FATE/NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM
"New Order of the Ages"
Chapter 3: Archer of White Stone
"Gwah!"
A Western soldier had his gut pierced clean through by Cuchulainn's spear. The fallen man tried to crawl away, but the cruel Servant stepped on him and crunched his pointed heel right into his spine. A sickening crunch permeated the air, signaling the unfortunate soldier's death.
"Whoops. He's already dead. Guess I got carried away," Cuchulainn muttered boredly. "I could stick his head on a pike as a message to the enemy, but there's plenty more where he came from. Hey, punk. Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"
He looked around for Rama, but the Indian hero was nowhere to be found.
"What a bore. Oh well. Gae Bolg's injuries are incurable. He'll die eventually."
"He he he," he heard Medb giggling nearby. "You're amazing, Cu. Even when we were alive, I could sense a trace of bestial carnage hidden beneath your humanity. Now that you've discarded that impurity, you've become the king of wild beasts who will crush any and all that oppose you. Everything you do is in the name of raw, unforgivable violence. With that inhumanity, you will slaughter everyone who does not suit the nation of peace you seek to give Connie as the ultimate present. The more you kill, the more you show your love as a father for that poor, tortured child."
More blood flew everywhere as Cuchulainn murdered several more enemy soldiers. He looked back at the queen and muttered, "Were you saying something?"
"I was, but don't mind me."
"You talk too much. Well whatever. I've cleaned up the trash, so I'm gonna get some sleep. Wake me up when-"
That was when Cuchulainn's nerves suddenly prickled, and he shuddered uncontrollably. It was a dreadful sensation he never felt before. Sweat rolled down his face, his eyes were wide with anxiety, and he clenched his shark-like teeth to hold back whatever fear had gripped his soul.
"Cu?" Medb wondered. His immediate change in behavior also got her on edge.
What the hell is this? I shouldn't be feeling like this. I'm the Mad King of the Celts, the Bloodthirsty Hound of Ulster, and the ruin of this infantile nation. I shouldn't be terrified of anything – I am terror itself! Why is this happening? Why am I paralyzed like this?
"Cu!" the queen urged, snapping him back to his senses. "What happened to you, my king? You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"Ugh…" he breathed heavily. His heart pounded rapidly, which he hadn't felt since the brutal days he trained under Scathach's strict tutelage. "I-I'm fine…"
"Are you sure?"
He scowled harshly at her, "Do you dare to make me repeat myself?"
"Oh, no, not at all. I always hear you loud and clear the first time. I just cannot help but worry about you. Whatever has gotten you in a twist?"
"I don't know… It feels like… something has gone horribly wrong…"
"That can't be. Our conquest is going smoothly. You destroyed the heart of that hero and sent the Resistance forces into a state of disarray. Our chances couldn't be more perfect than this."
Cuchulainn grumbled. He didn't care about the war in this moment. Something intangible had caught him off guard, and he needed to figure out what the hell it was before it could become a weakness that the enemy exploited. As he was busy gathering his thoughts, one of the Celtic soldiers ran up to the royal pair and exclaimed, "We've got trouble!"
"What is it?" Medb snapped angrily.
"Look over there, Your Highness!"
The man pointed over to the general direction of Ohio. To the queen's shock, the sky had turned completely grey, and a monstrous hurricane engulfed the lands in violent winds. Although they couldn't see it from this vantage point, thousands of Celtic warriors and American infantry mechs were mercilessly swept up and torn apart before being tossed haphazardly all across the countryside. Buildings, trees and giant boulders also didn't stand a chance against this jaw-dropping spectacle of nature's fury.
Medb was utterly astounded as she screamed, "What the hell is this!?"
"We need to withdraw, or else we might be destroyed!" the soldier urged.
"Grrr… Shut up!" she raged and viciously whipped the man with her riding crop until he was dead. "No tornado of any magnitude should ever exist here! Even if it does, it means nothing when I have the Holy Grail! So what if our forces are decimated!? I can just make more to replace them!"
Cuchulainn ignored her ranting and stared aghast at the unnatural phenomenon. As he thought about it, realized that the strange pangs of trepidation hit him the moment the tornado began to spawn. Eventually, he came to discern that the winds were not the result of natural weather patterns, but of someone's magic that was running rampant. Perhaps it was more appropriate to assume that this was a Noble Phantasm that had suddenly spiraled out of the Servant's control and was wrecking havoc everywhere.
Someone who can control the winds… with their Noble Phantasm…?
Upon that thought, a new level of terror seized his heart.
"CONNLA!"
The man let out a shrill scream and immediately ran toward the lethal storm with all his might. Medb yelped, but could only watch as the panicked king vanished from her sight. She stared at the gargantuan tornado with a blank expression.
Is this really your doing, Connie?
"My word! What kind of devilry is this!?"
In Denver, a tall, muscular man stood upon the balcony of his chalky-white fortress and gazed eastward at the deadly hurricane. He really couldn't be called a 'man' in the strictest sense, as while the rest of his body was definitely human, his face was that of a white lion's. He wore blue spandex, black boots, and strange pauldrons on his shoulders that resembled light bulbs, making him appear more like a bizarre comic book super hero than the leader of a budding country.
