Chapter 6: Johan Manipulates A Paraplegic

As Jekyll stalked towards Shakespeare, one hand fishing in his pocket for something, the playwright gathered his wits and boomed, "Now, my good sir! I've nary an idea of which you speak, but assuredly, you must have the wrong person!"

Jekyll let out a dark chuckle. "Perhaps that might seem the case from your perspective, but I have been afforded a...unique perspective on this farce of a war. No matter; even if it is for sins yet to pass, your life is forfeit nonetheless!"

As he snarled this last, Jekyll's hand emerged from his pocket, a small, rose-adorned phial containing a pinkish liquid clutched in his hand.

"Come now, blaming a man for something he's not done is like shooting the messenger! It's a tragedy in the making and I won't even be there to record it," Shakespeare argued as he tried to back away from the advancing man.

Ignoring the Caster's protests, Jekyll lifted the vial to his mouth, tore the cork from it, and downed it in one gulp, snarling, "Noble Phantasm! Dangerous Game!"

The vial and scalpel fell from twitching fingers as Berserker's body began to twitch violently. He let out a blood-curdling howl as he grasped his head and hunched over, his flesh roiling like storm-tossed water.

Scurrying back, the playwright snapped his hand before him, stumbling over his words as he chanted, "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player! That struts and frets his hour upon the stage – First Folio!"

And then the world was light.

-x-x-x-

As the light of First Folio faded, Shakespeare found himself in a house. As he looked around the room, he saw that he was in the sitting room of a fairly nice Victorian house. A fire crackled merrily in a fireplace, and numerous shelves full of books lined the walls. A pair of chairs faced the fire, and Shakespeare could see the unidentified Berserker slumped in the chair, asleep. The other Servant's face was far more peaceful than it had been in his office, Shakespeare noted.

The other chair, though, contrasted heavily with the homey feel of the room. It was mangled and damp, barely held together by its wooden frame and scraps of cloth.

Looking about, the brunet Servant narrowed his eyes as he took in the setting. His fingers dusting over surfaces as he strode about the main room. The sole window to the outside revealed a howling void, but even then, it felt like it was the next step in the journey. He chuckled a bit as he eyed the sleeping Berserker.

"My, my, how dreadfully dreary a mind you have for one so enraged," Shakespeare said as his eyes drifted across the spines of the books. "I'd have thought you'd have had a more tempestuous mind, something to make me think back to the great work of Titus Andronichus. But you've presented me with this. Come now, come now, wake up my good sir, so that I might find out just what makes you tick!"

The brunet clapped his hands a few times before the sleeper's face, and shook him when he didn't respond. Eventually, it became clear that what he was touching was an empty shell; alive, true, but empty nonetheless. Whoever Berserker was, his mind was somewhere else...and Shakespeare could guess where. "Truly, I must now take after the great heroes of today, and step into the great beyond. What a thrill, though it's not as fantastical as their journey!"

There was an almost jaunty skip to his step as he headed for the door, a grin on his face as he reached for the doorknob. Oh, he was so curious as to just what might be waiting for him. What might this give him to write about?

As Shakespeare crossed the threshold into the yawning void, he heard the door snap shut behind him. When he looked back, the house was nowhere to be seen. In all directions, there was naught but abyss. Undeterred, the pernicious playwright sallied forth into the looming black, his feet finding purchase on a path made of nightmares.

After walking for what he guessed was about five minutes, Shakespeare started to feel...something. He couldn't quite place it; had he been a Servant with any inclination or experience in combat, he'd probably have been able to tell what it was...but he was a scholar, and so William Shakespeare continued walking, blissfully unaware of how he was walking directly into the jaws of the beast.

In the space between one step and the next, there was a rush of wind and a burst of searing pain.

The arm that held Caster's Folio had vanished, torn off and cast into the infinite dark.

Even as he inhaled to let out a bellow of pain, his breath was stolen away by the massive, pitch-black claw erupted through his back and out of his chest, clutching his heart in its hands. As his vision faded to white, he felt razor-sharp fangs dig into the flesh of his neck. An inhuman growling echoed in his ears as his Noble Phantasm destabilized.

-x-x-x-

Shakespeare's eyes snapped open, raw terror surging through his veins as he looked about, confused by the fact that he was back in his study. He went through a quick check of his body parts, eyes scanning around as he tried to steady his breathing. He wasn't quite sure as to what he'd just experienced and what had happened.

