingers trembled with a combination of fear and weakness. All the time his eyes remained locked on the shining design that lay on the sand before him. Akomi was no great talent with magic, but he knew how to use the equipment he was given. He might not know how to make it, he might not know to repair it, but he knew how to use it, and that meant he knew what that colour meant.
Finally he managed to get the phone out, despite the fact that it seemed to be actively resisting his efforts. The sides, the hinges, everything seemed to be catching on every fold of cloth or loose thread in his pocket as he tried to get it out. In the end he lost his patience and simply yanked on it as hard as he could. Something tore inside his pocket, and the cell phone came loose, only to fly out of his sweat slick hands as he lost his grip on it.
Swearing like an enraged sailor the Committee field agent watched as it arced through the air and came down on a small dune of sand. Thank god, if he'd been facing the other way then it might well have ended up in the seawater instead, and he didn't think a cheap model like that would be waterproof enough to endure, and that was assuming he found it before the waves carried it out. The sand was the better option, but even so he was angry with himself. This . . . this was the most important thing that he'd ever come across in his entire career with the Committee, and he was fumbling at it like an idiot. No, even worse than that! They needed to know about this! They needed to be warned!
He took a couple of steps towards the phone, then crashed into the sand as his foot slipped on a stone that slid beneath his weight. This was the last straw, spitting sand from his mouth Akino scrambled to his hands and knees swearing sulphurously at the beach, at his phone, at the talisman, and at the world in general.
"Such . . . tepid curses. Still, I suppose it is what one can expect from a mortal."
The words, casual though they might have been, might as well have been nails being slowly driven into the agent's ears. With a cry of pain he clapped both his palms to the side of his head in an attempt to protect himself from hearing it again. That was why he didn't hear the crackle of parchment burning as the talisman behind him curled in on itself and burst into flames.
"I am disappointed with you, Odysseus. I would not have thought you so careless as to allow the mortals to notice your return to their lands."
His efforts were wasted though. Even though the words weren't direct at him it didn't matter. They still slid down his ear canals, scratching and cutting at him as they did so. Rational thought was all but gone at this point, had it not been then he would have been on his feet and fleeing for the trees as fast as he could. It probably wouldn't have done him any good, but it was the best option open to him. Instead he didn't rise; he just curled up in a foetal position and kept his hands clamped down around his head in a vain attempt to block out that voice. That was all he could think about, that was all there was in the world. That voice, and the need to block it out.
"Don't think so little of me; such was my plan from the beginning."
The voice that answered the first was by far more human. No, that wasn't right. There was a human quality to it, but it was too . . . too much. Too charismatic, too magnificent, too rich. Somewhere inside Akino some small part of him that wasn't buried in pain and terror realized that it couldn't be that of a mortal, that this had to be the voice of a god.
"It was your plan to draw the attention of these insects? Why would you bother with such absurdity?"
"I have faced this king that we hunt before. When last we faced I thought my quarry to be defeated, unable to strike back, but I was wrong. I am no fool though, and I have learnt from my mistakes. Even with your aid we must learn more of our foe. We must know where he is strong, where he is weak, and how we may lure him where we wish him to go."
These words . . . they meant something, something important, Akino was sure of that. Sadly that was all he was capable of comprehending with the pain of that voice shredding his rationality every time it spoke.
"You came to me to ask your help in destroying the thief of my curses; do you think that I will be insufficient to the task? Do you think that I have need of such subterfuge? Do you think me so weak?"
With any other the words might have been mild, but as he lay on the ground the Committee agent could feel the hatred and rage behind them. There was so much, so much more than he could believe. So much more than any mortal could hope to possess.
"He wields Excalibur."
The single sentence, only three words in all, came down with all the finality of a hammer driving the last nail into a coffin.
". . . What?"
"That sword, the one of the King that Appears at the End of the World, it answers to him. I have seen it with my own eyes. So tell me, knowing that the Sword of Divine Salvation is at his side, do you still wish to face him head on so carelessly?"
"How can he have usurped that Sword? Had that King awakened to battle with the Children of Pandora it would have sent shockwaves across the world for all to feel, and I have sensed nothing of the sort!"
Akino felt something warm and sticky running down the side of his face, but he didn't pay it any attention. Instead, all his focus was narrowed down to trying to keep his head from splitting open as the pain continued to mount.
"I have no answer for you, but that only means that my plan is that much more important to us. We need to know more of his power, we nee to know more of his strengths. Once that knowledge is ours, then we shall know how to strike in order to hurt him. We shall know how to strike in order to break him!"
"And this insect shall be of use?"
"The mortal mages of this land have lent their aid to the Kings of this island before. They serve as eyes and ears, as scouts and servants. I allowed the divinity of my craft to splinter, so that the divinity of each of us could trickle forth. I knew that doing so would allow the mortal mages to sense something was coming, and knew that they would send out their servants to investigate. It is from them that we shall take our knowledge, they shall know of his past deeds, his strengths. True, they shall be ignorant of his weaknesses, but that is to be expected of mortals such as them. It shall give us a base from which to begin to build though, and as our knowledge grows so shall his end be sealed."
Silence, blessed, blessed, silence. Like a drowning man that had found an air pocket Akino drank it in, revelling in the sweet, sweet respite.
"An interesting plan, and one I see the need for. Yes, if this thief we hunt has gained the blade of the King of Armageddon then further knowledge would be of value to us."
The brief lull in his agony shattered as the pain returned. But the brief moment of respite had allowed the field agent to assemble at least some sort of coherency. Though he still wasn't thinking in any complex way some part of him realized that if he remained here then the pain would go on until his brains leaked out of his ears. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted the pain to end, then he had to get away. It was his only option; just lying here in the sand would only doom him to more torture.
His movements were uncoordinated, his every action weaving and unsteady as though he were heavily intoxicated. Still, he was able to get to his hands and knees, and through tear blurred eyes spy the green blurs that must be the park's trees. Yes, that way, that was where he had to go. If he could just get there . . . If he could just get away . . .
"Oh? This insect seems to be trying to skitter away. How odd, I had thought it too broken to move. No matter, I agree on our need for knowledge, and I think I have a way to supply us with that as well as alleviate my own . . . boredom."
The voice came again, and it took everything he had not to collapse again. He felt a dull pop in one ear, and for a moment the world seemed to swim around him. Still, he didn't falter, he couldn't not if he wanted to live. He could feel blood dripping down the side of his head, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered was the feel of the sand under his hands; it was an anchor, something to let him focus through the pain. All he had to do was keep going, to not stop. Once he was out of their sight surely they would forget about him, right? He was nothing to them, just an ant in their path. You didn't pay attention to ants, did you? You just stepped on them or stepped over them, mostly without realizing they were there. If he could get away then that would be it, right?
Onwards, just a bit more. Just a little bit mor-
Akino's forward progress was brought to a sudden halt as he ran into something. Blinking his eyes to try to clear them he forced up his swimming head to focus on whatever he'd run into. Had he reached the trees already? Had he covered more distance than he thought he had?
As the haze of tears and pain cleared he saw what had obstructed his escape. It was . . . brown? For an instant he thought that he might have reached the trees, that this was a trunk, then he saw that the colour and the texture were wrong. It wasn't brown, rather it was grey, and he'd only been seeing what he wanted to see. Also it was not wood; instead it was cloth, simple grey cloth hanging from a small and slender body.
A child? Well, a child or a midget, either way, someone small. The almost senseless thought made its way through Akino's mind only an instant before small hands reached down and took his head in slender fingers.
Strong, too strong! He tried to move, to get away, to . . . anything, but those small hands held him in place, inexorably drawing his face up until his eyes met with those of the one holding him.
His eyes . . .
. . . Where were his eyes?
There was nothing there. No, that wasn't right, there was darkness there, but it wasn't right, it wasn't natural! It was too black, it was too dark! It wasn't just as if there was nothing there; it was as though there was less than nothing! A void, an abyss, it was dragging everything into it, all so it could be lost in the gaping maw of that utter blackness!
Akino didn't feel the grip on his head tighten. He didn't feel as bone cracked and skin broke. All he could feel, all he could perceive in any way, were those eyes as they seemed to drag reason, reality and sanity into them to be consumed and annihilated.
In the end his mind was broken well before his soul was.
-()-
Circe was not accustomed to the sensation she was experiencing.
She was a goddess, a divinity of vast power and immortal existence. In the past she had been witness to all manner of sacrifices offered to both her and her father. She had seen cattle slaughtered, plants burned, even children bled out upon the altars that had been raised up for them. Never had she ever felt any sort of disgust or revulsion at these acts. Why should she? Was it not the way of the world that the mortals should offer up their praise and adoration to the gods that held dominion over them? Were these acts of devotion not their right and pleasure?
To be certain, she had never taken any joy in cruelty or suffering, such was simply not her way. But by the same token she had never stood in the path of her worshipers when they chose to demonstrate their fidelity and piety to their goddess by all manner of horror inflicted upon themselves or their foes.
Likewise she had also seen the cruelties and brutalities that the mortals could inflict upon their own even without the intervention of a deity. She had seen what they could do to each other over such petty differences and what language they spoke, or what hue their skin might be. Never had such demonstrations of maliciousness or viciousness moved her. Instead she had remained above it all, untouched and uninvolved.
It was not so this time. This time she knew full well just how involved she was. She knew just how responsible she was for what was taking place.
She watched as with an almost caring delicacy Ahriman broke the mind of the mortal he held trapped in his hands. It was a slow and meticulous thing, an act done with absolute control and deliberation. After all, she knew full well the terror that he embodied in his true self, if it was enough to shake a deity such as herself then what chance could a mortal stand? From her place near the tree line she could see with full clarity as the man's face contorted in terror, then horror, then went strangely blank as the mind that had been experiencing the emotion collapsed in upon itself.
Of course, that was not where it ended.
Despite the blood running from broken skin, the bones that had cracked, and the mind that had broken the mortal was still alive, his soul still resided in his body. At first Circe hadn't understood what the god of curses had in mind. After all, what was the point of breaking the mortal's mind if it was his knowledge that they wanted? Hadn't this simply made it more difficult for them to extract the information that they needed?
This thought lasted until she saw that the child-like form of Ahriman was losing distinction. As she watched he seemed to lose cohesion, his body seemingly dissolving into mist that held a similar shape to his previous form, but now loomed over the kneeling mortal. The only thing that remained solid were his hands, though even those seemed to grow and lose any semblance of the humanity they had once pretended to possess. They held him in place, held him up when he would have collapsed like a puppet without strings. And they held him as the mist seeped into the still mortal.
On a purely physical level it was disturbing to watch, the strangely colourless mist Ahriman had become seemed to invade the body before it in every way possible. Eyes, nose, ears, mouth, even the very skin pores, the mist forced its way into each of them in a manner that could only be described as violent. Drops of blood beaded at the corners of his mouth and eyes, signs of where they had been forced open too far. Then there was the way that the body twitched and shook, utterly unnatural, as though something within it was twitching around beneath the skin. But none of that was the cause of her discomfort.
No, what made her insides roil in a way she had never experienced before was what was happening beyond the flesh.
Circe was a powerful goddess in her own way. Granted, in her current state she was far from the equal of her ideal self, but her missing limbs only hampered her battle power, they did not dull her senses. She could sense the sparks of life within mortals, the twisting patterns of energy that gave them vitality and made them more than mere meat and bones that moved. When she now saw within the poor captured mortal . . . it revolted her as nothing she ever encountered before did.
The mist, the very essence of Ahriman's putrid form, was invading the spiritual pathways of the man he had caught. No, not merely invading. Before her mystic sight she could see his very life force being consumed, as the mist of curses ate through him every scrap of his spiritual self was being devoured in a savage feeding frenzy the likes of which she had never seen.
It was revolting!
Gods and mortals might be beings of varied natures and roots, but they were beings of the same world, and mankind had always been the soil from which divinities grew. This was because the spiritual essence of mortals was kin to that of the gods. It was this tiny scrap of their beings that all gods valued. It gave them worship, it changed the legends of gods, it gave rise to new gods, it was the one aspect of humanity that linked them to what they revered. When mortals died and their bodies crumbled it was the part of them that remained, that entered the cycle of life and death and went where its karmic weight led it. To a god mortal lives were . . . cheap, common, uninteresting, unnoticed, it all depended upon their nature. But the spirit, the soul, that was another matter.
And now she was watching one being not merely destroyed, she was watching it being subsumed!
If a mortal were to watch another mortal devour a new-born infant while it was still alive then they might well have experienced the same horror and revulsion that now twisted at her guts.
And beyond that, beyond even the blood deep disgust that swept through her, was the fear. Some part of her wanted to move, to act, to intervene. She was Circe, goddess of the Dawn and deity of Magic, she could be cruel, she could be ruthless, but for all that she was not an evil goddess. This sight before made her righteous side rail at her, scream for her to charge forward, to unleash the Authorities she had taken from hero gods, to summon the sun to aid her, to do something, to do anything!
And yet she didn't move, instead she remained rooted in place. She tried to tell herself that she was being careful, that she couldn't do anything now, not when Ahriman and Odysseus were working together. She had to bide her time, husband her strength until an opportunity arrived.
She also knew that telling herself that was a lie. She was trapped by one simple thing; fear.
At the height of her power she might, just might, have been able to defy Ahriman, and even then it would have been painfully uncertain. As she was now, using metal to move and act, her power a shredded mess, she had no chance. If she were to intervene then she would be a lamb to the slaughter, and it would not simply be death waiting for her, it would be nothing so gentle as the destruction of her body and the return of her spirit to her legend. She knew what agonies would await her, what torment she could expect.
Or maybe she didn't, that was a thought even more terrifying that what she knew. Never would she have thought that any god, no matter how dark their legend, would have stooped to actually devouring a spirit. Taken their life force, yes. Stolen memories or ideas, yes. Accepted blood sacrifices or even human sacrifice, yes, that had been done many times in the past. But to consume a soul in its entirety, and in such a brutal fashion, never. And if he was willing to do that, then what would he do to her if she were to move to stop him?
So she stood there. She stood and did nothing as the poor mortal was eaten from within and died in a manner beyond description. She stood there and seethed with hatred directed at Ahriman for doing such a thing, at Odysseus for letting it happen, and at herself for being too afraid to try to stop it. Her mind was trapped in a continuous loop of anger, hatred and fear, looping around again and again as she tried to find some way out, some way to vent her terror disgust, and rage. It all came to a sudden halt though when the mortal stood up.
That . . . that took her by surprise. She had known that the essence of Ahriman's being was essentially consuming him from within, but she had thought he was going to devour him as a meal, not . . . not this!
"And what was that in aid of?" Unlike her Odysseus didn't sound outraged or revolted by what had just happened, instead he simply sounded irritated. "With him dead we will be able to gain no knowledge from him. We shall need to track down and lure in another one of our enemies' mortal servants, and we shall have to do so subtly enough that it shall raise no alarms for our target to notice."
"Oh, there will be little to worry about in that regard."
The voice that emerged from the mortal form was one that no mortal could have made, but was different from the voice the malignant god had used in his child form. The harmonics, if such they could be called, were different. Clashing in altered manners, ringing in the head more than before, and echoing even after the words had been spoken.
"When I completed my meal I took all that once belonged to this mortal. His memories, emotions and desires all belong to me now; all are food for my hunger. Already I see much about this King that we search for, this Emiya Shirou. I see the legends of his strength, but as you thought, I also see a source of weakness."
Again Circe felt her stomach heave in a manner that she'd never felt before. By the Sun Above, he hadn't simply consumed the mortal's spirit, Ahriman had . . . had cannibalized it. The thought was beyond anything she had thought even he was capable of; it almost wouldn't fit into her mind. His spirit consumed, his mind broken, even his body . . . now being worn as a skin by the god that was her nominal ally . . .
It was all just too much!
And yet she didn't move, she didn't speak; she didn't do anything that might draw their attention to her. The pair of insane deities seemed to have forgotten her, almost viewing her as more akin to a tool that moved itself around than seeing her as a fellow god. Now, her only hope was to avoid their attention, avoid their ire, stay unnoticed until she could somehow get away!
But inside part of her still screamed at her, only to be buried beneath choking fear.
-()-
"Come on, Shirou! I want to go here next!"
The eighth Campione felt a smile touch his lips as his adopted sister dragged him along, her eyes fixed on the object of her interest. He could see why she was so excited, and it was something of a pleasure to watch.
Traditionally the Cultural Festival of a high school was held in early November, but apparently Jounan Academy wasn't doing things the traditional way. Word going around said that the school board were planning for some major refits of the school around that time, hence why the festival was being held in early autumn instead.
Truthfully, he had no objections to it. With the weather so fine many of the stalls and attractions could be set up outside where there was more fresh air. The events and attractions that had been set up inside tended to be a bit more elaborate than they would have been otherwise, taking full advantage of the extra room available to them. Each class had set up their own thing, and some of them had been quite interesting. Shirou's own class had decided to buck some of the more clichéd options, such as haunted houses or cafes, to the best of his knowledge those were being taken care of by other classes. Instead they had tried something a bit different, an art display.
Each student had needed to bring in two pieces of art: one that they had made themselves and one that they liked and had obtained from somewhere else. The idea had been a somewhat hasty one, one that had been thought up at the last minute because time had run out and nobody had been able to agree on anything before hand. The end result had actually not been all that bad, at least not in Shirou's opinion. The eclectic mix of amateur paintings, sculptures and drawings alongside copies or miniatures of great historical works had a surprisingly fresh feel to it.
Shirou wasn't too proud of his own addition to the gallery, namely a somewhat blurred attempt to paint the inside of his Reality Marble. The details were deliberately vague, and he thought that he'd managed to get something of the place's atmosphere right, but he was well aware that it wasn't a work that would ever be regarded as a masterpiece. For the example of true art he'd tried to do something a bit different, and had supplied a cheap laptop with a copy of one of the more soothing works by Mozart. Shirou had never paid it much attention himself, but it seemed that Archer had developed something of a taste for it during some of the few occasions he'd been to London.
Still, that wasn't really of any concern. He'd been able to get in his duties of taking a turn playing host to the little art museum done early, so that meant he had the rest of the festival free to spend with Illya. For her part his little sister seemed to be having a marvellous time. Thanks to all the anime and manga that she'd gleefully devoured she was very familiar with the concept, and was eagerly looking forward to enjoying it as much as possible.
Case in point, she was now dragging him over to the classic Haunted House that one of the other classes had put together.
"Are you sure that you want to go in there?"
At his question the snowy haired girl turned to look at him, her face a mask of disbelief and surprise.
"Onii-chan, you don't really think that I'd be scared by that, do you?"
Oh, let him think about that. Her Servant, whom she'd regarded with considerable affection, had been one of the most terrifying things that he'd ever seen. She'd spent a fair amount of time in the presence of the possessed Sakura and had managed to remain perfectly calm. She literally run, on her own, into the cave containing the physical embodiment of every evil of mankind, and her biggest concern at the time had been his safety. She'd stood against him when his mind had been enthralled and he might well have killed her at Venus' command. Did he think that she would be scared?
"Illya, if you ever did go into a haunted house I think it should be the ghosts that are scared of you, not the other way round."
"Of course." With childish pride, which was honestly adorable, Illya puffed out her chest as she placed her fists on her hips. "Such is only to be expected of me!"
Shirou beamed at her antics, then frowned slightly after she turned away. Was it just his imagination or did something seem slightly different about her? He'd seen her act like that before, but for some reason seeing her do it just now left him feeling as though there was something that just didn't quite match up with what he remembered.
Well, that wasn't important right now.
"I mean, I thought that you might be bored. Do you really think it will be all that fun if you can't get scared?"
"Who cares?!" Illya loudly responded, "I still want to see it, so come on!"
Oh well, if she really wanted to see it so much then why not?
The trip to the classroom that had been decked out as the horror attraction wasn't too long, but it did let him get a quick look at a couple of the things that the other classes had set up. The table with the improvised air hockey games was interesting, especially given that rather than using air jets they'd instead made the ring slick using oil. The result was a bit messy to play, but the people giving it a go seemed to be enjoying that aspect. Another place had set up several games of darts, and had several prizes on display for those that did well. He might give that a go later, it would be interesting to see just how well he did without any use of Reinforcement or Traced skills.
It was at this point that Shirou noticed that his sister had gotten a bit ahead of him. As he had slowed down to take a look at the other attractions she had darted ahead to get there sooner. It wasn't too far, but it was enough that he lost sight of her as she turned a corner.
"Welcome to the- Oh, is that you, Illya-chan?"
The first words were spoken in what might have been considered to be a deathly whisper, if one had an appreciation for classic black and white Hollywood horror films. The effect was somewhat reduced by the speaker apparently returning to a more normal tone directly afterwards, a tone normal enough that he could recognize it.
"Ohhhh, Liliana, it's good to see you. That's a really good costume!"
Illya's reply was enthusiastic enough that Shirou found his curiosity piqued. Quickening his step he moved to catch up to his adopted sibling.
"Thank you, I was hoping that Godou would like it, but so far I haven't had a chance to show it too him."
Rounding the corner the King of Steel found his sister talking to . . . a surprisingly cute vampire?
It was Liliana, she was easy enough to recognize, but her dress was very much something that he would never have expected to see her in. Shirou held the witch knight in considerable respect. Like Erica and Ena she was a powerful combatant armed with a potent mystic weapon and possessed of enough skill to use it to full effect. She was loyal, flexible and competent; all traits that he felt made her an excellent knight. To the best of his knowledge he had only ever seen her dressed in her school uniform or in her knightly garb, either one of which she managed to bear with a dignity befitting of her position.
Now she was dressed in rather . . . odd clothing, to say the least. If he had to describe it he'd say that the knight of the Bronze-Black Cross was dressed like a Vegas bunny girl that suddenly developed a passion for gothic horror in that she was clad in the tight swimsuit like garment that clung to her body, silken fish net stockings, and high heeled shoes. Over this she had a cape fastened about her neck, one with a high collar and some rather impressive white lace. She also had laced gothic cuffs at her wrists, though the fact that they weren't actually attached to any sleeves meant that their function was purely decorative and more than a bit absurd. Her mouth was filled with a fake set of fangs that she was somehow managing to speak around, and her head was decorated with something that looked vaguely like one of those bands that maids wore, only in black and far more formal looking and severe.
"Ah, your Highness, it is good to see you once more."
Seeing him come into view Liliana immediately offered him a formal bow, an act that would normally have been quite knightly, but her costume left it looking more than a bit peculiar. As he gave her a respectful nod in return Shirou realized that the last time that they had met in person had been in the aftermath of the mess with Venus and Jord.
"The same," he replied, easily slipping into his role as a King once more. "I'm surprised to find you playing this role though. What led you to it?"
"Well, the class decided to hold a haunted house," the knight explained, "There were some fellows that were very adamant that we should instead put on a maid café, but their idea failed to gain much traction so this was the final decision. We all drew lots to see who would end up with what roles, and I drew the position of welcoming fresh victims to the Nightmare Path."
"So, what are the others dressed up as? Is Godou a zombie? I think he'd make a good zombie. Oh, is Erica a werewolf?"
Illya certainly seemed to be quite excited by the idea
"Godou has taken up a role upon the Path," Liliana assured her, "But I don't think he would appreciate me telling you what it was. He was somewhat . . . reluctant to take it, but a surprising number of the class were very insistent that he do so."
Her face turned slightly puzzled as a thought apparently occurred to her.
"It was a bit odd though. For some reason it was all the boys in class that were the most insistent that he assume that role. The girls were a bit less enthusiastic, thinking that he might be more suited for the part of the Maou, but a near unanimous vote from the boys ensured his part."
Any further conversation was interrupted by a sudden groaning moan from behind the curtain that served as a door into the refitted classroom. It was a pretty good groan, one that managed to convey long lasting pain and a certain sense of hopelessness in a single inarticulate noise.
"Ah, it would seem that the denizens of the Path are growing impatient," Liliana declared, slipping back into her role as a vampiress door keeper. "Please, enter freely and of your own will, but beware of the dangers that walk in step with you."
Alright, Shirou was not a film buff, his tastes ran more towards sentai super teams and the like, but even he had seen enough translations of Hollywood horror films to recognize that quote. It was just too cliché for him not to. Still, the silver haired knight said it with impressive seriousness and gravitas. Hopefully the rest of this attraction would possess a similar polish.
The adopted siblings pushed through the curtains and immediately found themselves in the typical dark corridor formed by black cloth hung from wooden frames that was popularly depicted in manga and anime. It led to the right and then bent back around so they were walking beside the path they had just taken, then did the same again. The sharp turns did serve to be slightly disorienting, but to someone who had inherited Archer's trained situational awareness it was easily seen through.
The cloth corridor came to an abrupt end as they found themselves in the front end of a classroom. Behind them were the black sheets that had made up the corridor, but before them were the normal chairs and desks facing the blackboard and teacher's desk. The windows of the classroom were blacked out so that the only light came from slowly stuttering florescent light bulbs, but that was not the unsettling part.
No, the blood liberally spread about the desks, floor and walls held that role.
Shirou had the memories of several truly horrific events in his mind. Archer had been involved in several hunts for Dead Apostles that had attacked small towns and isolated settlements and had been witness to all manner of monstrous events. With those recollections to call on the eighth Campione could tell that the scene before him was a mock up, but he had to admit it was a pretty good one.
The people that had set it up hadn't fallen into the trap of going hog wild with the fake blood. Instead they had been almost artistic in how it had been spread around. Here and there were a number of pools, sites where victims might have fallen and bled out. There were also several trails leading from those small pools, indications of a body having been dragged away. There were also thin slash like splashes across the wall, and a few carefully placed hand prints. As a final touch one corner had a single bloody message scrawled across the wall; 'Don't look them in the eyes'. It had been done really well, the words written in a shaky hand to start with, then growing firmer and larger as the writer apparently gained a sort of frantic energy. At the end the final word ended in a scrawled line, no doubt meant to indicate that the writer had suddenly been dragged away.
"H-hello?"
The voice came from the other corner, one away from the grizzly display. That was another nice trick, the display of bloody words and the surrounding gore all served to draw the attention of any that had just entered the room, and so kept their eyes away from the other corner where someone had been hiding. It didn't work on Shirou, who had been aware of the speaker as soon as he had stepped through the curtain, but Illya had been less trained in situational awareness and jumped when the question was asked.
The speaker was a girl, dressed in a torn and bloodied uniform, her face splashed with blood, tear tracks running down it. As with the room Shirou could see the small tells that let him know that she was simply an actress playing a part, but he had to admit she was doing a splendid job of it.
"O-oh, you've come! I k-knew someone w-would, b-but . . ."
Whatever else she might have said was cut off by a sudden scratching sound coming from the other sided of the room. The girl's face blanched with well acted fear and she was quickly on her feet.
"They're coming! Quick, come with me!"
In the blink of an eye she was at the door out of the classroom closest to the teacher's desk, and gesturing for them to follow her. Stepping out Shirou saw that the corridor outside this end of the room had also been curtained off into darkness. Idly he wondered just how much of this floor the class had been able to requisition for their little event. It had to be at least three or four rooms to have managed to put up something this big. A smile touched his face as he glanced down at Illya and saw her face almost glowing with excitement. Yes, this looked like it might be fun.
Keeping place with his adopted sister the two of them followed the girl as she made her way through another corridor of black cloth that once more twisted about on itself so that it was disorienting. Again Shirou was able to keep track of the turns, but by the time they emerged into another section of the school's corridor Illya looked to be a bit on the dizzy side. She quickly shook it off though, and then took a quick look around their new location.
The end of the corridor was cut off by more of the seemingly limitless supply of black cloth that the class had employed, the end result being that the corridor was now more of a room. Scattered about it was more of the fake blood, but there were also a number of bodies lying about. Not dead, since they were groaning feebly, but sported nicely done makeup wounds that looked to be suitable lethal. Were they meant to be zombies? If so then maybe Illya would get to see Godou as a zombie after all.
"Quickly, we have to get out of here before they can rise!"
Continuing her performance the girl they were following dashed over to the classroom door that adjoined the corridor. Unfortunately the door seemed to be locked, thought in the next moment she produced a key chain and started trying to open it. As she grew more frantic the 'zombies' had shakily risen from their former prone position and slowly began to close in around the girl and the adoptive siblings. Again Shirou had to give them all credit for some pretty good acting. He had the memories of undead infestations, the sort created by Dead Apostles running rampant, and these kids had much of it spot on. Their shambling gait, their jerky and uncoordinated movements, the fake wounds, all of them came together quite nicely to produce a genuine pressure that he could see being scary.
Still, it was just an attraction, so as the 'zombies' closed in on them there was a click as the door finally came loose.
"Quickly, through here!"
Both children of Emiya Kiritsugu shot through the door, which the girl slammed shut at just the right dramatic moment. A number of bloody hands slapped against the doors glass window, but not hard enough to risk breaking it, Shirou noticed. Feeling a grin now firmly settle itself onto his face he turned to survey the new classroom that they found themselves in.
The new room was more orderly than the last, but in a way that was even more disturbing. All the chairs had been arranged into arcs, all facing towards the teacher's desk. Seated in each of the chairs were manikins, all of them dressed in school uniforms. To further heighten the sense of unease the uniforms were bloodstained and ripped, not massively so, but enough to know that these clothes had seen hard use. On top of that the manikins had all been defaced, literally. Every one of them had been torn or smashed in the face to the point where their features were either only hinted at or simply gone. Some of it had been done by blunt impacts, but in other cases something seemed to have clawed the faces, while others seemed to have been repeatedly slashed with a knife.
To make matters worse the desks had been set up against the walls, one on top of another to create a series of short towers. Stuck to them were papers with various arcane looking designs scrawled across them in the fake blood. Speaking as a literal authority on the matter Shirou knew that the complex 'runes' and symbols were utter nonsense. Here and there someone had accidentally written something close to the real thing, but even if some magic were to be introduced to them he doubted there would be any result more pronounced than a couple of the pages catching fire.
All of the designs faced the teacher's desk, which had itself been done up in a barbaric effigy of an altar. A thick black cloth had been spread across it, and large candles placed on each end. Both candles looked well used, with runnels of wax running down the side of each one, but neither of them were now lit. Indeed, one of them had been knocked over. The improvised altar itself was also bloodstained, with a dagger lying upon in a suitably dramatic manner. With a glance Shirou could tell that knife was as sharp as the edge of a chopping board, and the blood was as fake as the rest of what he'd seen lying around.
All in all, just another fake set, but once more he found himself impressed with the level of detail and the skill with which it had been put together. Someone in this class might well have a future in special effects, or something like that anyway.
"We . . . we should be safe in here for a bit," the girl panted out, her breathing much more ragged than their little flight from the 'zombies' should have accounted for. "They finished the sacrifice here; it will be some time until they return."
The young Emiya heir knew that this was just a part of the story of the attraction, just a narrative that he should follow in order to ensure the story would remain entertaining. He knew this, but even so, the part of him that remembered having gone on several hunts for Dead Apostles, necromancers, and rogue mages that employed the undead as weapons wanted to yell at her that no; staying in one place just because it seemed momentarily safe was not a good idea. If you wanted to stop then you should find a place that you could fortify, somewhere that would let you take a strong defensive position if needed. You didn't just-
His increasingly critical thoughts on the matter were interrupted as the other door into the class suddenly burst open. To his side Illya actually started slightly, but relaxed when she saw that the one who had just entered was Kusanagi Godou.
Then she went tense again as she saw his state.
The seventh Campione, a warrior able to match gods and stand on par with Heroic Spirits, was not in a good way. Blood stained his face in three lines, as though claws had wrent their way across his cheek and only barely missed his eyes. His hair was mattered with more dried blood, and his uniform stained with more, as well as dust and . . . ash? All of it was fake, of course, but it was a damned good job. He could see the moment when his adopted sister realized that fact as well; he could see the tension in her muscles ease away, even as her prana likewise settled down.
"Please . . ." Godou said, his voice rasping and desperate, "Please, they're coming! You have to-"
Anything else he might have been about to say was cut of as another figure appeared in the doorway behind him. This figure was large, easily six feet in height, and broadly built. He wore long robes, and his face was obscured by the demon mask that he wore, though what was far from obscured was the blood that seemed to be dripping from its mouth and down its chin.
That, and the huge hook of metal that the figure wielded, something that seemed to be what a crowbar might become if it were scaled up and meant to serve as a weapon. The girl let out a shriek of terror, and Godou seemed to become aware that there was a threat at his back, but it was all too late.
With a meaty 'thunk' the weapon seemed to bury itself in Godou's back. His eyes went wide, and a grimace of pain crossed his features, but before he could scream or even groan in pain the large hands of the masked form seized him and pulled him back through the doorway.
"NO! We can't let them have another!"
The shout came from the girl as she seized both Illya and Shirou by the wrists and started dragging them towards the door.
"Wha . . . ?"
At his sister's somewhat confused question the girl looked back at them, even as she kept pulling them onwards.
"We can't let them have more lives; they're close now, too close! If they can get more then they'll be able to call on the Maou!"
Ah, so the narrative was continuing. Honestly, Shirou had to admit that he was impressed with the level of effort and detail that had been put into this attraction. Rather than being something thrown together by a bunch of unsure high school students, this seemed to be something on par with the professional scare houses that you found in amusement park. Going along with it he let the girl pull him along as they went through the door and found themselves going through another one of the twisting passages made from yet more of the black cloth. This one was a bit longer, and every now and then they heard a groan of pain or a plea for mercy coming from somewhere just out of sight.
Then they were in a room again, probably the far end of the corridor that the classrooms opened onto, but given how done up it was one couldn't really tell. Rather than black cloth being in evidence instead the room seemed to be decked out in red velvets and satins from every possible surface. Even the ceiling had arcing bolts of cloth obscuring the standard school tiles, leading to an almost jarring change in atmosphere. Godou's body lay on the floor, the strange hooked weapon apparently still impaling him, though his groans of pain indicated that he was not yet playing the part of one dead.
He was situated inside a large pentacle that had been painted in, surprise surprise, red on a large off white carpet. The carpet itself looked somewhat out of place, but on a purely practical note Shirou guessed that it had been used because the students couldn't get permission to paint on the floor.
"He's not dead yet!" The girl exclaimed, moving towards the downed form of Godou. "If we save him then we can stop them!"
"Stop us? There is no stopping us!"
The voice was melodious and slightly hissing, but the young Campione had no trouble identifying it as Erica's. Well, that was hardly a surprise; if Liliana and Godou had roles in this attraction then it was hardly unexpected that she would not come out to play as well. The question was . . . where was she?
With all the hanging red cloth all over the place there were an abundance of places to hide, at least from the casual observer anyway. Shirou was no amateur at this though, not with the skills he had inherited, but even so he was having trouble locating her.
The slight swish of cloth moving on cloth was all the warning he received before there was a sudden flash and a billow of coloured smoke. Cliché perhaps, but it was well timed enough that even he started at it. Poor Illya actually jumped a few inches into the air and looked ready to summon her puppet Berserker to defend her before Shirou laid a hand on her shoulder. The simple contact proved enough to calm her, because he felt her relax under his hand as they watched the smoke, which was tinted red, fade to reveal a newly arrived figure.
To Shirou's secret shame he couldn't help but compare the revealed figure to that of Sakura. It was odd in a way, he literally lived in the same house as figures whose beauty was in every sense of the word beyond mortal comparison, but he'd never really mentally compared them to the girl he loved. Well, he did estimate their appearances against one another, but it was in the way that one would compare the sharpness of a pair of swords by looking at them, there was no lust or interest there, just analytical evaluation.
He supposed that in some way the supernatural beauty of Tiamat, Lancelot and even Guinevere didn't really register with him. He acknowledged that he was not a . . . normal person. His inherited memories as well as his own experiences meant he was self aware enough to know that his mentality differed from the fundaments of what could be called the human norm. He supposed that translated somewhat over to his relationship with Sakura, though he didn't really know how. The goddesses . . . comparing them with mortals didn't seem easy, it was sort of like trying to compare the scent of perfume with the magnificence of an erupting volcano, the two were simply too dissimilar for there to be any possible overlap. Ultimately he supposed that he loved Sakura, mortality and all, but the goddesses and immortals that he'd known were simply too much . . . everything to be compared. To beautiful, too magnificent, too great, too huge, whatever you wanted to call it, something about them was just so high up that Shirou ceased to notice that about them. It was a bizarre and paradoxical way of seeing the world, but then well adjusted people weren't known to be able to create Reality Marbles, were they?
The figure before him right now, on the other hand, was not beyond humanity, indeed her beauty was very much a thing of mortality, but somehow that only lent it more lustre. She was clad in tight fitting armour that seemed to be made of leather from what he could tell, the design both practical but also sensual in the way that it hugged her every curve. A short cape fell from her shoulders, but was largely obscured by the bat like wings that extended from her back, both spines and membranes as red as the armour. Long blond hair flowed down her between them, even as a proud pair of curved crimson horns rose up like a dark halo above her head.
Yes, Erica was a stunningly beautiful young woman.
Her appearance was shocking in its suddenness, but it was that realization that hit Shirou the hardest. It wasn't as though he was in love with her or anything, he was completely certain of that. But as he caught sight of her he couldn't help but find her attractive. Not simply pleasing to look at, but actually as someone he felt attracted to.
It was a small thing, but for a moment Shirou found it greatly disturbing. Perhaps it was just a result of him having grown more distorted since becoming a Campione, but he hadn't found himself feeling attracted to other women since arriving in this world. Oh, he had seen their beauty, such a thing was impossible not to notice, but he'd never felt . . . lust? Desire? No, it was more casual than that. While under the control of Venus he had experienced an intensity of emotion that had swallowed up every other thought and feeling in his being until there had been nothing left but an all consuming love and devotion to her, but even then he hadn't desired . . . her. Beautiful though she had been, filling his being to overflowing as she had been, in his every thought as she had been, he hadn't wanted her.
Even the dreams he'd had, the memories of his other selves that he'd inherited, the ones of his relations with Rin and Saber, hadn't been tinged with lustful thoughts of them, at least not afterwards anyway. There had been lust and desire during them, but that had been more the memory of the Shirou that had been in the memory, as opposed to his own.
"The sacrifice has already been completed! Soon my legions shall rise to sweep across this world and add all to my realm!"