Never before had he ever experienced such a reaction to his First Folio, nor was he sure that he was entirely intact.

As his eyes scanned his studio, his eyes came to rest on an unfamiliar shape, hulking, black, and covered in coarse, stiff fur. The...creature was slumped on the ground a few paces away from him, exactly where the Berserker had been prior to his Noble Phantasm's activation.

It didn't take a rocket surgeon to discern that the well-dressed Servant and the man-sized black beast were one and the same. Thankfully, though, the monster seemed to still be unconscious, likely due to the effects of his Noble Phantasm.

Slowly, carefully, Shakespeare struggled to his feet, raising a gloved hand to his head as a spike of pain shot through his mind. He felt a wetness on his lips, and when he touched his fingers to it, they came away red. 'Curiouser and curiouser, to have been so hurt by my own Folio…though, I suppose that a Berserker would be most likely to do so…'

As he thought that, he tried to stumble his way to the door, his hands dragging across the walls to support himself. As one hand stretched out towards the doorknob, there was a noise behind him, and he froze.

This was the wrong choice, but he would never know it, as his head went flying an instant later. Fangs and claws tore and ripped at Shakespeare's now-headless body, rending his spiritual core from his chest and and swallowing it whole.

As the mana suffused his form Hyde chuffed in satisfaction, and fur and claw became flesh and cloth.

Doctor Jekyll glanced around the study with a dispassionate gaze, eyes skipping over the mangled corpse disintegrating into spiritual particles before he grasped the doorknob. As he left the room far too calmly, he reached out across the mental link between him and his Master.

'Caster of Red, William Shakespeare, has fallen. Shall I come to where you are?'

After a moment of silence, he received a reply. 'Sure. I think we're about finished here. Good work, Doctor.'

-x-x-x-

The members of the Black Faction had gathered in the main hall of their Castle Yggdmillenia, listening to a briefing from Darnic and Vlad when what looked to be a crow winged into the room, screeching obnoxiously as it did so. "SCRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW! I'm here to give you unenlightened mudmen some truth, SCRAAAAAAAAW!"

"…Blackmore," greeted Darnic, his expression pulling into a powerful grimace as he eyed the familiar. "What, exactly, do you want with us? Or are you here to disclose the name of your Servant, as you were supposed to?"

"SCRAW, Assassin's identity shall remain hidden from you until such a time as it becomes necessary for it to be revealed, you unenlightened mudman!" Trent cawed through the bird, flapping his wings somewhat. "I actually came to tell you, that unlike all the rest of you, Assassin and I actually took out both Assassin and Caster of Red. So yeah, while you all were sitting here with your thumbs up your asses and having a circlejerk, we were doing work."

Swooping around the hall, he cackled, "I love how you all think I'm the useless one, but you all have done all of jack and shit!" As he said that, a glodule of something fell from the familiar's rear end and splashed down on the top of Darnic's skull. Though he set the familiar to flee the hall it was quickly impaled by a spontaneous stake from Vlad, but it died laughing.

As Darnic stood to leave the room and wash off the shit on his head, a second familiar winged in and dropped its load on Celenike, cackling the entire time, "That's what you get, you dumb bitch! SCRAAAAAAAAAAAW!"

It was shot down by a thrown curse, but it too went out laughing as Trent was clearly having a ball harassing his own team. Still, the meeting was very much canceled due to two of the people having been shat on by birds, though it was definitely successful. The various members of the Black faction dispersed throughout the castle, even while Trent's destroyed familiars unleashed their final, ectoplasmic payload while unattended.

Indeed, the birdshit that had come falling upon the heads of the Yggdmillenia was no ordinary faeces. No, contained within each payload was a dormant familiar made of ectoplasm, each possessing exactly enough mana to deliver their respective letters before collapsing into the ether.

And deliver them they did; one letter from Berserker of Red to Berserker of Black (via Caules Forvedge Yggdmillenia), and one letter from Johan to Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillenia.

The contents of the good Doctor's letter was unknown to Johan and Trent both, as it was a message of an incredibly personal nature. The contents of Johan's letter, however, was known to all of their group, as Johan had requested assistance with the wording and presentation.

It read as such:

Honoured Fiore Forvedge of the Yggdmillenia alliance,

It has come to our attention that the Wish for which you seek the Grail is the reparation of the Magic Circuits in your legs, that you may retain both your status as a Magus and regain your ability to walk.