His internal mishmash of confusion and self recrimination quickly ended as Erica began to speak her lines. They were actually more than a bit jarring to the atmosphere that had been established up to this point. Up until now the attraction had maintained a decidedly 'demonic zombie apocalypse' feel to it. The sudden inclusion of a sexy demon lord seemed to be . . . more than a bit off.
This thought lasted right up until another figure appeared from the drapes of scarlet cloth, this time a smaller one than the one to impale Godou with the hook, and wearing more voluminous black robe that bore a minor resemblance to those that had been favoured by True Assassin back during the mess his Grail War had devolved to. However unlike the killer that had fed his Saber to Sakura's mindless shadow this figure moved in a far more slow and human manner. Oh, and he was also armed with a six foot spear.
One that he stabbed into the prone from of the seventh Campione.
Had it not been for the instinctual reinforcement he performed on his eyes and brain Shirou would not have seen the mechanism built into the spear that let it collapse into itself even as it released a further load of the now all too familiar fake blood. He really had to hand it to whomever had come up with that particular device; it was on par with some of the better special effects that you'd see in live action performances by professionals. To all normal appearances Godou shuddered once, then died as a pool of blood began to form around him.
"EEEEEEEEE!"
The sound that Illya made was somewhere between a scream and a squeal, and it was nowhere near as refined as she normally tried to be. It wasn't a sound of fear though; rather it was of startlement, one of her having been caught completely off guard by this latest development.
"Now, WE ARE FREEEEE!"
Erica made the declaration as she produced a stage axe from seemingly nowhere and brandished it in a suitably dramatic fashion. As she did so more movement came from behind the various drapes and hangings, shambling figures entering the room through obscured doors, or the like, and giving the impression that more demons were appearing out of nowhere.
"Quick, quick we have to get away!"
Once more the girl proved her part in this attraction as she hurried along the narrative. Taking both Shirou and Illya by the wrists again she dragged them over towards the only door that could be seen. Yanking it open she pushed them through, then moved to follow them. This was stopped as several sets of hands, all of them grey looking and bloodstained, clamped onto her. She shrieked in apparent fear and tried to struggle free, but the hands held her tight and started to drag her back. Her own hands gripped the doorframe, and for a moment she held on, resisting their attempts to pull her away.
"Get out of here!" Her eyes stared at them, and Shirou had to admire the way she was playing her role. Real talent, that was what he was seeing here. "Get out and tell people! Maybe there's still time! Maybe-"
Her words were cut off as her fingers lost their grip on the edge of the doorframe and she was finally pulled back into the red room. Unseen hands slid the door closed and soon all that could be heard from the other room were the sounds of struggles. Struggles that soon ceased, leaving only the vague moaning of the undead and the cackling laughter of Erica's demon queen.
"This is not the true future, only a possibility that may come to pass should you mortals be unmindful of the dangers that rest in the unknown."
The voice came from behind them, causing the adopted siblings to spin in place. From the looks of things they were in the stairway, the stairs leading up to the roof and down to the floor below just a little way off. Standing between them and the stairs was another robed figure, though this one was clad in white and yellow, giving them a vaguely priest-like air.
"Take wisdom from this Nightmare Path that you have walked, and be wary that you take no actions that might bring this dread future to come to pass." The figure stepped to the side, and gestured to the steps. "Now continue about your normal lives, a little wiser of what might be."
The siblings nodded, and then went down the stairs, taking the exit at the bottom and finding themselves back in the festival, a large fried food stall greeting them as they came out.
"That . . . that was amazing!"
It didn't take long for Illya to begin giving voice to her opinion of the attraction she'd been on. Honestly, her excited enthusiasm as she waved her arms around and all but jumped up and down was just adorable.
"That was so cool! When that big one in the mask swung that weapon at Godou I almost called up Berserker just on reflex, it looked that real! And Erica; she made an awesome demon queen, didn't she?! And . . . and all the zombies! Do you think ghouls are like them? Do you think a Dead Apostle could make something like that happen? Oh, do you think that we should start preparing the mansion for a zombie apocalypse? We could probably put some spells and traps in! I'm sure I could create a Bounded Field that could keep out the undead! Maybe . . ."
"It was . . . pretty intense. They really got their special effects down." Shirou agreed.
"Yes! And they also managed to make it so exciting like we were really in a demon outbreak!"
"Oh? Do you think that this is something you could use in your manga?"
His innocent question was, surprisingly, able to silence the snowy haired girl as her face became contemplative.
"Maybe . . ." She said, her eyes focused elsewhere rather than on the present. "I could change a few things so that there's an undead outbreak. Maybe . . . maybe the people that get drained of prana could rise up as undead servants? It would make for some cannon fodder for the heroes to fight. I'll have to think about it."
"I've still got to see this manga," Shirou commented, quite honestly too. He had yet to see this comic that Illya was working on, and he was pretty curious. "I want to see just what you've managed to cook up."
"Don't worry, onii-chan, once I've got the first volume finished you can look it over and tell me what you think." She assured him.
"The first volume? Just how much have you been doing?"
"Well, it's not like it's a very big volume," Illya admitted. "It'll only be a bit more than a hundred pages, but it'll be really good!"
The last bit was said in an almost defensive way, as though she were trying to ward off criticism. Really, Shirou wasn't any sort of authority on the world of manga artists or the like, but he was pretty sure that coming up with so much in only a couple of months was pretty impressive.
"I'll look forward to it," He assured her, "Just how long do you . . ."
Shirou trailed off as a sight off to the side caught his attention. Namely Ena strolling up to them and waving energetically. Under normal circumstances this wouldn't have come as too much of a surprise to him, however the fact that she was currently dressed up as a rabbit. And not a sexy rabbit, as he might have imagined her doing for one of the attractions. No, she was dressed up as one of those big round cartoon-like rabbits that you saw in some theme parks as attractions for the kids. The fact that it was a bright almost neon blue only served to add to the effect. Right now her costume's head was slung under one arm so that her human face was poking out of the rabbit's body in a distinctly discordant way.
"Hello your majesty. It's good to see you once more!"
"I . . . I'm glad you feel that way," Shaking his head to rid it of the odd curiosity of what she'd look like with the rabbit head on. "How are you enjoying the festival?"
"Well, I am disappointed that I wasn't able to make it into Godou's class, but after Lili-chan's arrival I suppose they already had enough new students. At least I got to dress up as something cute though, don't you agree?"
To emphasize her question she held up the bunny head beside her own face. Shirou saw that the rabbit was slightly cross eyed, and was sticking its tongue out of the side of its mouth. He wasn't sure, but to him it gave the impression of a not too bright creature concentrating as it tried to solve a difficult problem. Well, difficult for it, anyway.
He was saved from having to share his opinion on the cuteness of the get up by Ena suddenly dropping the head so that she could thump one hand into the palm of the other. Under other circumstances it might have looked suitable dramatic, but given that her hands were still clad in the fluffy blue pads of her costume it still looked bizarrely adorable.
"Ah yes! I almost forgot . . . I have a message for you from Godou!"
"Really? What did he want you to tell me?"
Ena's posture suddenly became less informal as she stood straighter and addressed Shirou with all the dignity of an ambassador speaking to a foreign emperor.
"King Shirou, his highness King Godou asks you to meet with him on the roof of the main building later this afternoon. There will be no issues or confrontations, but he feels there are matters that need to be discussed between you two. Would you be agreeable to make this meeting?"
She delivered her message with all the solemnity of a royal messenger, but the effect was largely ruined due to her still being clad in the fluffy bunny costume. Off to the side, out of Ena's direct line of sight, Illyasviel had clamped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to keep from bursting out laughing. For his part Shirou was maintaining control, but it was a pretty near thing. He might not be that given to open displays of laughter and humour, but he was not made of stone, and the clash between the solemn message and her festive garb was just too much.
"O-of course," He managed, "I . . . I look f-forward to the m-meeting."
Well, he hadn't burst out laughing, that had to be worth something at least.
"I pass your reply onto him with all due speed," She assured him. "Until later, your majesty."
With a respectful nod she turned, donned the rabbit head, and made her way off into the crowd. To their credit both he and Illya managed to hold on until she was out of sight before they collapsed into near helpless mirth.
As the two of them made their way to bench, even as their forms still shook with laughter. This was good, Shirou decided. Life had settled down a bit, but it still tended to be a bit on the stiff side. Having a chance to take a break, to indulge in a little harmless absurdity, it seemed like something that would do them good.
Yes, today was still uncertain, especially with the upcoming meeting with Godou, but for the moment the sheer hilarity of his blue bunny rabbit messenger was just too rich to let it get him down. There was still some time, and until then he'd have to see about making sure Illya was having a good time. And if he could have some fun as well, well that was a good thing too.
-()-
Had Tiamat thought things through a bit more then she might have been able to avoid the little debacle she now found herself embroiled in.
In all truth it wasn't really her fault, after all this wasn't a situation that she'd ever had to deal with before. Normally such things as mortal festivities were of next to no interest to her, the sole exceptions being those connected to rituals that might be of some use to her. Such occasions were rare, but not unheard off, all too often a village or town's sacred holiday would have something to do with a ritual that had been set up in days long forgotten and the details of it now lost to time. In the past she had been able to take advantage of such unknowing rituals, since they had lost the original focus for which the power they raised had been intended. Without a selected target for the power it was easy to usurp it for herself. It was not the most efficient method she could have employed, but it allowed her to harvest impressive amounts of power without taking any actions that might have opened her to detection. In the early days of her life as a Divine Ancestor such a thing had been of great value to her.
She had attended many such festivals and carnivals, as such had been needed for her to steal the power they raised, and never had she had any trouble. Why would she? She had been the darling little child, one so beautiful and mysterious that she had always been welcomed and fawned over. It had been a bit irritating in a way, but she had not been above using it to her advantage.
When she'd learnt that her host and his sister would be attending the festival being held at their place of learning Tiamat had found herself feeling a bit cooped up in the mansion. She wasn't sure why, but suddenly working upon the latest of her many projects no longer felt as satisfying as she had expected. She'd kept on finding her thoughts drifting to the young King, wondering what he was doing, what this festival of his might be like. Such wonderings had left her unable to fully focus on her project, and after a little more than a single hour she'd given up on it in disgust.
So she had decided to abandon her labours upon magical artefacts and Dragon Bones, and spend the rest of the morning, and possibly some of the afternoon, attending her host's school and seeing what all the fuss was about. She had even chosen to askew her normal choice of clothes in favour of a blouse, skirt and boots of a more contemporary cut. The blouse was white with tasteful red decoration while her skirt and boots were the same vivid red as her hair. Needles to say she looked beautiful in them, but Tiamat was capable of appearing beautiful while dressed in the still bleeding organs of her slaughtered foes, which she had on at least one occasion. These clothes were not her preferred mode of dress, but she could still make them serve her well enough that she was breath taking. They were suitable for this small festival.
And if she were to run into Emiya Shirou while she was there . . . well, that would simply be a happy coincidence. If he were to see her there and be so gracious as to educate her in regards to the attractions that the carnival might have available, well, that would be nice as well.
Finding the location of the school had been no great chore, a simple scrying spell to find the greatest concentration of power in the city had been all that was needed. With two Campione there, as well as King Shirou's absurdly powerful, for a mortal, sister, it had been easy. Well, perhaps that wasn't completely true, there had been a slight glitch to the results of her spell in the first few instants after she cast it, but she'd simply attributed that to the fluctuations in her power that had begun since she began to restore her damaged divinity. Since the spell had quickly stabilized and pointed her in the correct direction she had given it no more mind and had quickly made her way there.
That was when her . . . issues had started.
The first things that she'd noticed were the stares, but that hardly came as a surprise. She was a goddess after all, adoration was as much her due as the wind was to a bird. But as she strode further into the school grounds she noticed more and more heads turning to look at her. The second thing that tipped her off that she might have made an error in judgement was the whispers. As she went in deeper sound seemed to die around her as conversations sputtered out as everyone turned to look at her, then that talk was replaced by indistinct whispering as everyone started to address each other in tones below their breath.
At the time Tiamat had noticed this, but she hadn't been able to properly put it into context, it was something she noticed in an almost peripheral manner. She only understood that she was being suitably admired, but that wasn't really important.
Then a man suddenly jumped out into her way.
He hadn't been a bad looking fellow, at least as far as mortals went. He was tall, fairly broad shouldered and seemed to be in fairly good fitness for someone who lived in this city. His garments seemed to be well tailored and of a rich cut, but the sea goddess would freely admit that she was no great judge of such things. She did notice that his face was flushed and he seemed to be breathing hard, but again these were only details that she noted in passing, not something she paid much attention to.
Then he said something that managed to make her freeze in mid step.
"Please, marry me!"
It wasn't so much the offer itself that caught her so off guard, that was nothing new to her. In her millennia of life she had been propositioned many times before. Kings had knelt before her and asked for her hand. Princes had begged for her favour. Once an emperor had assembled his entire harem before her, then had them butchered one and all before her as a declaration of his love. Another time a great warrior had slain the divine beast of one of her rivals and laid the monster's tongue at her feet as a bid for her heart. No, what had caught her so flat footed was that it had been just a normal mortal that had made the offer in the first place.
In the past it had only been the rare and great that had been able to make such propositions, just as it should have been. She was a goddess, and to the common mortal she should have been as untouchable as the moon in the sky. She was to be worshipped and adored, but to actually speak to her, to proposition her, that should have been beyond them. It should be beyond this mortal before her.
And yet he had done so.
"Hey! I was going to ask her!"
"No! Me!"
"NO! I was going to do it!"
Her shock was compounded as others joined in, each of them making their own declaration of amorous intent. What was going on? Why was this happening?
"She's mine!"
"No! She's mine!"
"MINE!"
About her things were rapidly spiralling out of control. No violence had yet erupted, but already she could see tempers beginning to flare as both men and women looked at each other and saw only rivals for the object of their desire. Under normal circumstances this would have meant as little to Tiamat as the temperament of an anthill that she had accidentally trodden upon. If the insects were stirred what would it matter to her? Indeed, seeing them seethe and boil might have been momentarily entertaining. So too would she once have taken a limited interest in something like this, enjoyed watching the mortals grow drunk upon her beauty and fall into a frenzy of lust and violence.
Once.
Now, though, that was of no interest to her. Indeed, it was an annoyance. She knew that this level of chaos was not something that her host would approve of, and no matter what her confused feelings might be one thing she was certain of was that there was no profit to getting upon the bad side of Emiya Shirou.
All about her things were descending into general havoc at a rapid rate. Already she could see people getting into each other's personal space, trying to assert their dominance. There was no violence yet, but things were hanging upon the edge of a blade.
How? How could this be happening? Tiamat had never had to face anything like this before so why . . .
The realization hit her just as the first punch was thrown. Once again it all came back to her fractured divinity. She had recovered it in almost full measure, but even so certain aspects of it weren't joining as they should. In the past her beauty had always been tied to her grandness, to her . . . authority as a goddess. Somehow it was split now, the two divine qualities independent and no longer supporting each other. Up until now the only mortals that she'd had any regular contact with had been the exceptional ones, such as Shirou's adopted sister, or those two mages that served him. They had both the strength of will and the magical power to resist the pressure of her presence, at least so long as she didn't deliberately focus it upon them. She had forgotten just how impressionable mortals could be to the mere presence of even a minor goddess, never mind a strong one like her.
Which led back to her current predicament.
These mortals were nowhere near as strong as those she had grown accustomed to. Her divine presence was swamping them, and without the weight of her authority at its side this meant that soon they would turn on each other so that they could take her for their own. Oh, she was in no danger, even if her presence wasn't subduing them her power still remained and she could break the hardiest of them as easily as she would the stem of a reed. No, her concern was the damage that they might do to each other.
Well, enough of this! She'd allowed things to progress entirely too far already. It was time to take control of the situation. Mentally she selected a simple spell, one that would, when backed by her own divine strength, easily bring an end to this mess and-
"Enough."
Tiamat's plans were cut short as another voice spoke. It wasn't loud or forceful, but in response to that one word every mortal in the vicinity stopped whatever they were doing and turned to face the speaker. Their postures were slumped and their eyes glassy.
"Return to whatever you were doing. Forget about this, and no longer concern yourselves with honoured Tiamat here."
Almost unwillingly the goddess of the primal ocean looked behind her to see the shorter form of Guinevere. The Queen of the Divine Ancestors was dressed in her typical Victorian style and appeared as beautifully doll-like as ever, but the cut was a bit lighter than normal. It was a slight change, but one that stuck out. Somewhat odder was that the immortal child was on her own, Lancelot being conspicuous by her absence. Turning her eyes back to the crowd Tiamat saw that the mortals were returning to their previous activities. Many of them simply went straight back, but a few of them stood in a daze for a few moments, then shook themselves and seemed to wake up quite suddenly.
None of them paid her any further mind, their eyes now passing over her as though she was no more concerning than a pebble upon the ground.
Honestly, the goddess had to admit she was a touch impressed. She was a potent and skilled spell caster, and with her divinity restored she was fairly certain that only fellow deities with a focus upon magic or witchcraft would have been able to surpass her. That said Guinevere was regarded as the Queen of the Divine Ancestors for a reason, her spell's touch was light as a falling snowflake, yet its reach was deep and its effects profound. Her divine beauty remained as strong as ever, but despite that the mortals gave her no attention whatsoever. Tiamat was capable of the same thing, but she would have needed to achieve it via a 'brute force' method. This . . . it was what mortals would feel when they saw a martial arts master accomplish with a fingertip what a muscled thug needed a club to equal.
Not that she was going to admit to it, of course.
"I had the situation under control." She commented, turning back to face Guinevere.
"Of course, honoured Tiamat. Guinevere is certain that you only allowed things to progress to that point in order to build dramatic tension."
The tone was respectful, the posture deferential, the expression upon her face was polite, yet somehow the golden haired girl still managed to sound gently mocking as she answered the powerful goddess. Once again Tiamat had to remind herself that King Shirou would be unhappy with her if she were to strike her down.
Well, perhaps not strike her down, that would be a bit too severe. Putting aside the fact that it would also ensure Lancelot would be her eternal foe, not something to take lightly, there was also the fact that Guinevere had managed to grow upon her. She might be an irritant and a source of vexation, but they had also fought side by side, and there was a degree of mutual respect in terms of skill and power. So maybe striking her down wasn't on the table, she still found the thought of soaking the immortal girl with a few gallons of cold sea water to be an appealing image.
"What are you doing here?"
The question seemed like a safe change of topics, and it was something that she wanted to know.
"Oh, Guinevere imagines that it is much the same as with you, I was curious as to this festival that little Illya was so excited about." She paused for a moment, then continued. "Also, Guinevere was hoping that Sir Shirou would be so kind as to show her around, show me what is so interesting about this get together."
So, in other words she was here for more or less the same reason as Tiamat. A thought struck her, and her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Where if your protector? It is unusual to see you leave King Shirou's domicile without her."
"Honoured Tiamat, I am no mere weakling to require constant vigil from my guardian. Guinevere may not be a match for the likes of Tiamat, other gods or the Devil Kings that are our host's ilk, but when not faced with such overwhelming foes she is much more capable. This festival is attended not only by Guinevere's liege, but also by his brother King, therefore this humble handmaiden felt that bringing along Sir Knight would be a bit too much. Besides, she was having such fun trying to hunt down the illusive Black Moon Lich Knight that it felt wrong to drag her away from her entertainments."