We are likewise aware that your brother, the Honoured Caules Forvedge, seeks the Grail solely for your sake. Further, one among our number is an individual who was well acquainted with Berserker of Black in life, and would like nothing more to work alongside her, rather than against her.

Among the Yggdmillenia alliance, you and your brother are those whose temperament we find the least objectionable. Indeed, we suspect that the Forvedge allied with Yggdmillenia out of convenience, not out of any particular moral or theological consensus. Thus, we propose:

One of our Servants shall restore to you the use of your legs while allowing you to retain full usage of your Magecraft. In exchange, you and your brother, as well as your Servants, shall ally with our group to secure the Grail.

We are prepared to offer a Geas Scroll agreement as a symbol of our sincerity.

Should you, your brother, and your respective Servants choose to accept, leave a letter of reply on the balcony of your room.

Regards,

The White Faction

-x-x-x-

A thin, shaky hand gripped the letter. Brunette hair shaded blue eyes clouded with uncertainty and distress as Fiore leaned forward in her wheelchair. An unknown faction in possession of an uncertain amount of intimate knowledge about her and her brother, at the very least, and claiming to be capable of healing her legs...she did not know what to think.

Grandfather Darnic was...not a good person, as was typical of a Magus. Fiore worked very hard to live up to his exacting standards, but in her heart she knew that she was not capable of separating herself from her emotions and perpetrating horrors in the name of reaching the Root.

As for Caules, nothing truly needed to be said about him. He was no Magus, and she preferred it that way. Better that he could live a life far away from the backstabbing butchery of the Magus lifestyle.

The point was, she had too much empathy. And yet…

And yet, these other Masters claimed it was that very empathy that made her worthy of consideration. Were they spellcasters, heretics who cared not for the ways of Magi and used Magecraft for their own ends? Or were they liars, attempting to trick her into a position of vulnerability so they could cut her and her brother down?

She was unsure, and that frightened her. The fact that she was genuinely tempted by this offer, was genuinely tempted to put herself, her brother, at risk…

...But then, wasn't she already doing that by participating in this Grail War?

Fiore folded the letter up and slid it into her pocket, before turning her wheelchair towards her balcony window. Wherever they went from here, she decided, would be determined by all four of them; Masters and Servants both.

-x-x-x-

Trent and Johan sat outside the crypt, the Canuck looking torn between satisfaction and some horror based on his earlier actions. He was scratching at his chin, thinking on just what they'd do with the Iron Maiden full of acid that Carmilla had brought back with them. The blond blinked and then remarked, "Do you think we'd get in trouble for selling this acid? Like, if we found a way to bottle it up? We could probably brand it as a corpse remover…"

Johan raised a finger. "We could do that. We could. On the other hand…" He gestured to Jekyll. "The good Doctor here is a notably skilled alchemist. A poison created by a Caster from the Age of the Gods and refined by the man who used alchemy to split good from evil…" Johan hummed. "Something like that could possibly be a check against the son of Surya, don't you think?"

"Maybe? The real question is delivering it to him, while we could probably keep some if we have to deal with Chiron and them…" the Canuck murmured as he tried to get it all figured out in his head. "Of course, dealing with the son of Surya will probably be one of the final steps in our plan, along with dealing with the Stake-y Boy. If I were to be honest, I think that the Chaste Huntress would be the ideal target for Carmy."

Johan nodded. "If we can, I'd hope that the Forvedges accept our deal, and then we can just have Saber and Chiron fight it out for the Grail, with the winner getting their wish alongside Mr. Go-Lion."

He rubbed his chin. "As for Karna, ideally we'll be able to point Seigfreid at him and watch the fireworks, but you know shit never goes ideally..."

"If things went as we wanted them to, I wouldn't have caused a fucking race war," Trent groused, his face set in a hard scowl. He folded his hands up before his mouth as he admitted, "Hell, if things went as we wanted them to, I wouldn't have had to take an entire church congregation hostage."

"Excuse me, but did I hear that you took a congregation hostage?!" a sweet voice demanded from over their shoulders. The lads turned their gaze and found Jeanne d'Arc standing behind them, clad in her backless button up shirt and booty shorts, her long blonde hair in a braid behind her.

Trent's eyes darted to Johan. Then they darted back to Jeanne. Then he remarked, "Now, listen, if I wanted the opinions of actual kindling on my accidental crimes, I'd have built a bonfire. You dumb bitch."

Johan stared at Trent for a long moment, then dropped his head into his hands. 'Goddamnit Trent.'