"Tell me, are there not times when you feel that Sir Lancelot might be somewhat . . . over fond of these mortal entertainments?"
Tiamat couldn't help but ask the question, since it had been one that had been plaguing her for some time. It was also part of phenomena that she had been observing in the Emiya manor, but which she was only now beginning to gain confirmation about.
"Well, Sir Knight is a fearsome warrior, but at this time Sir Shirou has no foes for her to fight, and since Guinevere is safe under his protection there are no threats that Sir Knight need defend her against. She is instead finding other ways to gain her entertainment without causing problems for our liege, and these mortal toys seem to allow her the thrill of conflict without engaging in battle. That, and she really enjoys trying to collect all of the 'trophies' available in each of these games."
The immortal child paused for a moment, then continued.
"She also seems to have developed a liking for allowing those mortal youths to admire her as she plays the role of a modern interpretation of her own legend. It is a surprising choice, but since Sir Knight seems to enjoy it then it can't be that bad."
"It is unexpected that mere mortal entertainment would be of such interest to her. Do you think that there might be something to it?"
Quite honestly it was a notion that Tiamat hadn't given much thought. In the past she had indulged in watching various blood soaked battles in the arenas that some mortal empires had built. She had also taken some time to enjoy the plays and works of theatre that some great thespians could produce, but she'd never had any real interest in them. She was a goddess, how could the entertainments of mortals compare to the glory that she could derive simply from the act of swimming in the ocean that was hers?
As a Divine Ancestor she had developed an interest in mortal theatre, and as the modern day had arrived she had gained an appreciation for the horror tales that were depicted upon the silver screen. Since becoming a goddess she had lost interest in such trivial pastimes, but perhaps she should consider reengaging her interest. In this more modern era the toys and games that mortals could create had become more intricate and immersive. Perhaps there was something to them that she might enjoy. What could be the harm in just seeing what there was?
"Well, Sir Knight has been trying to persuade Guinevere to watch this 'Neo Camelot Rebirth'; perhaps this handmaiden will see why she enjoys it so much. It might be interesting to see what the modern age has made of the tale Guinevere had bards and poets weave so many centuries ago."
Somewhat irrationally Tiamat felt a stab of envy at the Divine Ancestor being able to watch a modern interpretation of her legend. Old and strong as her own myth might be the legends of ancient Babylon were nowhere near as well known as the legends of King Arthur. Though the strength of deity was not defined by either the age of their legend nor its fame in the land both were factors in the nature of a god. Old deities tended to have numerous Authorities, or even numerous identities. Mordred and Athena were fine examples of this, as both had been old gods that had changed many times, gaining layer upon layer of power with each change. Fame brought less tangible advantages, but the Authorities linked to famed legends, such as Excalibur or the arrows of Cupid, seemed to possess an indefinable potency. It was not a consistent thing, and some of the famed Authorities could remain comparatively weak, but it was a factor.
For her part Tiamat had yet to fully analyse how the passage of centuries had affected her own nature. Given that her Divinity had been torn to shreds only a few minutes after she had regained it she'd had little in the way of opportunities to analyse it, but once she was recovered it was something she intended to do. So far the only real change she had noticed was that her ties to dragons had grown stronger. Back in the age of myth she had birthed many monsters, not only dragons, but now she felt a slightly deeper connection to them. Snappy was only part dragon, but there was the sense of a link there. It was all minor, but something she had noticed and made a note of for future study.
"Shall we look for King Shirou together then?"
The ocean goddess asked the question as she dismissed thoughts of modern entertainment from her mind. Perhaps Guinevere was not her . . . preferred companion, but . . . Well, it was better to have her where she could actually see her, wouldn't it?
"Oh? Honoured Tiamat, Guinevere would have no problem in joining an alliance to find our noble host."
The immortal child's response sounded surprisingly genuine, enough that the goddess was a touch surprised. Things between them lately . . . they seemed to lack the animosity that had almost crackled between them in the early days of their taking up residence under King Shirou's roof. To be sure, there was still a sense of competition between them, each trying to elevate themselves above the other in the eyes of their host, but there was no longer any sort of malice there.
There was awkwardness, plenty of it, but . . .
Shaking her head slightly Tiamat pulled her thoughts away from further analysis of the situation. This wasn't something that she wanted to reflect upon right now. At this point in time she was more concerned with finding her host. She could ponder the alterations in her relationship with Guinevere at some later point.
"Very well, do you recall him mentioning which of these attractions he had an interest in seeing?"
As the two immortals wandered deeper into the festival Tiamat made it a point to maintain a spell that cloaked her in anonymity to the mortals around her. It would hardly do to make the same mistake again after all.
-()-
Shirou had not known what to expect when he arrived on the roof. He'd had various scenarios in mind, ranging from diplomatic discussion to a surprise assassination attempt. He'd gone up there ready to shift in his 'False King' mode again, but he'd also had several swords ready at the back of his mind to be Traced into existence at a moment's notice if they were needed. Illya-chan had insisted on coming, and had also been ready to summon her false Servant and manifest her deadliest spells, though neither of them really thought this was going to come to violence. Godou was known to both of them, and though he wasn't really a friend both of them regarded him as an ally, and a good one at that. Their caution stemmed from simple uncertainty as to the nature of the meeting. Well, that and the natural paranoia that being a magus in their home reality had naturally imparted upon them.
They had been expecting a lot of things, but a picnic had not been among them.
Rather than a formal meeting as he had been expecting the King of Steel and his sibling found that Godou and his girls had managed to bring up quite a selection of food and were spreading it out so it was easily accessible. It seemed to be quite the selection, delicately cut sandwiches, traditional Japanese bentos, some sort of pasta dish he couldn't immediately identify, and several cuts of cold meat.
"Ah, hey Shirou, glad to see you could make it."
Godou's cheerful greeting only served to further unbalance Shirou as he tried to get his mind back onto an even keel. Really, this was his own fault. He kept on letting the ingrained suspicions and paranoias of his alternate self influence him too much when it came to dealing with his fellow Japanese King.
Archer had spent years dealing with some of the worst scum in the world; it was part of the price he had paid for his unrelenting dedication to trying to saving everyone. He'd met with warlords, mercenaries, mass murderers, Dead Apostles, rogue magi, all sorts. A great many of them had ended up meeting their ends at his hands, but others he'd had to let live for one reason or another. Sometimes he'd even had to bargain or treat with them, and it had been some of those experiences that had coloured Shirou's own interactions since coming to this world.
After learning that he'd accidentally ascended into the ranks of divine sovereignty he'd tried to model himself on the kings that he knew something about, or at least on the aspects of them that he agreed with. However while that had given rise to the 'false king' persona that he affected much of his attitude towards those that he had to interact with was, it influenced by Archer. He was used to those with power abusing it, not all that he knew, but certainly enough that he had come to instinctively distrust those with it.
Godou was an individual of enormous power, easily on par with a Servant in many regards. It was hardly a surprise that the instincts his future self had cultivated were now 'pinging' off the seventh God Slayer. The problem was that Godou was about as far away from being one of those self serving megalomaniacs as you could get. In fact, in all of the memories of Shirou's older self he couldn't remember one time having come across someone with so much power that was so uninterested in acquiring more. Really, it was ridiculous. Even he took steps to bolster his power, even if he wasn't going out to find gods to slay. He'd gathered wealth, resources, connections. Granted, he hadn't sought them out simply to augment his strength, but that had been the result.
Godou, though, he was pretty much the guy he had declared himself to be at the Feat of the Kings. He had the power to send cities into ruin, or to conquer entire nations and rule them as a despot. He could be a hero, a saviour to those beneath the cruel tyranny of uncaring gods, or to those oppressed by the merciless rule of an unscrupulous Campione. Villain, hero, he could be whatever he chose, and yet his greatest concern was ensuring that his grade point average at school didn't suffer.
The Commoner King, that was what Shirou had named him as during the Feast. It had been a sort of spur of the moment choice, something he'd pulled out of nowhere to try and describe the sort of king that his fellow God Slayer had explained himself to be, but it was a surprisingly accurate title.
"Oh, Illya-chan, that is such a lovely dress!"
He was brought out of his thoughts by Yuri complimenting Illya on her choice of garb. Well, he had to agree with her, Illya did look beautiful in her current clothes. Rather than enforcing the wearing of the school uniforms today the school had instituted a more lax dress code for the festival. Most people had elected to come in uniform anyway, the wearing of the standard issue clothes being a habit when it came to school. Others, like Shirou, had chosen to come in more casual clothing, namely his favoured blue trousers and blue and white sweatshirt. Illya, on the other hand, had chosen to dress up a bit, and had pulled off quite the striking look.
What she wore was really just a summer version of the clothes she had been wearing when they first met back in Fuyuki. The white dress was largely the same, with maybe a bit more of a frilly hem. Instead of the shirt/jacket she had worn then she now had on a sleeveless blouse in the same colour, and this time there was no cravat at her throat. The whole thing was fairly simple, but of a style that was not normally seen in such a casual setting. It was also, as Yuri had noted, adorable in the way it complimented the natural colouration of Illya's skin and hair.
"Really?"
"Yes, it makes you look very pretty."
At the Hime-Miko's assurances the Einzbern heiress, prompting the beaming smile that he'd come to be familiar with over the last few months. He knew that Illya hadn't grown up in a very supportive environment. In fact, he was pretty sure that if his adopted sister ever told him the full extent of the mistreatment he suspected she had been subjected to then he would have made it a point to annihilate much of her family should they ever find a way home. It would be number three on the list, right after kissing Sakura and making sure that the Holy Grail system really was destroyed when they and Angra Mainyu had been sent to this world.
Anyway, the point was that Illya hadn't received much in the way of praise or positive reinforcement for a good long time. She responded to such with an almost childish glee, one that seemed even younger than her already youthful appearance. It was . . . sweet, but at the same time it made Shirou angry. Not at her or them of course, his anger was reserved for those that had led to her being this way in the first place.
The memories he'd inherited from Archer were a bit vague on what had happened with the Illya he had known back when he was human. All those years as a Counter Guardian, and all the terrible and bloody memories that had formed during his time serving as Alaya's cleaner, tended to swamp those memories that weren't connected to Unlimited Blade Works, or to his fighting. Still he remembered something of it, something about Illya dying early, them trying to get her family to help, and the Einzberns refusing. That stood out, a tall and old man, with hair the same colour as Illya's and a self righteous sneer on his face, one that remained in place as he refused to help and so sentenced her to death.
No! That was enough dark thoughts. Really, it was becoming a bad habit of his to let his mind wander onto such dark paths with such ease. Neither getting lost in pasts that weren't his own or worrying about the possible futures that could come to pass wasn't something he should let consume him. Either could be a useful asset, if used correctly, but overindulgence in them could prove to be toxic to his mental health if he wasn't careful. Far better to focus on the here and now.
Stepping over to where the food was set up Shirou sat down on one of the benches and looked over at Godou. His fellow king was still in the dirty and stained costume he had worn for the class attraction, bloodstains and all. He found himself wondering why he was still dressed like that, then realized there was no reason he couldn't just ask.
"So . . . any reason you're still in costume?"
"I've got to head back after we finish here, there's still another hour or so before I can end my shift." Godou explained.
"That seems like rather a lot."
Shirou made some mental calculation as he tried to work out just how long his fellow King would be stuck in his role. If he still had another hour to go . . . then didn't that mean that he was missing something like three quarters of the festival? Surely that was rather unfair amount of work to pile on him. Still, the Nightmare Path had been a real surprise in its realism and excellent execution, perhaps the price of such a fine spectacle had been the intensity in the amount of manpower needed to run it?
"Yeah, but me and Erica were the ones that received the most votes for getting us into those roles, so we have to play them the most."
"You chose your roles by vote?"
"Right, everyone wanted Erica to play the part of the Maoh. Well, Liliana thought that I would be good for the role, but no-one else seemed to agree, and when Erica got nominated she won by a landslide!"
Of that Shirou had no doubt. He recalled how . . . compelling the Italian Mage Knight had been in her costume, he could see why the rest of the class would have been enthusiastic to have her in the role. But why would they have been so keen to have Godou in his role?
"So they all voted you in as the . . . victim? The sacrifice?"
"Yeah, as it turned out almost a full half of the class voted me into that role. It's funny you know, lots of the other roles, like the guide for you guys, the zombies and the monsters, they all swap around a bit, but I get the part of the victim every time."
He sounded genuinely aggrieved, but not in the slightest bit resentful.
"So . . . I take it that the role of the monster that stabs you gets swapped around a lot?" Shirou asked, as casually as he could manage.
"Yeah, everyone gets to be those ones at least once, though Nanami, Takagi and Sorimachi offered to take the shifts of anyone that wanted to skip it, that was them that came after me on your trip through the Path."
Ah. The King of Steel looked around the roof, at Erica, at Liliana, at Yuri, at Ena. Yes, he could see why some of his fellow king's classmates might enjoy, no, rather why they would relish the opportunity to kill Godou over and over and over.
Jealousy could be such an ugly thing.
"And you're okay with that?"
He asked the question with a certain amount of disbelief. Sure, Godou might be the least ambitious of all the Campione that he'd ever met, but even so he couldn't be happy playing the part of the helpless victim that was attacked and sacrificed repeatedly. Shirou didn't consider himself a particularly prideful person, but he was fairly sure that after the first few times having to go through with that his patience would certainly begin to fray somewhat.
"Yeah. It's fine. Actually it's kind of relaxing, not having to play the hero, you know?"
Alright, Shirou knew that he was . . . well, perhaps the word 'over' couldn't quite be applied to his tendencies towards heroic actions. He might have made the resolution to save Sakura over saving the rest of the world when faced with the choice, but that didn't mean that he had abandoned the idea that saving others was a wonderful thing. Still, the thought of being pleased at 'not having to play the hero' didn't really click as far as he was concerned. He got where Godou was coming from, sort of, but he couldn't mentally put himself in the same position any more than a fish could have considered deep space investigation.
Unable to think of a suitable reply the Emiya heir simply nodded and popped an egg roll into his mouth. It was pretty good, not quite on par with the things that Asuka whipped up on a daily basis, but still very nice. Idly he wondered who the cook had been.
"So . . . what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Honestly, he'd been expecting the friendly and open atmosphere on the rooftop to take a sudden chill at his question, but to his surprise that didn't happen. Instead Godou simply nodded in agreement and waved his half eaten sandwich in the air.
"This is about clearing the air between us."
The Seventh Campione nodded over towards Yuri and Ena, both of whom had ended their small preparations and were now watching as the two Kings spoke.
"I've been told the History Compilation Committee officially pledging itself to you, and you've got to know that there are some concerns about that." Once again he waved the sandwich, this time causing a small piece of lettuce to fall out. "I don't think there'll be any problems, but I wanted to hear it straight from you, to get it out of the way, y'know? You're not going to order Yuri or Ena to leave, right? And you're not going to ask Hikari to join your harem either, right?"
That last question came right about the same time that Shirou was swallowing another bite of egg roll, and the shock of it, as he did a double take, sent it down the wrong pipe. For a moment the formidable King of Steel was reduced to a coughing mess. In the end though superhuman vitality triumphed over the viscosity of semi-chewed egg and he was able to cough it up. Still, it had been more than a bit of a trial for his composure, so as soon as he'd drunk a couple of gulps of water to clear his throat he asked the first thing that came to mind.
"What?"
"Yeah, I know that it's a bit stupid, but that's one of the main rumours that are going around. Apparently some people saw Guinevere moving into your manor as a sign that you're a lolicon, so they thought that you're trying to add Hikari-chan to your harem."
"Huh? What? Harem? Wait, but . . . I thought she was in your harem?"
Shirou's response was about as far from the person of the dignified and in control King that he tried to portray as was possible. The simple fact of the matter was that his ears were still ringing from his coughing fit and sudden loss of breath, then he'd been hit with . . . that bit of news which had only served to throw him for even more of a loop. So he'd just blurted out the first thing that came to mind, namely the fact that since Hikari was in Godou's harem she couldn't be in his.
. . . And for that matter, since when had he even had a harem? And why did people think that Guinevere was in it?
"Huh? But . . . I don't have a harem! What are you talking about?"
Alright, Shirou had expected a number of possible replied to what he had said, but that had not been among them.
"What?! Of course you do, they're right there!"
Perhaps shouting that in reply and making a wild gesture at the four girls on Godou's side of the roof wasn't the most diplomatic way of getting his point across, but right then it was the best that he could manage.
"What! Hey, they're not my harem! They're my friends!"
"Ena introduced herself at my Feast as your 'formally acknowledged concubine'!" Shirou countered. "Erica calls you her 'beloved Godou', Liliana defended you while saying that she knew you'd toy with the hearts of other women, but that you'd always come back to her! What do you need, a neon sign?"
Under normal circumstances Shirou would not have been quite so . . . forceful in trying to get his point across. However at the moment he was feeling more than a bit flustered, and a large portion of his mind was being taken up with worry that people might actually be thinking he was trying to seduce Yuri's younger sister.
"Well . . . well what about you!"
Godou didn't seem to be taking it any more gracefully, because he was pointing back at the red haired Emiya in a rather accusatory fashion.
"Huh?"
"You've got Tiamat, and Guinevere living with you!" He said, his tone more than a bit biting. "Then Lancelot goes and joins you, and Guinevere starts to grow up! How about that?!"
"They're my houseguests!"
"Well that's not how it looks to everyone else!"
For a moment silence reigned across the roof as both kings stood staring at each other.
"This is ridiculous."
Shirou stated the fact with a sort of weary resignation as he sat down again.
"People are stupid, and will say what they want. Shall we just leave it at that?"
"Okay . . . but I do want to be clear here, you don't have a harem?"
For a moment Shirou considered getting annoyed, but really, he just couldn't be bothered, the whole thing seemed far too absurd to merit such emotional investment.
"No, I don't have a harem. You've been in Unlimited Blade Works, Sakura was right there, in the middle of it. I killed Venus when she threatened her! No I don't have a harem!"
He paused for a moment.
"Besides, you've met Tiamat, right? Can you really imagine someone like her willingly being part of a harem? She's more likely to have one than be in one."
Slowly Godou nodded his agreement to the comment. Granted, he hadn't spent much time in the presence of the fallen goddess, but what time he had spent with her had shown her to be a prideful being despite the loss of much of her power.
"And what about the History Compilation Committee?"
"I've already made it a priority that there shouldn't be any issues there. Your girls will remain with you and act as points of contact, but their principle loyalty will be to you, that is clearly understood. There'll be no disruption to the shrine or any of the financial arrangements. I think I've got it all covered, but if anything turns up then just call me about it, alright?"
"Yeah, that's good to know."
Godou glanced over towards Yuri and Ena, both of whom had been listening to the exchange between the two kings with keen interest. Yuri smiled and nodded to him, while Ena gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He turned back, and Shirou was pleased to see the clearly relieved smile on his face.
"Great," he said, reaching for another of the egg rolls. "So . . . lets enjoy some more of this food before you have to go back to getting stabbed some more?"
"Sounds like a plan." Godou agreed, reaching for his own food, this time choosing some sort of mini dumpling.
-()-
"So, what have you been able to learn?"
Odysseus had forced himself to exercise patience in dealing with Ahriman, but even his forbearance had begun to wear thin as the hours had passed. The demonic god had taken little time to settle into the new flesh that he wore, but he had insisted in taking his time to 'digest' the knowledge that he had absorbed when he consumed the mortal's mind. Unwilling to push the issue with his erstwhile ally the hero god had instead focused his attention upon finding them a location from which they could operate if needed.
He had little faith that such a lair or fortress would be needed, not for what they had planned, but it had been something to do to keep himself busy as he waited.
There had been several locations that had proved suitable for his needs, but many of them had been beneath his dignity as a god. For all that he had fallen from his original path he still had little interest in skulking in empty store houses, or bedding down in hollow building that had once been a merchant's shop. In the end he had found their current abode, a small manor built with a fine view of the city's harbour. This was the summer residence of some rich land owner, or someone of that ilk, but at the moment it stood empty. Since the abode was a well kept one Odysseus had felt it suitable to house three deities for a short time. Not that he planned to stay here long in any case.
However, with the domicile, he found his nervous energy had returned, and he had once again found himself thinking of that vast other that he had seen through that portal.
He tried to keep his thoughts from it, but like an itching wound it drew his attention again and again, and each time he remembered it he felt his hunger once again being kindled. It was as though the mere thought of it was swelling up to swallow all other thoughts. The more he thought about it the more it was all he could think of. That vast emptiness that was everything, the infinite myriad of possibilities that he had glimpsed, the horrors and wonders that he felt sure were there, just out of reach, just beyond his grasp, just . . .
He shook his head and tried to centre himself, but he could feel the tension returning to him. So much, he had seen so much in that brief time, but he was also certain that what he had witnessed was nothing more than the merest taste of what could be.
And he wanted that, wanted it so much more deeply than he had ever thought was even possible for him. After seeing that this . . . this world, this very existence, it was all so confining. He moved through the world, sailed upon the seas that he had crisscrossed so many times in his life, and he felt trapped, hemmed in. It was as though his skin itched in protest at the way he was now confined. He wanted out! Out of this confinement, out of this very world! What he had seen through that gap in space and time, it had shown him what was out there. It had also shown him how meaningless, how small this world he'd once thought so huge really was. All that mattered was his freedom, not the petty heroics and cheap victories that he'd once thought of such paramount importance.
That was why his patience had finally ended; he would wait no longer for his 'ally' to indulge his appetites if it was keeping him from drawing closer to his goal.
"Oh, I have learnt much," the voice was that of a mortal, but the hero god wasn't fool by it for even an instant. Beneath it the tones of Ahriman were all too easy to hear. "Poor little Akino was so filled with darkness that he didn't want to look upon, it has been quite the entertainment to sift through it."
There was no mistaking the cruel delight in the demon god's voice, and internally Odysseus was forced to suppress a shudder. Ahriman was a monster, one of a sort that even the Trojan Wars had failed to bring out. There were things he had seen beyond that portal that had been terrifying, even to a god, and still he thought that Ahriman was more frightening. That blood drinking god of the crimson moon, the blue spider creature amidst an alien forest of crystals, those beautiful eyes that had danced with death in their depths, a golden king ready to rule the world and cut the heaven from the earth, all of them had been huge and strong, some of them even more so than Ahriman, but none of them had induced the same sort of fear that the old devil did. They had been mighty, some of them so much so that the travelling god had a hard time fully grasping what he had sensed, but Ahriman had what they lacked, namely cruelty.
They, those beings that he had glimpsed, they were powerful, they could kill him, tear him apart, maybe even shred his immortality, but that was all. Even that golden king with crimson eyes, even he would only torment his foe for a short time, then finish them off. Ahriman though, he would torment and torture. Should he decide to truly turn his ire upon someone or something then all they could look forwards to were untold ages of suffering in both body and soul.
Of course, all of that didn't change the fact that his cruelty was enforced by power, power enough that he had crushed God Slayers in the past. It had been for that power that Odysseus had sought him out, after all.
And more than that, Ahriman was a being to be wary of for more than merely his power. The former King of Ithaca had many loves in life, but almost as much as he had treasured the joy of travel he had also always loved the tales he could find. He knew many stories, stories from every people and culture beneath the sun. At this very moment he was reminded of a short story that he had never really given much thought, but one which now rose up in his memory. As it did so the ending ran through his head.
-And as the frog felt the venom burning through him he used the last of his strength to ask the scorpion a question.
"Why did you sting me? Now you'll die too."
And just before they slipped beneath the waters of the river the scorpion answered.
"I couldn't help it. I suppose it's my nature."-
Ahriman's nature was that of the destructive spirit, it was his nature to bring ruin and destruction to everything, even himself in the end. It was one of the things that made him such a terrifying force, other gods might incarnate cruel deeds or the horrors of war, but only Ahriman represented corruption and destruction right up until the final annihilation of all. What was his nature, when you got right down to it? And what did it say about Odysseus that he had chosen to ally with him?
No! No, in the end it didn't matter. None of it did, not once he was able to leave this tiny prison cell of a world. Let him indulge in his desire for destruction until it consumed him, as long as he attained his freedom first then it didn't matter.
"He lusted after his superior, but he never thought to speak to her. Oh, the things he thought of doing to her in the privacy of his thoughts, such wonderful ideas he had. So many ways to make her scream, and so many different reasons for her to make those screams as well."
It was at that point that the hero god's patience finally ran out. He had waited as long as he could, but he was no longer going to defer moving upon his goal simply so that Ahriman could enjoy the dark fruits of his latest meal of torment.
"I care nothing for what twisted and warped desires and hatreds the mortal might have possessed!" It wasn't quite a shout, but there was no denying the force behind the words. "You said that you saw the weaknesses of our quarry in this mortal's mind, tell me what they are!"
"Such eagerness," Ahriman said, his tone almost as though he were tasting the words. "Are you truly so set upon hunting this young King?"
"And you are not?" Odysseus countered. "Every day the curses that were once yours rest within him and find relief. They love him, they beg for his attention and favour, and when he calls upon their power they answer with eagerness and a desire to help him. Is it your intention to leave it as such? Are you willing to let him wield all the evils of the world with impunity?"
He knew that his words had struck home from the way that the mortal flesh his ally was wearing seemed to freeze in place. All around them the light seemed to dim and grow weaker as darkness crept in at the edges of the room.
"You dare?" This time the words were hissed in rage, and Odysseus found himself surprised that the mortal's throat had not torn itself open producing such a voice. "You dare to taunt me with what has been taken? You dare to taunt me with how they have been used?!"
"Have you forgotten why we have come here?!" The travelling god demanded in return, unmindful of the darkness that was inching closer. "We entered into an alliance for a reason, have you abandoned that reason in favour of tormenting the remnants of the mortal you have consumed?!"
At the other end of the room he thought he heard Circe release a small whimper, but he paid it no mind. He'd long ago dismissed her as anything other than a mildly useful hanger on. Her courage, her desire, had abandoned her somewhere during their journey leaving her a hollow shell of the goddess he'd once known. Pathetic. Still, he would keep his promise to her; take her to that corridor of infinite possible worlds, even if he had to drag her along to do it. Still, that was a matter for another time, at this moment Ahriman was by far the greater concern.
"Would you rather that I consume y-"
"Spare me the impotent threats." Some part of Odysseus was screaming at him for provoking the older god in this way, for actually daring to cut him off, but he paid it even less mind than he did Circe. If he wanted to maintain this alliance, and not be reduced to Ahriman's lackey due to fear, then he had to show his lack of intimidation. "Your word still binds you, make no pretence otherwise. Now, you seek to retrieve your curses, and I wish to take the keys to my freedom. Let us delay no more, then we can be rid of each other and go our separate ways. What are his weaknesses?"
For a moment the possessed form of the mortal magic user didn't move, instead he just stood there, his all consuming black eyes locked in silent battle with the steady grey orbs of the other god. Odysseus made no move either, simply returning the stare, even as he felt his brain start to itch, then burn, as he stared into those light destroying eyes.
"Madness has given you courage, never before would you have been able to meet my gaze so," There was something tinging the inhuman note of the dark god's voice. Not respect, as he doubted Ahriman was capable of such a sentiment, but perhaps it might have been regard. "Still, there is reason to your words, reason that it is to my benefit to heed."
Internally Odysseus wanted to snort in derision. As though reason had any meaning to something like him, a monster to whom madness was as much a part of him as blood was a part of a mortal. Still, if Ahriman's attempts to play at sanity were to work to his advantage then there was no reason to contest them or their genuineness.
"Then what have you learnt?"
"Our chosen quarry has many strengths to him, perhaps even more than we suspected," Ahriman began. "He has usurped many Authorities from other gods, and has gained a number that are of sufficient strength that even I would not take them lightly. More than that though, he also possesses some sort of mortal magic that can actually match the power of a god's power. Supposedly it was this magic that allowed him to defeat two of his own ilk when he was forced to battle them."
That was no surprise, at least not to the travelling god. When he had fought Emiya Shirou he had seen the weapons that the King of Steel was able to produce from nowhere. Weapons he knew had not been born from an Authority, but which none the less held power on par with the sacred powers of the gods themselves. He held back a shudder as he remembered the sword that had cut into him. That one had been fearsome, its power a dark and twisted thing, but shot through with light and touched with love and devotion. It had cut at him, had slashed into his immortality and wounded him in a way that he had never thought possible by anything other than the weapons or power of one of his fellow divine beings.
He also knew what no others did, that the sword Excalibur waited upon the young King. Under other circumstances such a thing would have crushed any hope of defeating him and taking the shards of freedom in him, but Odysseus also knew that the sword hadn't yet acknowledged the eighth Campione as its master. Exactly how that could be he had no idea, but it did mean that the Sword of Divine Salvation would not be a factor in this battle.
Well, that wasn't quite true. If something in the upcoming events were to cause the sword to accept Emiya Shirou as its wielder then that would indeed change things. It would largely spell the doom of the travelling god and his erstwhile allies if it did, for none of them could stand against something like that. A god like Ahriman would be vulnerable by his very nature, a giant of straw trying to battle an inferno. Circe was too weak to stand against it; even at the height of her power it was doubtful she could have stolen such a powerful Authority. As for himself, he could fight; he had Authorities, old authorities that he hadn't used since taking on his current identity. They were powerful, they would let him endure for a time, but in the end he could not win, and he knew it.
No, Excalibur could not be considered as a factor for the simple reason that if it was a factor then they had already lost. He would continue as though he had some sort of chance, that was the only way that he could. It wasn't his foe's strengths that he needed to be informed on; it was his weaknesses that were of critical importance.
"As for what weaknesses we might be able to aim for," Ahriman continued, almost as though he had heard Odysseus' thoughts. "There is his Gem Sword, an artefact hat he clearly holds in high value, and which we could turn against him. It contains a vast amount of magical power, and if we can steal it for ourselves we could return your companion to her previous strength, or increase our own strength by draining it."
Well, that was something. If Circe could be returned to her full self then she might well be a deciding factor. Her ability to steal the Authorities of other divinities and the Children of Pandora was a troublesome power to face. As for him and Ahriman, neither of them had to regenerate any of their Authorities or mantles of divinity, but having access to a wellspring of additional power would provide them with greater stamina in battle. That was a crude approach, but it was one that could be made to work. The power of a God Slayer was great, but it was also limited. With this sword of his providing them with power it wasn't impossible that they could simply outlast him until his endurance ran out. Once his magic was exhausted Odysseus could take the shards of power within him with ease, and then Ahriman could take his life. A crude plan, but it was one that could work.
"However, there is another option that can be exploited."
Turning his attention back to Ahriman the hero god immediately wished that he hadn't. The 'smile' that spread across the possessed mortal's face as he fiddled with the small mortal device in his hands was one in name only. Rather than being an expression of joy or happiness it looked more like a crack running across his face. It was jagged, brittle and had all sorts of sharp edges to it, more of a parody of a smile than any true expression of joy.
In a single movement he flipped the mortal device that he had been poking at over and showed its screen to Odysseus. The traveller god was surprised that his ally knew how to operate the small machine, but he supposed that the skills to do so had been part of the knowledge that Ahriman had gained when he consumed the mortal's mind. That was only a mild concern though, what was of greater interest was the image upon the small screen of glass and colour.
It was a girl, young in appearance, in the earliest stages of blossoming into maidenhood. Her eyes were red like gemstones and her hair a white he knew to be most uncommon in mortals of that age. In the picture she was clad in one of the uniforms that the mortal children of this land wore to their centres of education. She was smiling in the image, and the brightness of her smile gave some hint as to the beauty that she might one day grow to be. She was vaguely familiar, but if he had seen her before it had been in passing, for he couldn't place her.
"And who is this."
"This is the God Slayer's weakness."
"This little girl? Who is she, some future bride?"
Odysseus knew of younger girls that had been promised to older men than Emiya Shirou, and the promise of her future beauty would certainly have been enough to entice many a man. Was that what she was to his target? A future bride that he intended to raise into an ideal wife? The age difference between them was not great, so he supposed that it wasn't outside the realms of possibility, but he thought it unlikely. Almost the entire magical world knew of how he had thrown off the control Venus had placed upon him. His heart completely stolen, and yet the instant she had threatened this mysterious 'Sakura' he had driven a sword through hers without a moment of hesitation.
"His sister, one that he loves dearly."
Oh, well that was a different matter. Yes, Odysseus thought he could now place her. She had been among the group that he'd instructed Circe to distract while he launched his last attack upon the Campione he aimed for. Yes, she had been in the company of Guinevere and Tiamat, so he had paid her and the other mortals with her only scant mind. Still, if she had been able to aid the two immortals in holding the Goddess of the Dawn off as well as they had then perhaps she was worthy of more attention.
"And how much of a weakness might she be?"
"According the knowledge possessed by this mortal," Ahriman answered, gesturing down at the body he wore. "She is quite a power in and of herself, so much so that it is thought she is only a few generations removed from divinity herself. Her skills in magic bear this out, as is her binding of some sort of divine spirit to her will, a dark giant strong enough to slay subordinate gods."
That twisted parody of a smile grew as Odysseus felt his eyebrows rise in surprise. For a mortal to be able to bind such a strong divine being to their will was almost unheard of. It had been accomplished before, but only by those magic users that went down in legend as the greatest of all. For a child like this to have managed such a thing lent credence to the notion that she was of divine descent.
"We have not been the first to think of using her, some time ago a mortal cabal sought to use her to force her brother to acquiesce to their will. She slew their leader, enslaved them all, and made them a part of her brother's organization. Emiya Shirou also sent out a message to all the great magical associations in the world, a quiet and subtle message meant only for those in power. He explained in clear detail what he would do to anyone that tried to use his sister thus again, and he promised that there would be neither forgiveness nor reprieve.
"Also, for all his fearsome reputation, it is an open secret that our foe will deny his sister nothing. Both the fine domicile in which they live and the ship you saw them using, were purchased at her behest. He is protective, loving, and devoted in regards to this girl, so many weaknesses that can be used against him."
As strange as it might sound Odysseus didn't truly bear Emiya Shirou any ill will. Oh, he had every intention of killing him, maybe even hand him over to Ahriman to torment for however long it amused him to do so, but he wasn't doing it for any sense of personal gratification. To him the powerful Campione was simply an obstacle, one that had to be removed in order to attain freedom. Even so, the way that the demon god spoke of his affection and caring for his sister as weaknesses, and the way he seemed to taste those words, at that moment it was enough to make him almost feel pity for the God Slayer.
It was not going to keep him from his prize though.
What Ahriman said was true, if he cared so much for this girl then she could be used against him. The problem was in how to employ her. Having been a hero god for centuries he had himself encountered a fair number of times when hostages had been used against him or an ally of his. In such cases it was always a balancing act for the kidnapper to employ things correctly. When hostages were used there could be so many factors that had to be taken into account. So many things that could go wrong, and in so many different ways. If you weren't careful you could end up killing your hostage yourself, thus ensuring a vengeance crazed foe would be bearing down upon you in short order. The hostage could escape, the hostage could be injured, the hostage could end up killing themselves, so many different things.
In this case things were made even more complicated by the fact that not only was the target an individual of immense power, so was the potential hostage even if she wasn't on quite the same level. This had to be handled carefully. It couldn't be as simple as wrapping her in ropes and hanging her over a deep chasm.
Odysseus paused for a moment as he reviewed that particular thought. Why had he thought that? It had been the most puerile bit of nonsense he'd thought of in casual memory.
Dismissing the thought he returned to his problem. Circe might of use here, her magic might not be as powerful as his Authorities, but it was considerably more flexible. Perhaps some sort of poisoning effect, with a demand that Emiya Shirou trade his life for hers. It was a crude approach, but sometimes crude was the best way to operate. A simple plan had less complexity, and consequently fewer weak points. When dealing with someone like a Campione weakness was not something that could be allowed.
"I can see you thinking," Ahriman's sickly sweet tone pulled him from his thoughts as he looked back over to the monstrous god. "You control your flesh well, but your eyes reveal the way in which your thoughts are racing. I can see as you assess and discard options and plans, trying to winnow them down into something that shall grant you the victory that you seek."
In a single movement the possessed body rose to its feet. Once again Odysseus was forced to suppress a shudder that wanted to crawl across his skin as he watched.
Wrong, that was the only word he could think of to describe it. The hero god had lived for millennia; he had seen mortals of every stripe and colour, mortals that plodded along with all the grace of a falling brick, masters of dance and martial arts that flowed from one move to the next seemingly at one with the world about them. He had seen fellow gods able to move with blinding godspeed or perform movements that would have killed mortals that attempted the same. He had seen so many things, but all of them had been in some ways alike, mortals and gods being constrained by the bodies that they wore, and by the physics of the world they lived in.
The body that Ahriman was wearing did not seem to follow that trend. Instead it moved in strange unnatural ways, the limbs bending slightly more than they should, his stuttering movements seemingly defying gravity and momentum. All of it was subtle; something that the eyes of a mortal would not consciously see, but Odysseus was a god, his eyes keen enough to see it.
"I have a plan of my own as to how this girl might be of use to bring down this thief. Rather than using the girl as a poison or as a threat she shall instead serve as a shield."
"A crude approach, and one that leaves many an opening that Emiya Shirou might use to try to rescue her."
"There shall be no openings, there shall only be despair and defeat."
The traveller god watched in disgust as the edges of the mortal's mouth cracked and bled as the smile grew ever wider, the cheeks of his face tearing to accommodate it as it grew.
-()-
Godou knew that there was only about an hour of the carnival left, but he was determined to squeeze as much entertainment out of it as he could.
"Why'd you let them rope you into taking so many shifts in that horror show of yours?"
The question was asked by his sister as she walked along beside him. Shizuka had joined him just after he was finally able to get away from his class's attraction, and she had been scolding him ever since.
"You've got to stand up for yourself a bit more onii-chan. It's fine to offer to help, but you really shouldn't let them take advantage of you like that."
"Well, the Nightmare Path turned out to be more popular than we were expecting." Godou tried to defend.
"Hah, I bet the others managed to get away for breaks of their own though."
His silence was a pretty damning reply.
"So . . . what do you want to go and see?"
"Well, I did promise to meet Erica at the art show later. And Yuri said that she wanted to show me this noodle stall that caught her fancy. Lili said that-"
"Onii-chan, do you plan to spend the entire festival with your girls? Is that really what you have planned?"
"Well, they did ask me to . . ."
Shizuka didn't reply, she simply rolled her eyes to the heavens as though seeking divine aid in dealing with her troublesome brother. Some small part of Godou found this amusing, given his status as a god slaughtering Devil King, but the majority of him was wondering how he could smooth things over.
"Ah, Sir Godou, it is a pleasure to see you once more."
Oh come on! Just how unlucky could he get?!
Turning around he saw the diminutive form of Guinevere, but, much to his surprise, it wasn't Lancelot that was accompanying her, rather it was the tall and crimson edged form of Tiamat. Mentally he gave a sigh of relief that she was wearing modern clothes as opposed to the sari that she normally favoured, but he also wondered why she was there at all. Godou had not met the Knight Goddess himself, at least not since she had ceased to wear her all encasing armour, but the History Compilation Committee had provided him with some pictures that had been taken. Seeing the chivalrous knight that had fearlessly charged the dragon form of Jord when she had been ready to devour all of them in the aftermath of the Battle of the Three Kings was in fact a beautiful young woman with honey gold hair and an energetic smile had come as quite the surprise. Still, if Athena, one of the strongest and oldest goddesses in the world, could take the form of a pre-pubescent schoolgirl then it really shouldn't surprise him that much.
What was more worthy of surprise was that she wasn't here, accompanying her charge. Having Tiamat there instead was . . . well, it was sort of like watching a dog and a cat walking together when you knew that they normally hated each other. Godou hadn't had too much interaction with the red haired goddess, but what little he'd seen in the aftermath of Jord's defeat had indicated that she and Guinevere were not on the best of terms. Every other time he'd seen them since had only served to reinforce that particular opinion. Of course, there was the recent mess with that other Campione that had come to Japan. When Tiamat and Guinevere had fought him side by side, maybe things had changed since then? He hadn't seen them since, so it could be.
Of course, that was all of a secondary concern. What was far more important was that two powerful supernatural entities were greeting him right in front of his sister. Having her meet the likes of Erica, Liliana, or the Hime-Miko was alright, they knew how to act normally when they met with those that weren't part of the magical world. These two though . . . well, he'd found that common sense had only a distant relationship with those that wielded the powers of a god, Shirou being perhaps the sole exception he'd encountered. Just them addressing him as they normally did, as either Sir Godou or King Kusanagi, would be enough to raise some rather awkward questions with his sister.
"Guinevere, I wasn't expecting to see you here. I hope you and Tiamat-san are having a good time here."
It was the truth, he really had not been expecting to see them, not at something as normal as the school cultural festival. His choice in addressing them casually was also something of a gamble, but one he was fairly comfortable with. He just hoped he could get rid of them before they said anything that would be too hard to explain to Shizuka.
"Oh, you are far too kind. Yes, this festival has so far proven to be quite the entertaining diversion. Still, it is not simply for it that we have come here."
Guinevere's reply was almost all that he could have hoped for, polite and not something that gave away just how far from normality she really was. Now, if they could just keep it up for a little more . . .
"And what of yourself, Kusanagi Godou? Is there any stall at this carnival that you would recommend to us? Perhaps one that would be suitably romantic."
Why? Why did Tiamat have to say that? Alright, at least it wasn't quite as bad as her actually addressing him as a king as some gods seemed to do at the drop of a hat, but it wasn't too far off.
"A-aah . . ."
The sound his sister made was more akin to a rather loud squeak than it was to any sort of understandable word. Her eyes were rather large as she just stared at the two immortals before her, and on seeing her expression Godou had to mentally slap himself.
Of course she was taken aback, maybe even a bit overwhelmed. Each of them was an example of a pinnacle of beauty of their type, their appearance literally on the supernatural side of what it could be. It was hardly a surprise that-
"A . . . a loli, and an older woman . . . Godou! Have you really gone this far down the same path as grandfather?! I thought you were already bad enough with Erica and the others always all over you, but at least they were your age! Now you going after all sorts of other women?!"
Was that really what she thought of him? Godou felt his shoulders slump somewhat in defeat as he realized that his strong willed sibling really did think that he was some sort of womanizer. Under other circumstances he might have gone off to try to drown his sorrows in fatty fried foods, but right now he had other concerns. Namely how Shizuka might have inadvertently insulted two extremely dangerous immortals.
For their parts Tiamat and Guinevere were looking at his sister in a way that implied they were having less than complimentary thoughts about her intelligence.
"What are you speaking of?"
Tiamat sounded every inch as though she were a queen, no, an empress, sitting upon her throne and enquiring as to the antics of some court jester. She was regal, strong, commanding.
Somehow, Shizuka managed to ignore it without even noticing it in the first place.
"So . . . you're not here because of my brother?"
Godou's sister sounded genuinely perplexed by the idea, as though she was having trouble getting her mind around the idea. Really, did she have that bad an opinion of him?
"Oh no, Sir Kusanagi might be a commendable young man, but our interest is in Sir Shirou." Guinevere explained, blushing slightly as she did so.
"Wait, 'Sir Shirou'? As in Illya-chan's brother?"
"Yes, can you tell us where to find him? We came earlier, but we can't seem to track him down."
Huh? That didn't make too much sense. Didn't they have spells that would let them track him across the world, or something? Actually, now that he thought about it, Shirou was the kind of guy who would have found a way around that. And if he could make those magic spears and swords then he could probably come up with a ring or amulet, something that would make him hard to track. After all, he had set up a plan to free or kill himself if he was brainwashed.
Well, never mind that, should he let them know where he was? Shirou had seemed to be having a fairly good time of the carnival, even if was winding down. It was a pleasantly normal thing, something devoid of the normal supernatural problems that always seemed to make themselves a bother. Well, that was how Godou felt anyway. Sure, he enjoyed the company of Erica and the others, but that was because, for today at least, they'd forgotten about being magic knights or Hime-Miko, and had just been normal girls. That was what he'd enjoyed about today, and, except for the short meeting up on the roof to get some things clear, the same seemed to be true of Shirou.
If that was the case then would it be alright to let the immortals know where he was? Or would that be irresponsible? After all, if they couldn't find him . . .
"Oh, there he is."
His internal deliberation came to a screeching halt at Shizuka's off handed comment.
Yes, there he was, coming down the hall with his little snow haired sister at his side. It was kind of interesting to see the change of expression on his fellow king's face in the very instant that he saw the pair of immortals. It was quite the picture, an alchemical mixture of surprise, mild irritation, confusion, panic and resignation. Having been in something of the same situation when Erica and then Liliana had transferred to his class the seventh Campione felt a surge of sympathy well up for his fellow King.
This was then followed by a surge of relief that it wasn't him that had to deal with it this time.
"Sir Shirou!"
Alright, that was quick! Godou was fairly sure that the blonde Divine Ancestor hadn't actually used magic to teleport to Shirou's side, but for a moment it certainly looked like she had. He'd taken his eyes off her for a second, and somehow she'd managed to use that time to get over to the red head's side and was now threading her right arm through his left.
"There isn't too much time left, however if we are swift then you can escort this humble handmaiden to enjoy some of the remaining attractions that are available."
She made the suggestion with the kind of sweet innocence that hinted that butter wouldn't have melted in her mouth, and Godou had to admit that he was somewhat impressed.
"I believe that he would also wish to act as a gracious host to all his guests."
Tiamat cut in as she strode over to join the small group forming around Shirou. She didn't move with the haste that Guinevere had demonstrated, however her every step managed to emphasize her maturity and femininity. Godou had seen some beautiful women since becoming a Campione, Erica, Yuri, Liliana, Ena, all of them were splendid examples of youthful beauty, while Lucretia Zola or Luo Hao were examples of more mature beauty. Athena and Lancelot were examples of the divine beauties he had seen, and they were breath-taking. Even so, there was something about the goddess with blood red hair shot through with hints of blue that managed to stand head and shoulders above them. Hell, it even managed to overshadow Venus, and even Godou had been able to see that she had been a beauty unmatched.
The Kusanagi heir was no great authority upon legends and mythology, but Erica had been able to pound a bit of curiosity into his head, enough that he'd done a quick search for information on Tiamat after she had become a guest at his fellow King's home. He knew about her past, her legend, how she had been a mother to many of the gods in her pantheon, how she had birthed monsters as well, how she had been overthrown.
Actually, maybe that was it; maybe that was the root of her presence. Venus had been a goddess of beauty and love, but never had she been a mother. Always she had been a lover, one sought after, the source of tragedy and joy by virtue of her beauty, but never had she truly been a wife and mother. Tiamat had been both, and had drawn from them. Simply put, Venus had been a girl, a beautiful and experienced one, but still a girl. Tiamat, on the other hand, was unquestionably a woman.
Whatever the case though, Guinevere didn't seem to be inclined to back down in the face of the more mature immortal, instead choosing to hang onto her host's arm.
"Indeed you are correct, but Guinevere is reluctant to share her dear host's time."
She paused, then looked over to the goddess, her head tilted slightly to the side.
"Perhaps we might divide what time remains between the two of us? This handmaiden knows there is only a small amount of time left at this small festival, and she would not like to spend it in conflict with honoured Tiamat, not when she can be enjoying it with Sir Shirou. Can we not come to an accord?"
The ocean goddess looked at the Divine Ancestor for a moment, then turned her gaze towards Godou.
"Kusanagi Godou, how much longer remains of this carnival?"
Um, how long was it? Looking up at the wall Godou saw one of the numerous public clocks that were around so that no student could claim not to have known the time. It was getting towards the end of the day, but as he'd thought earlier there was about an hour left before the stalls and attractions began to close down in earnest. After that there might be one of two that kept going a bit longer in order to try to unload any stock or left overs that they might have, but they wouldn't last more than another half hour or so. And there was also that little fireworks display that was planned. Nothing overly fancy, but it was meant to be the finishing touch.
"I'd say you've got an hour for the stalls, then half an hour as things wind down and the fireworks display when it starts to get dark."
Godou wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting. He knew that both of the immortals were after Shirou, even if the Campione himself seemed to be ignorant of the fact. He'd also seen them bickering in the past, so he was probably going to be seeing something similar now. That was what he thought anyway, as things turned out he was more than a bit surprised.
"Guinevere proposes that we divide the time between us," the blonde Divine Ancestor offered. "After each of us has taken some time to enjoy the end of the festival with him we can all meet to enjoy the display of the 'fireworks' at the end. Does this meet with your approval, honoured Tiamat?"
"I . . . have no objections. We can divide up the hour that remains, then join together to enjoy the ending, and this display that our host's fellow students will perform"
What? They were just going to talk it out? Divide his time like it was spare change? For some reason the realization that that was exactly what they had planned was both heartening and depressing for the seventh Campione. For some reason he thought that if Erica ever got wind of this then it might be . . . bad, though he wasn't quite sure why.
"Guinevere is pleased to hear that. So, would honoured Tiamat prefer to go first or second? As it was this handmaiden that proposed the idea it is only fitting that Tiamat should be the one to have the choice."
There was a brief moment of quiet as the beautiful goddess took a moment to ponder her choice. That quiet was broken though, as Illya-chan ceased to hold her own silence on the matter.
"Hey, don't go making decisions on your own like that!" The snowy haired girl moved to impose herself between the two immortals and her brother. "Onii-chan has promised to spend the day here with me, so don't go trying to force your way in!"
The scene was a bit on the absurd side, Illya being a fair bit shorter than her brother, and yet standing in front of him like a knight defending their lord from barbarian invaders. There was also the fact that while it was conceivable that the small mage would be able to fight Guinevere there was absolutely no chance that she could stand against Tiamat. On the other hand, there was absolutely no chance that Shirou wouldn't back her up, so she was probably the one with the most firepower in her corner if it came to it.
Not that he expected his fellow King to let it get that far.
"Oh, really?" Guinevere's voice was light, but there was some definite smugness there. "This humble handmaiden was sure that you were about to depart and return to our home as swiftly as possible."
"Oh, really?" Illya-chan mirrored the golden haired immortal's earlier words back at her, her own tone tinged with suspicion. "And why would I want to do that? I'm have a great time with Onii-chan, maybe I'm not so eager to let it go as you say."
The smile that Guinevere returned to her could only be described as 'beatific', and quite frankly it was more than a bit unsettling. Shirou's sister must have felt the same way, because Godou saw her shift her weight a bit, as though suddenly a bit uncomfortable and trying to set herself for what might come.
"A little bit before Guinevere left Sir Shirou's home she met her beloved Knight, who seemed to be very excited."
The smile of the Witch Queen's face grew as she spoke,
"She mentioned that a package had arrived, one that was not expected to come for some time, but one that she was very happy to see. She was all prepared to tear it open and avail herself of the contents, but the package was delivered in your name, so she felt it most unchivalrous to open it without you there to claim your own share of what it held. Tell me, was there anything that you were expecting? Was there some delivery of entertainments that you were looking forward to? Because if so, then they have arrived, and Sir Knight is so eager to open them up. Why, who knows how long she may be able to resist the temptation."
As she finished speaking Godou couldn't help but notice that Illya-chan was practically twitching in place.
"I . . . ah . . . but . . ."
"Illya?"
Shirou sounded a little bit concerned as his sister seemed to have trouble putting her thoughts into any sort of coherent sentence.
"I . . . sorry, Onii-chan, I have to go home."
The look that the snowy haired girl turned on her brother was a mixture of guilt and anticipation. Far from being put out the Emiya heir seemed to be a bit amused by her apparent predicament.
"What's so urgent that you've got to leave so quick?"
"It's . . . it's the box set I was waiting for," Illya admitted, her face adorably guilty. "It's the whole series of Neo Camelot! Not just the anime, but also all the promotional material, a documentary on how the series was developed, and a few OVA episodes!"
"I guess that Lancelot's pretty eager to watch it as well, right?"
His sister nodded her head in agreement, her hair fluttering as she did so.
"If I don't get back soon then she'll open it and start without me!"
There seemed to be almost genuine anguish in her voice at the notion, and Godou felt a bemused smile touch his lips.
"Are you alright to get home on your own?"
Alright, that was something of a silly question, in the young Kusanagi's opinion. The last group that had tried to give Illya-chan trouble had ended up with their leader reduced to the consistency of tomato soup, and the rest of them essentially enslaved to her will. He really doubted that after that little demonstration anyone else would be foolish enough to try to accost her.
"I'll be fine," she assured him, apparently sharing Godou's sentiment. "Yusuke won't be here for a bit, but that's fine. I can call up a taxi and have them take me home. It won't be any trouble."
"Okay," Shirou agreed, nodding his head slightly. "I'll see you at home then. Better get there fast though, her patience might not last much longer."
That seemed to be all the confirmation that his sister needed, because in the next moment she was a near white blur as she shot off, then she was gone.
"Well then, my dear host," Tiamat spoke as she strolled up to him and took his now free arm. "As you no longer need to act as escort to your sister that means that you are free to show us around."
"Ah, so honoured Tiamat has chosen to go first?"
"Yes, I shall enjoy our host's company first, then, in half of an hour, we shall exchange places. Once your time with him is done we shall meet to observe this display. After that . . . well, we shall see."
"Very well, Guinevere will find you as soon as her time has arrived."
The blonde haired immortal released her grip on his left arm, then stepped back to look at the pair.
"This handmaiden hopes that Sir Shirou will be sure to provide honoured Tiamat with an entertaining time, and that he will do likewise for Guinevere once it is her turn."
"Umm . . . alright. Let's try and have a good time."
By the looks of things Shirou was as caught off guard by this sudden change in their demeanour as Godou was. Still, he seemed to rally quickly enough, though he did seem to be trying to extricate his arm from Tiamat's grip, but from the looks of it she was having none of it. Instead she started to pull him along, waving in the general direction of the main exit as she did so.
"Come on then, King Shirou. I believe I saw some sort of competition involving large bottles that was interesting. They were handing out dolls of dragons to the winners. I believe that I would greatly appreciate it if you were to win me one."
As the goddess pulled his fellow King around a corner and out of view Guinevere turned around to face Godou once more and offered a courteous curtsy mixed with a bow.
"Thank you for your aid, King Kusanagi. I am most grateful for his highness' help and hope that you enjoy the rest of your day. Now, if you will excuse my departure, this humble handmaiden must move to plan her own time with her King."
Straightening up the Queen of the Divine Ancestors then turned and made her own way out, leaving Godou alone with his sister.
His sister that was now staring up at him with her own look that was a strange mixture of emotions.
"'King Kusanagi'? 'Your highness'? Just what kind of things have you been up to, onii-chan?"
Great, now he was going to have to think up something to explain this. Maybe he could say that it was from a MMO they were playing together? Well, that might be believable in regards to Guinevere, but Tiamat didn't look like someone that would play computer games. Oh well, he'd think of something.
At least things would quieten down now. The Cultural Festival would be over soon, so the rest of the day should be relatively calm.
-()-
Sorimachi walked through the corridors of Jounan Academy and tried to keep his spirits up. It should have been easier, after all, he had managed to stab Godou to death more than half a dozen times today, and a chance to get back at the lucky bastard had to be worth something, right? His cheater-like ability to somehow acquire a harem and then get approval for it was enough to drive the young man to distraction, but it had to be endured. Sadly not even repeated false murdering was enough to totally assuage his mood.
The maid café he had dreamed of was not realized!
It had been the dream of himself, Nanami and Takagi, a maid café with all the hot girls in class dressed in maid outfits! With short skirts of course.
And cat ears.
And maybe a miko costume or two.
However the big thing that they'd all hoped to implement was having the star of the junior year as the main attraction. Illyasviel had managed to gather something of an unofficial fan club amongst the student body, mainly due to not only being a near straight 'A' student, but also due to her exotic looks and her general cuteness. If they had been able to persuade her to go along with it she would have been a major draw. Various students, both male and female, would have queued up for the chance to hear her call them 'onii-chan' or 'onee-chan', he should know, he'd have been among them.
But no, the dream had cruelly died before it had had the chance to even try to live. Despite their best efforts they had been unable to sway Emiya Shirou to their side. He had been the linchpin of their plan, mainly because he had maids of his own, and because he was Illyasviel's older brother. With him in their camp then their dream might well have been able to be realized!
Unfortunately the red haired senior had proven to be an existence beyond the means of the three friends to reach. They had tried though, oh how they had tried. They had attempted to meet with him directly, but the casual way in which he had ignored their very existence had proven to be a crushing blow to their fragile egos. Unwilling to risk facing such a treatment again they had attempted to be more subtle in their attempts to recruit him to their cause.
Their masterful plan had been to leave an adult magazine in his shoe locker. Oh, it might have sounded like a childish plan, but Nanami's suggestion had, in his opinion at least, been ingenious. It had been no common magazine that they had left there; it had been a maid one! Not only that, it had been a special limited edition print that had featured a special spread involving twin, TWINS! Just thinking about it was enough to make Sorimachi's heart pick up it's pace. It had cost them some of their precious savings, but they had thought it to be a worthy investment.
And Emiya Shirou had just thrown it away!
The trio had been waiting in the halls, carefully monitoring their quarry's movements. When he had come to his shoe locker they had been there to watch, waiting for the reaction they knew was to come. Faced with such a feast for the eyes it was only natural that his heart would be moved. Once they knew he was suitably thankful for the bounty of beauty they had gifted him they planned to emerge and explain their plan. Surely after seeing such magnificent sights he would be more than prepared to help them. Yes! That had been the plan, the plan that would lead them to their maid café paradise!
And that . . . that red headed bastard had taken one look at the magazine and then thrown it into the trash before walking away!
Naturally they had retrieved it from its unjust discarding, such a treasure could not be left to languish like that, but by the time they had saved it several of the precious pages had been stained by being dunked in leftover yoghurt. They had worked hard to clean the pages and restore the magazine to pristine condition, but even so, several precious pages were stained strawberry, including a spread on the twins showing their 'master' a very good time that Sorimachi thought should have been hung in the national gallery.
With their effort having failed it was decided that if they could not persuade the tall student to come to their side through kindness then they would have to employ more direct means. Namely, kidnapping him and making him promise to help them before they would let him go. It might not have been the most sophisticated plan, but it had a certain element of satisfaction to it. Their capture of Godou had been quite satisfying, at least at first. Granted, it had turned somewhat sour after Liliana and then Yuri and her friend had shown up, indeed, it had almost managed to drive Takagi to cast himself and Godou into death in a sort of murder/suicide.
Sometimes he worried about his friend.
Regardless, the three of them had decided to try to repeat their success with Emiya Shirou. After all, how hard could it be?
It had proven to be extremely hard, as things turned out. Despite their best efforts their target never seemed to be alone. He was always with his sister, or with Godou, or with some other random person. Every time they tried to sneak up on him, a black bag made of cloth ready to slip over his head so they could perform their abduction, he seemed to find someone to talk to who needed help or something like that. It was infuriating!
Since forcing him to help them was looking increasingly remote an opportunity they had decided to fall back to the only avenue they had left; namely shameless pleading. The three of them had composed a letter, one that detailed their wishes and contained no small amount of verbal grovelling in an attempt to get him to help them. They had all poured their souls into it, trying to convey the true depths of their feelings. Sorimachi himself had explained in exacting detail why Shirou's little sister was such a treasure, and why he was being so selfish in hogging her attention when there were others that had never known the joy of having an adorable younger girl lovingly call them 'Onii-chan'.
It had never even reached him! The three of them had written the letter by hand, stained it with their sweat and tears, then folded it into an envelope and prepared to leave it in his shoe locker, hopefully to better results than their last such offering. They had it all planned, they were going to put it in there just before classes started, so there was no way he could miss it at the end of the day, and so that nobody would see them put it there. It was all perfect, and then cruel chance got in the way.
A sudden gust of wind somehow made it into the school just as they were putting the letter in. Someone had left the main doors open for some reason, and that had been enough to let the errant gust in. It caught all three of them by surprise and had been able to yank the letter out of Nanami's surprised grip. More than that, it had been blown out the door and onto the school yard. Needless to say, the three of them ran after it, unwilling to let their efforts go to waste. They were just in time to see it be caught by another gust of wind, one that blew it straight into the intake of the still running wood chipper that was being used to dispose of a recently cut down tree. The trio could do nothing but watch as the letter that they had laboured so hard upon reduced to confetti in a single violent moment.
That had been what had broken their will. Without any more time to work with they simply hadn't come up with a way to persuade their target in the time that remained to them, and they had tearfully had to bid goodbye to their dreams of a maid café.
He sighed again, mourning what had been lost. Still, there was always next year, right? Maybe with a bit more time he would be able to-
His thoughts were cut off as he heard the tapping of feet on stairs just ahead of him. Normally he wouldn't have been able to hear it so easily, but with this part of the school halls mostly empty at the moment the echo of the halls made it much simpler. He slowed down, mildly interested as to whom it might be that was dashing around like that. In the next moment he was pleasantly surprised to see Illya-chan come bounding down the stairs, only to pause as she pulled her cell phone out and started to tap at it.
Was this it? Was this his precious 'first flag'? Yes, surely that had to be it! Here he was, and here she was, and the two of them were alone, and she seemed to be going somewhere, but needed help if that tapping on her phone was any indication. He would offer to help, she would accept, he'd help her home, she would be grateful, he'd suggest meeting again, she would accept, and then . . .
Had an outside observer been watching at that point they would have seen a glasses wearing young man staring into space with a slightly unhinged smile on his face as he mumbled inarticulate nonsense, and occasionally drooled on himself.
As had been stated before, Sorimachi was a young man that had strayed from the path of what could be considered a 'correct human being'.
He was brought out of his increasingly delusional thoughts as he heard a strange buzzing noise begin to fill the hall. It didn't sound like a machine that had broken or anything like that. This was an oddly organic noise, sort of like the drone of a bee's wings, but at the same time different. It was louder, more forceful, somehow . . . sharper. For some reason the image of razor blades beating the air in a blur came to mind. He glanced back to Illya-chan, wondering how she was reacting to the strange sound, but was surprised by what he saw.
She was still tapping at her cell phone, seemingly uncaring of the noise. No, that wasn't it. Sorimachi's eyes widened as the sound grew louder, no, not louder, it was getting closer. It was definitely getting closer, and still the snowy haired girl didn't react. It wasn't that she was ignoring it; it was that she couldn't hear it at all!
The strange noise rose to a crescendo that was intense enough to make his eyes water. Then it cut off as though sliced with a knife. The glasses wearing boy actually stumbled at the sudden change, and the sound of his foot squeaking on the floor did what the strange noise had failed to do, and drew the girl's attention.
"Huh? What are-"
Whatever she might have been about to ask was cut off as . . . something suddenly shot down the corridor and hit her in the back of the head. The glasses wearing boy had no idea what it was, it had just been so fast. It hadn't been glowing or anything like that, but at the same time it hadn't been solid either. The closest his mind could come to identifying the blur was as a fast moving ball of perfectly see-through glass, but even that only came near being accurate.
What was even stranger was that even though it had struck Illya at such speeds that even if it was made of soggy newspaper it should have snapped her neck like a cheap straw she was perfectly fine. She just stumbled forwards a couple of steps, then straightened up with an expression of mild confusion on her face. What was of greater concern though was that her eyes were . . . wrong. They were just a bit too glassy, their colour just a bit paler than it had been only a moment before. She looked in his direction, but it was also clear that she wasn't seeing him; rather she was just looking through him, as though he was just part of the furniture. Then she turned and walked away.
Sorimachi had no idea what it was that he had just seen, but he did know that something was very, very, wrong here. He took a step forward, unsure of what he was going to do. Maybe he would shout after her, maybe he would grab his own cell phone and call the police, maybe he would rush off to find her brother and see if he had any idea of what the hell was going on. Each of those options flickered through his mind, but before he could settle on any one of them he saw another of those strange . . . things.
This time there was no noise of build up, instead it just flashed into being and hit him in the face before he could properly register it was there.
And then his thoughts just stopped. It wasn't that they froze in fear or shock, that would have been more normal. Rather it was as though he had suddenly lost the ability to form any sort of thought, all he could do was just stand there, his mind as empty as the void between stars.
Yet even without a conscious mind he could hear things where his thoughts should have been, impressions of communications that he was somehow privy to, even though they cared no more for him than they did for an ant upon the ground.
-. . . irce, why take him too? You already have the girl under your spell.-
-He has seen it take her, he might well raise the alarm, even speak to her brother. If he is swift and clever then it is possible that he will be able to let him know in time to keep her from us.-
-Then kill him, he cannot speak if he is dead.-
Hearing that should have frightened him. It should have left him struggling to be free so he could run, so he could fight, so he could do something. Instead he just stood there, the words as meaningless to him as the chirping of a bird in a tree.
-No. If he were to die his body may be found, that could be enough of a signal to alert others. Emiya Shirou might hear, and it might be enough to let him deduce our goals.-
-Then destroy his body. Turn him to ash and scatter him to the winds.-
-. . . No, his presence might be missed. I shall simply take the memories of these last few moments from him. He will know no better, and there shall be no clues.-
-Very well, if you so wish. Just make it fast!-
And . . . Sorimachi blinked as he stumbled forward. What had that been? It was as though he'd lost his train of thought for a moment. Shaking his head he tried to get his thoughts in order. Let's see; he had been mourning the loss of the chance to implement the maid café scheme, then he had consoled himself with the thought that there was always next year. After that . . . what had it been? It had been something about a girl? A girl with pale hair?
That was it! He was due to play that new game he'd bought the other day, 'Super Heart Catcher Onii-chan Supreme'! How could he have been so foolish as to forget? All those virtual little sisters waiting for him, he could waste no more time.
But . . . there was a sense that there was something else he was forgetting, something that slipped away even as he tried to get a grip on it.
Ah well, it probably wasn't important.
-()-
Circe most certainly did not let out a sigh of relief as she watched the young mortal wander off. To do so would have meant revealing weakness, and that wasn't something she could afford right now.
She was fortunate that Odysseus had accepted her reasoning for sparing his life, though he was just another mortal she would have felt unclean in just cutting his already short existence off so much sooner than it needed to be. As it was the only issue she'd had to deal with in regards to him was being careful with her spell. If she wasn't then it was all too easy for her spell to break the mind that she was trying to alter, and quite frankly this mortal had possessed a slightly smaller mind than most of the mortals she had encountered before. Not only that, his mind was also one of the more breakable ones that she'd ever come across, reminding her of those delicate porcelain sculptures that she'd seen in the past.
She'd had to exert a normally unnecessary level of control over her magic to avoid damaging him, but she'd manage it in the end. Judging by the way he was wandering away in a hurried but unaggravated manner there seemed to be no difficulties.
Quite unlike what she'd had to deal with when bewitching the white haired girl.
That had proven to be more of a challenge than she'd been anticipating. The girl had been shielded by a number of surprisingly sophisticated and potent magical defences of both the form and the mind. Her spell had been divinely empowered, cast with the knowledge that was both intrinsic to her and accumulated from millennia of practice, and even so there had been resistance. Her spell had been equal to the challenge though, and it had forced its way through her protections.
Still, there was a vast gulf between difficult and impossible, and while the girl was a wonderfully talented magic user, Circe was a goddess of magic.
For the time being the girl was under her control, but that control was tenuous at best. She could not force the girl to attack her brother, or reveal secrets; her mental fortifications were too strong for that. Fortunately that was not what was needed from her, and the events the goddess of the Dawn wished for were already in motion.
For the first time in more than an hour Circe allowed her muscles to relax. Granted, due to her injuries and the artificial limbs she was using she had fewer muscles than she normally would, but that didn't keep the ones she had from growing tired.
It had been . . . difficult to find the girl. Scrying was not an art that the wounded goddess was strong in. True, her mastery of magic did include such spells, but they were not ones that she used often or had any affinity for. Still, her efforts had allowed her to locate the girl, and then keep watch on her without alerting any of those with her as to what was happening. That had been a difficult task in and of itself. For most of the day she had been in the company of her brother, and Campione, even ones who didn't specialize in detection magic, had a dangerous habit of noticing such things, even when they had no rational means to notice them.
Things had grown worse as the day continued, with them meeting up with the other Devil King of the land, then later not only running into him again, but also being joined by a powerful goddess and arguably the most skilled of the Divine Ancestors. Circe had maintained a death grip upon the spells of concealment that she was using to obscure her scrying, every line of power and magic maintained with desperate perfection as she struggled to ensure that none of them would sense her.
It had worked though, none of them had noticed a thing, and in the end the opportunity she'd been waiting for had arrived when the white haired girl had gone off on her own. Now she was on her way, heading towards the spot that Ahriman had chosen earlier.
The question remained though, the question he hadn't seen fit to enlighten her upon. What did he want her for?
-()-
Illya blinked.
That was all it took, she blinked and shook her head to clear the cobwebs cluttering it.
What . . . what was this? Looking around she saw that she was in an alleyways between two buildings. Contrary to what anime and films had taught her the alley was not cluttered with discarded rubbish, nor where there any convenient air vents releasing steam that fogged the air in a suitably dramatic manner. Instead the alleyway was clear and almost insultingly free of graffiti or trash.
All of this flicked through her mind in the first second as she came back into focus, then was immediately discarded as a far more pertinent question came to mind.
Why was she here?
The last thing she remembered clearly was going down some stairs back at the school. She'd just pulled out her cell phone to see about calling a taxi service and then . . . what?
There was a blank spot in her memory and then she was here. No, wait. It wasn't quite blank, instead it felt . . . fuzzy, as though the memories were there, but clouded over to the point where she couldn't make them out. There had been a . . . glow? A shimmer? A flicker of motion? Something that come at her from the corner of her eye. Something that she'd had to . . . follow? Follow here?
All of this went through the Einzbern heiress's mind in a tick of a second, but as soon as it did it led her to one inevitable conclusion.
This was a kidnapping, and she was the victim. She wasn't quite sure how she was here, but time had passed and she couldn't remember it. Glancing down she saw that she was wearing her outdoor shoes, shoes that she always took off after she entered the manor. Then there was that vague recollection of a light that she'd had to follow. Had she come here under some sort of compulsion?
She acted immediately, no hesitation. Her hand dropped into a small extra pocket that she had personally sewn into the lining of her dress. It was not the most professional job, and the stitching was amateurish at best, but it had been secure enough and it hadn't shown, and that had been the important part. Inside was concealed a small token, only the size of five yen coin, one that she had carefully engraved with a number of designs and formulas.
Making Mystic Codes like this wasn't really Illya's style. She liked larger and more intricate ones; ones that made the use of her Alchemy Thaumaturgy feel more worthwhile. This was in no way complex or sophisticated; it was a brute force approach that was about as subtle as a hammer. This was a distress call, pure and simple. Once she activated it all the stored prana that she had shoved into the metal would discharge in the single task of sending a signal to Shirou, letting him know where she was and that she was in danger.
Prana ran through her magic circuits as she readied to use the small mystic code, but just as she was about to she hesitated. Should she send the signal? What if that was what her kidnapper wanted, to use her to lure Shirou into a trap. That made more sense than she liked, after all, what other reason was there for them to bring her here and then release her from whatever control they had used to bring her here in the first place? If the plan was to draw Shirou into a trap then maybe she shouldn't use the signal?
No! She mustn't over think things, that way lay only hesitation and indecision. Her prana leapt to the token, the magical energy acting like a spark touching gunpowder. The sound of a sudden crack filled the alley as a pulse of magic was released,
Released and stopped.
Illya watching in stunned horror as the pulse was interrupted by a shield, one that seemed to cancel out the distress signal she was trying to send.
How . . . ? What . . . ? No, she couldn't let herself be overwhelmed! She had been brought here, she had been isolated, and her best means of making her situation known had been countered in what was clearly a prepared methods. That meant . . .
Immediately she was on full guard, her prana rushing through her magic circuits and her defences being reinforced as she pushed extra power into them. Though she wasn't physically powerful Illya had still been well prepared for the Fifth Holy Grail War when she had entered it. Except for Sakura after she had fallen to Angra Mainyu she had unquestionably been the strongest of all the Masters in the war. Kirei and Caster's Master might have been superior to her in terms of combat training, but there came a point where skill could not overcome raw power. Rin had been no slouch when it came to fighting; the result of the training Kirei had foisted onto her, but even she had been largely helpless against Illya in their first meeting.
Still, her skills in the creation of Storch Ritter had given her access to more in terms of firepower than any of the other Masters, at least until Shirou had begun to Trace Noble Phantasms anyway. Combined with Berserker she had made for possibly the single greatest force in the War. Part of that preparation had included mental protection, since if one Master could get control of another then it would put them at a huge advantage. In the Fifth War Caster had been the only player on the board with that kind of capability, at least as far as Illya knew based on Shirou's stories of how the other versions of him had fared in their Wars, but she was more focused upon the Servants than the Masters.
Still, maintaining mental defences had been a habit of Illya's that she had kept up even after coming to this new world. She maintained them through the day, she maintained them while she was asleep, they were almost as much a part of the life as the simple act of breathing.
Her eyes widened as the implications hit home, and in the next moment her hands darted to her head even as she mentally summoned her imitation Berserker. The hairs in her hands surged with prana, and in the next instant two glowing blue wire frames in the shapes of birds floated next to her. Before her the enormous form of her false Servant materialized, the massive tower shields on his arms making him look more like a mobile fortification than a living being.
Her defences had been breached, she had been brought here through some sort of hypnosis or compulsion, one that had utterly bypassed what should have stopped it. Protection of her mind wasn't her speciality, but her education in that matter had not been shoddy, indeed it had been extensive. Anything that had been able to slip through without alerting her in any way was far outside anything that a mortal should have been able to accomplish, not with the sheer power that Illya could allocate to her protection.
That meant that whoever did this to her was backed by divine power. It could be a mortal that used the spell, but even so Illya was sure that it would need some sort of divine aspect to it to so easily slip through all her protection.
Who though? That was the question. Was it another group like the Circle, trying to use her as a bargaining piece against Shirou? Was it a god that had come to challenge him? There were simply too many possibi-
"Ah, the princess has left her castle, has she? Such a shame, for her to be so far from home."
The words dripped into her ears, like honey mixed with acid. For a moment she felt her head swim, the unnatural cadence of the voice seeming to reverberate inside her skull longer and harder than sound should have. Blinking she shook her head and looked about her, trying to see where the voice was coming from. In front of her, her puppet Berserker moved to ensure one side of the alley was totally cut off by his impressive bulk. If anyone was to come at her it would have to be from the other direction. Turning, so that her back was to her false Servant, Illya glared into the shadows about her. For a moment she experienced another moment of disorientation, this time as she struggled to control both herself and her puppet. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't have been nearly so difficult, but that voice . . . it had left her head swimming.
Again she shook her head, forcing her thoughts to sharpen, forcing her control to reassert itself. Had that been another mental attack? If so then it had been effective, her defences were raised and fortified, but it had slipped through without even setting off any her defensive spells. Was it an assault on a purely spiritual level? If so then it would be bypassing any protections that she placed on her nervous system or the like. Even defending her brain matter wouldn't be enough if the attack was targeting her soul directly. There were ways to protect against purely spiritual interference, but they were not undertaken lightly and often incurred a cost of their own.
Damn it. Illya bit back on cursing at the world in general as she tried to spot her attacker. This was not a good situation, not at all.
Her internal debate as to her next course of action was brought to a halt as she saw something through her false Berserker's eyes. The light at that end of the alley suddenly dimmed as though someone had dropped a blanket over the bulb. To normal eyes all that would have been seen would have been a murk that could barely be seen through, but her puppet had superior senses to any mortal, a benefit of the demigod it had been copied from.
Through its eyes she could see a figure standing in the mouth of the alley. Its appearance was something of a surprise; she had been expecting mages in robes, or perhaps a god in armour. Instead it was a man clad in strangely normal clothing, shirt, trousers, shoes, all of them the sort of thing you could find on any man walking down the street at this time of the year. Rather than its appearance it was the stance and movements of the figure that were strange. Even through the enhanced sight of her creation Illya couldn't put her finger on it; all she knew was that there was something fundamentally wrong about the person that she saw.
"Oh, what is this that you show me?"
Again the voice reverberated in her head. Not loud, not piercing. It was just there, bouncing around inside her skull, impossible to ignore or dismiss. Had an alien worm eaten its way through her ear and invaded her mind it could not have felt like more of an intrusion. Still, the Einzbern heiress clung to her control this time, fighting off the waves of dizziness and nausea that assailed her along with the voice. Instead she forced her puppet to take a lumbering step forward, raising its arm in preparation to use one of the tower shields to smash the figure flat.
There was none of the normal grace and control that the false Servant normally possessed. With her mind reeling as it was Illya was unable to properly tap into the muscle memory of Heracles' copy. Still, it didn't need its normal speed and precision, the figure was just . . . standing there. It . . . he? Was just shifting its weight, rocking slightly from side to side, but that was all. The figure made no move to dodge or retreat as the massive form of the fake Servant bore down upon them.
"I feel power from this one, divinity that has been refined and tempered by both legend and prowess. Yet it feels hollow, as though I am staring at a carved stone wrought in homage to the hero behind such a power. Is that what this is? Is this an imitation of a hero god?"
This time it was less about disorientation than it was about the growing pain between her temples. Illya's hands were pressed against the sides of her head, but it didn't seem to help. That didn't matter though, pain she could deal with, pain she could fight through. Pain, it was an old friend.
The steps of her puppet firmed as her focus sharpened. She wasn't at her best, not by a long way, but she was better, sharper, enough so that she could do this!
The shield came down, its spiked edge aimed to pierce the figure's chest, but the blow missed, slamming down into the pavement instead. The concrete cracked as though struck by a falling meteor, but that was of no importance to Illya, her full attention was upon the figure she could still see through her puppet's eyes.
"Such strength, so small a demonstration, yet I can see what is held within. And the potency of this divinity, I almost feel that I face another god."
It wasn't movement; the figure hadn't taken a step or thrown themselves to the side in order to dodge her attack. Instead there had been a . . . distortion was the only way she could think to describe it. There had been a distortion in the world about him, and suddenly he was no longer where he had been. It wasn't teleportation, at least not any sort that she was familiar with, of that she was sure. He, she, it, whatever this was it hadn't moved itself; instead it had distorted the world so that where it was was no longer where it actually was. It was nauseating, simply being close to the effect caused her stomach to roil, but she didn't let it distract her. Instead she swung again. Maybe she couldn't hit the figure, but she could force it to move again and again. That ability couldn't be something that could be used repeatedly, not with the way it worked. Different as this world might be to her home one certain rules still remained similar, and distorting the world in that manner wasn't something that could be done repeatedly without consequence.
Just what those consequences might be she had no idea, but chances were they wouldn't be pleasant for the one that invoked them.
"But this is not another of my ilk, is it? I know not how you have succeeded in doing so, but you have created a divine doll, a creature possessing divinity when it is not truly alive. A laudable feat, for a mortal."
So, this was a god that she was dealing with. Not good, not good at all. Illya had no illusions as to her ability to contend with a Heretic God. With her puppet and her Noble Phantasm she could conceivably fight one, but the fact was that she lacked the means to break one's immortality as well as the sheer firepower to finish them off. It might be possible for her false Servant to do both, given that it possessed its own fake divinity, but she lacked the skill in combat to use it to its fullest potential, meaning that unless the god she was fighting just stood there and let her hit him or her without raising any sort of defence then her chances were minimal at best.
But . . . she didn't need to win, only get away. It wouldn't be easy, but it should be within her abilities, at least she thought it might be. It all depended upon what this god could do, on what their Authorities were. If this was a god of the hunt then she had no chance at all, their core concept of power was to catch and bring down their targets. Others, such as gods of the forge or the like, she had a better chance of evading. Not a good chance, but it was a chance none the less.
"A false divinity, a hollow one with nothing within. There is some potential there, something that could be of use to me, but I have other plans. There will be time later, I imagine, time that I can use to explore such possibilities further. Until then it would be best if I remain true to my original goal."
There was pain, but she blocked it out. This time her imitation Berserker swung far faster and sharper, the air whistling as the massive steel shield passed through it. It didn't help though, once again there was the sense of distortion, and then the figure was no longer in front of her puppet. Instead he, and it was a he, was right in front of her.
Now that she could get a better look at the figure she could see other things that were wrong about it, the way it was too thin, the way its clothes hung off him like the rags of a scarecrow. It was a he, but she got the impression that no matter the physical appearance there was something else in it, under the skin, something not so easily categorized. All of that wasn't very relevant though, what was of greater importance was that the figure in question was barely more than a couple of metres away from her.
The false Servant spun in place, an oddly graceful movement that shouldn't have been possible for something so large. This time there was no measured cut or skilful chop; Illya didn't have the time or concentration to spare. Instead both of the massive shields came down with every scrap of force she could but behind them. It wasn't skilled or refined, it was more akin to a fly swatter crossed with a sledge hammer, but in that moment it was the best that she could manage.
She wasn't expecting it to strike, not with the ability that this figure had been demonstrating up to this point, but she hoped it would be enough to force him away, enough to buy her some breathing room.
To her immense surprise the figure didn't move, instead he remained in place as the shields came down. His face was cast in shadows by the poor lighting and his own lank hair falling across his face, but the Einzbern heir was fairly certain that he had been looking at her the entire time. And that he kept looking at her right up to the point that he vanished beneath the crushing impact of the shields.
It was the noise, more than anything else that caused Illya's mind to reel and her stomach to roil, and this time there was no magical component to it. The . . . crackling as those shields came down, the sound of all those bones breaking at once, then the wet squishing thud as metal pounded pulped flesh against concrete. It made her fear she was about to hurl up every scrap of food that she'd eaten today.
Why? Why was she feeling like this? Back during the Holy Grail War she'd never had any qualms about killing the other masters. She'd tried to kill Rin on their first meeting without any hesitation. Granted, she hadn't been trying very hard, but at the same time if Rin hadn't been as skilled as she had been Illya wouldn't have hesitated to cut her down without a second thought. Why did it make her sick now? Even as the question rose in her she could already guess at the answer. When she had entered the Holy Grail War it had been after years of interaction and training with her family, and by the standards of common society the upbringing her magi family had given her was far from conducive to a 'healthy' mindset. Magi had a far lower regard for life than 'normal' people did, and it had been in that mindset that Illya had been raised.
But since arriving in this world she had been exposed to a great deal more of the world than she ever had before. She had met more people, formed more connections, emotional bonds, all sorts of things. She was a great deal more aware of the values that civilized society placed more value on due to the simple act of having become enamoured of various forms of media entertainment. Killing didn't come so easily, not when she had a better idea of why it was regarded as wrong.
"Well, that mortal was already at the end of his usefulness, his loss is no great failing at this point."
Illya's head snapped up so fast that she was sure she felt a small click at the back of her neck. In the pulped remains of the figure something was standing. It didn't seem to mind that part of the left shield that her false Servant wielded was still occupying the same place as where its legs should have been, it simply stood there regardless, as uncaring as a ghost that someone was walking through.
The new apparition was vaguely human shaped in outline, but that was the sum total of its similarity to a mortal. It was dark. No, dark wasn't strong enough a world, it was a black so pitch that it seemed to draw in all colour and annihilate it in its depths. Illya could only look for a brief moment, then had to turn away as her eyes began to water and her head thumped in pain.
Instead she just lashed out, her puppet Berserker smashing down once in an attempt to obliterate this thing that was just . . . wrong. Intellectually she knew that it was unlikely to work, that she had already tried this and it had produced no discernable response, but she wasn't thinking quite rationally. At that point all she wanted was to destroy this thing!
"No, that shall be enough."
Her actions did accomplish something though; they drove the black monstrosity to act. Almost negligently it raised one arm to intercept the oncoming blows, and the shields, weapons driven by enough force to cave in the sides of the most armoured battleship ever made by man, stopped as though they were feathers swung against a mountain.
"Strength is not enough, not when faced with the eternity of all of mankind's sins and curses."
The world distorted again, and this time Illya couldn't quite keep her bile down. The taste of stomach acid flooded her mouth for a moment before she managed to swallow it back down on pure reflex. Even as it happened her head swam again, her thoughts derailed as the world lurched around her. Instinctively she reached out to her puppet, trying to use the false Servant as an anchor, a firm spot to orient herself upon.
It wasn't there.
As her thoughts cleared she forced herself to focus upon her creation, what had happened to it? Where was it?
In the next instant she gasped in pain as shards of splintered glass seemed to be slowly pushing themselves into her brain. The connection was still there, the strange Master/Servant bond she had forged with the effigy of her one time Servant, but it was a screeching mutilated mess of its former self. Her false Servant had been forcefully astralized. No, not just that. If astralization was stepping though a door from one state to the next this was the equivalent of being forcefully driven through the door while it was still closed. The fake Berserker felt torn up and lacerated, not dead but certainly more injured than it had ever been since its creation. She couldn't bring it to her side, not now, not as it was. Right now it lacked the strength to materialize, something it would recover in time, but not for days yet.
What . . . no, who was this? It had said 'all the sins and curses', why did that sound so familiar?
Illya bit down on another curse as she leant against the alleys wall. She needed to think, to plan, to work out a way to escape, but try as she might it was as though her head was full of razor wool. Thinking hurt, and at the same time her thoughts were too clouded to let her focus enough to get through. She . . . she had to get away! That was the only coherent thought in her head. Get away, get away, get awa-
"There is no escape."
The hand closed around the back of her neck, pulling her away from the wall and leaving her dangling as her knees sagged. At least, she thought it was a hand. Some small part of her noted that the shape of the unseen appendage holding her felt like a hand, in that she could feel the fingers and the palm pressing against her skin, but at the same time it felt wrong. The grip felt cold, not cold as in frozen, but rather as though its touch was leeching the heat out of her. More than that though, the hand itself felt unnatural, the fingers too long, too strong, possessing too many joints. It felt too soft; the flesh like sponge over a core of metal, yet the surface of it seemed to crawl as it touched her skin.
Of course, it was only a small part of her that noticed this, the vast majority of her simply wanted to lash out.
In a normal girl this would have resulted in much screaming and thrashing, but Illya was far from a normal girl. Indeed, she was far from a normal magus. In her position, confused and unfocused, the vast majority of magi would not have been able to bring their thaumaturgy to bear, not without risking injuring themselves even more than their targets. Magecraft was a dangerous art, and using it while in a less the coherent mental state was normally a good way to get ones self killed in a painful way. Illya was not an average magi though, she had been modified and altered in ways that most magic using families would never have conceived of, and she had been of superior magical stock even before those alterations had been made. Even more than that, her Sorcery Trait lent itself well to the circumstance, Wish Craft basically being the act of using raw power to achieve an effect without the intervening steps being taken.
Even though her mind was reeling and her senses swum about her some things had been trained into the snowy haired girl until they were as much a part of her as the marrow in her bones. Even as she panicked she didn't do so uselessly. She still had the hairs in her hands, and as she was lifted she reflexively drove a massive amount of prana into them, forcing the actions of the Mystery that she manifested.
The two glowing blue wire silhouette birds immediately began to move. These familiar-like Mystic Codes were a well trained fallback that Illya had reached for without thought. They were useful in that they were largely autonomous in the execution of their programming, and that was set up to be a part of them as soon as they manifested. Protect Illya, attack the designated targets, it was somewhat simple, but the execution was elegant, and most importantly did not require her direct control.
The birds reacted immediately, changing forms from avian into swords. This was Degen, a more offensive oriented shape than the Zelle form they had been in. There was no hesitation whatsoever, the Mystic Codes' rudimentary cognition recognizing the potency of the foe they faced and right away using their strongest offensive option. With a speed that would have been suitable for the swords that Shirou fired in combat the wire form swords shot through the air, bypassing Illya's own body by mere millimetres, and stabbed into the black form of her attacker.
They might as well have been sticks thrust into a tar pit.
"Not enough, little princess. An admirable attempt, I'm sure, but still not enough."
Then all Illya knew was that oblivion seemed to take the world.
-()-
Circe watched as Ahriman flowed into the girl, and wondered just when she had lost herself.
She was a goddess of the dawn, a mistress of magic, a mother of light. Her nature was to be the bride of heroes, to stand beside the glorious and the righteous, in the past she had dethroned wicked kings, sent sinners to their deaths. Once, when she had learnt that a man and his daughters had murdered one of the daughter's husbands in order to steal his wealth she had transformed the man into a swine, then tricked the daughters into slaughtering and eating him, such had been her outrage at their crime.
Yet here she was, standing by and doing nothing as her fellow god violated this young girl. She knew she should do something, she knew she should act in the defence of this young magic user, but even as the thought rose in her mind it was swamped and drowned by fear.
It could be her. It would be so easy for her to be in the place of that child, for her to be the one that Ahriman was invading, violating and consuming. In the face of that, along with the knowledge that in her weakened state there was nothing she could do to defend herself, her remaining courage could find no footing. She hated this feeling, she hated herself, and she hated Odysseus for placing her in this situation, but no matter how much she hated she could not bring herself to move, her fear held her in a cold and cruel grip.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"
Odysseus, on the other hand, seemed to retain the seemingly suicidal bravery that had led him to ally with Ahriman in the first place. How he could be so fearless in his address to the demon god was beyond her, but then so was much of his thoughts and rationale these days.
"We need her alive, not as a hollowed out husk! If Emiya Shirou learns of this then there will be nothing to hold him back, nothing that we can use! What were you thinking? Did you just forget everything that we discussed earlier, is that it?!"
In total disregard for the danger he was placing himself in the hero god had stalked right up to the possessed form of the girl and was glaring down at her.
"What are we supposed to do now? With her dead then there's nothing to be done! Do you really think that someone like that son of Pandora will fail to learn about her death? Even if it is hidden from him now by the spells that Circe has cast it will not take him long to learn the truth, and when he does we will have no way to direct him. Oh, we can use ourselves as bait, but I don't trust him not to come with all his allies to aid him, and then what?! Do you think to fight them all at once? Are you so eager for him to take even more from you?!"
He wasn't quite shouting, but it was getting there. For one of the very few times in her entire existence Circe felt a drop of sweat run down the side of her neck. Mentally she began to prepare a spell to carry her away. She had no idea if Ahriman's word would hold him, but Odysseus was pushing, he was pushing far more than a sane mortal or god ever would. She couldn't imagine that the god of evil would so casually accept such disrespect, no matter how earned it might be.
So she was very surprised when it was amusement rather than rage which appeared on the possessed girl's face.
"Oh Odysseus, there is no need for such concern. I have not been so crude in my efforts with this child, as you say; it would make her useless to us. Rest assured that she yet lives. Indeed, I could easily return control of her flesh to her and abandon her form without her being any the worse for it, of that you have my assurance."
His, well, more like her; voice was different from how it had been before. It was still the girl's voice, but there was an echo to it, as though there were another voice saying the same words as her, but just a fraction of a second slower. This second voice was like hers, feminine and young, but there was a harshness to it, a subtle rasp, a jagged edge, that had not been present before. In a way it was even more disturbing that his earlier distorted voice, regardless of this one being more 'normal'.
"So she's still alive then? I would have thought your very presence within her would have been enough to destroy her mind."
Odysseus said it so casually, unmindful of just who he was speaking of.
"Very much so. After all, a living shield is far better protection than a dead one. How do you think this thief shall fight me now? Will he cut me? Will he burn me? How can he when to touch me he must first cut his way through the flesh of his own dear sister?"
Ah, so that was what the plan was. It was cruel, but Circe could see the reason behind it. The hostage became both sword and shield against the young God Slayer they hunted, assuming he didn't have a heart of stone, of course.
The possessed child stared down at her hands, the fingers extended, and moving as though stroking the keys on an invisible instrument. The goddess of the dawn could sense magic flickering about the digits, magic with a surprising amount of power behind it.
"Yes, this girl is strong, very strong for a mortal. I feel no divine blood in her ancestry, but she has the strength to match the gifts of those only a few generations removed from a godly progenitor. This is a form that can endure my presence far longer than a normal mortal would, we need feel no rush to face the thief, we have time to ensure the details of our plot."
There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Ahriman's new voice.
"Good," Odysseus nodded at the possessed girl's words, "Then you can inform us on more of our quarry's secrets. Can you reach her memories as you did the other mortal?"
"Of course I can." Ahriman replied. "It is no great task, I need only . . . I need . . . I . . . I . . . wait, there is . . . this is something . . ."
For the first time Circe heard doubt in the voice of the dark god. No, more than just doubt, there was also confusion there. Perhaps even a small trace of bewilderment.
"What is it?" Odysseus asked.
"There is a . . . wall, some sort of screen that is keeping me from her deeper memories. There are small things, such as her feelings for her adopted brother, long buried resentments and angers, but there is no detail to them. There is no knowledge of her and her brother's past, no information upon the nature of his strengths and weaknesses. It is all held behind these battlements that she has erected within her own mind."
"Then tear them down!" The declaration was only just shy of being an order. "Surely some mortal's defences are no match for your Authorities. Break her walls and take the knowledge that we seek."
"I can't," Ahriman replied, frustration clear in 'her' voice. "My strength is great enough to break her protection, but the defenses are tied to the knowledge that I seek. If I were to break them then I would break her mind as well, and then the very knowledge that I seek would be shattered beyond my ability to retrieve."
"What?"
The single word was spoken so flatly that it was almost funny, but Circe had no inclination to mirth. She had some idea of what the evil deity was speaking about, but she could scarcely believe that a child like this could have implemented such a mental defence; such was normally the purview of the older and more fanatical mages of the world.
The basis behind it was fairly simple, once one accepted that they could not win the only recourse was to ensure that the opponent would gain nothing from that victory. There were a number of gods, mainly those of fear and dreams, that could take the minds and memories of mortals to use for their own purposes, and in some circles they were intensely feared. So a defence, of sorts, had been developed to deal with them, one that took advantage of how fragile mortal minds were. When a deity broke those defences they also broke the mind they were protecting, meaning that in their victory they destroyed the very thing they sought to gain.
That this child was using something similar was . . . surprising to say the least, but it was also probably the only defence that she could have mounted that would have been able to stand up to Ahriman's possession. It was indicative of considerable determination, but it was not good for their cause.
"They shall be mine in time," Ahriman spoke with assurance. "Strong though her defences are they shall not last against me. Like a cliff eaten by the ocean they shall slowly crumble, and it shall be without breaking what lies behind them. In the meantime she shall serve our purpose as a tool against her sibling; her defences have no bearing upon that."
Odysseus paused for a moment, then nodded. It was a slow nod, but it did acknowledge what the other god said.
"Yes, it might not be all that we were hoping for, but it is more than nothing, and it will be more than enough, if we use her well. There is still more to be done, Emiya Shirou's allies must be scattered so they cannot come to his aid. But with this girl we do have a blade that can pierce his armour."
"Indeed," Ahriman agreed. "Much is concealed, but there is no covering the love that this girl bears for her brother, and there are echoes in her mind, even if they are concealed. He has faced much for her, things that were terrible and great. Gods have been slain by his desire to keep her safe; it should be enough to paralyse his hand when we come for him."
Circe remained silent; she did nothing to draw attention to herself, and simply tried to remain a shadow to the two other deities, something they would not notice. In the depths of her heart she really had no true love for the Children of Pandora. Oh, in the past she had taken some of their number as beloveds, but they had been those that stood upon their own merits, those that had succeeded in drawing her eye with their heroic nature. The rest of them, the tyrants, the rulers, the guardians, the conquerors, they were of no real interest to her. perhaps she might have been able to love this Emiya Shirou, what little she had heard of him from Odysseus before his madness had made her think so, but that was of no moment now.
Even so, as she saw what had been done to his sister and heard of the venom that saturated every one of Ahriman's words she felt sorrow for this King of Steel.
He had no idea what fate awaited him.