"It only happened just now," a shorter young woman reported with a hesitant frown. She had short purple hair, purple eyes, and wore a simple purple leotard, white sleeves, and purple thigh-length pantyhose with black boots. She held a book in her hand and used its powers to analyze the magical energy coming from the tornado. She continued, "It's definitely someone's doing, but I'm not sure of who is capable of such devastation."
"It must be that wicked queen!" the lion-man yelled, unleashing an animalistic roar. "She must have grown fearful of my mass-produced forces and is resorting to calling upon Mother Nature's wrath itself to annihilate everyone equally!"
"No," a calmer fellow's voice interrupted his spiel. "This is not the work of the Holy Grail."
The pair turned around to face their third companion. He was a handsome man with messy white hair and an ivory complexion. He wore a tight-fitting black bodysuit that covered all except his head and upper chest, and his arms and legs were protected beneath layers of golden armor. A red fur mantle draped across his back served to exemplify his divine nature.
"What do you mean?" the tall leader wondered. "How else can such a monstrosity be formed? If this is not the result of that black-hearted fool Medb's demonic wishes, then what is?"
The pale fellow's lips thinned into a line as he observed the storm with his keen green eyes. "I do not know the origin, but there's no mistaking it – a Servant's Noble Phantasm is causing this."
"A Servant?" the woman wondered.
"Worry not. Once their power is exhausted, the hurricane will die down. I wouldn't be surprised if the Servant is already dead after using up enough energy to rival the gods."
"Hoh…" the lion-man sighed. "So there is no fear of this occurring again?"
"Correct. Although the losses are tremendous, such a calamity will not make a second appearance."
"If that is what you claim, then so be it. Your insight during such perilous times is both remarkable and reassuring. I am glad to have you as an ally."
"There's no need to say such things. I am only cooperating for personal reasons."
"I know that, but I still felt like saying it."
The woman likewise felt assured from the divine fellow's guidance, but became worried as she wondered, "Even so, what sort of trauma would a Servant have to go through to lose control of their powers like this?"
"This is a war in the truest and bloodiest sense," the white-haired man said. "Perhaps seeing the death and destruction was too much for them to bear, so they wanted to wipe it clean."
"Poor thing… To throw away your life for such a reason…"
"Come now, there's no need for such pity," the leader put his hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps we should see this unknown Servant's sacrifice as a chance for us to recuperate and plan an offensive strategy. Those filthy Celts are probably hurting as well since the storm engulfed their forces too."
"Yes, you're right."
Two days later…
Near the Western forces' capital of Denver, Colorado (which wouldn't be admitted as a state for another 103 years), a forested area just east of the fortress was where the small town of Fletcher was established. It would later be renamed Aurora in the early 1900s, but for now, Fletcher was a humble real estate outpost that lived in both Denver's sanctity and shadow.
A dark-skinned man prowled through the forest past Fletcher toward Denver. He was a Native American born in these lands as the great Apache warrior Goyahkla, but was more infamously known as Geronimo after earning a reputation for his raids against the Mexicans. This was also the same man who rescued Rama from Cuchulainn just a few days ago. He had long black hair done in multiple small braids so they resembled ropes, and he wore a Western-styled coat and traditional Native American leggings. His dark appearance was greatly contrasted by his sky blue eyes, making one think that he was a hawk given personification.
He lithely tread through the woods that he was very accustomed to, clearly on a mission that took him toward Denver. However, his sharp eyes caught sight of something he had never seen before, so he took a moment to investigate. Some kind of long red cloth was draped next to an oak tree near the brook. As he got a closer look, he gasped when he realized the cloth was part of a dress that an unconscious child was garbed in.
"What in the world?" Geronimo murmured and examined her for any wounds. She didn't look too hurt, but was nonresponsive to his calls.
She didn't look to be any older than six or seven, and she kept her long lavender hair down while sweeping her thick bangs back with a red hair band. Along with her red dress, she wore a black blouse beneath it, and thigh-high black boots. Her deep pockets contained hundreds of stones, and a belt around her waist held a sturdy slingshot next to her. Her Caucasian complexion immediately hinted that she was not a fellow Apache or tribal member like he was, but she didn't appear to be from the American or Mexican forces that he often retaliated against.
This garb looks more European than Western - it's like a traditional dancer's dress for girls. Is it English? Dutch? German? Or perhaps…
Geronimo swallowed, not wanting to imagine the possibility of it being Celtic. At that moment, the girl began to stir awake, and she opened her bleary brown eyes to look up at him.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'm… um… Where is this…?" the little girl mumbled.
"We're in the outskirts of Denver."
"Den… ver…?" The name didn't seem familiar to her. She tried to get up, but she suddenly felt lightheaded and dozens of unnatural light particles danced in her vision. She groaned, almost feeling sick to her stomach.
"Take it easy," Geronimo held her upright. He remained by her side until she was well enough to sit on her own. "Can you tell me what happened to you?"
"I don't know."
"Were you caught in a battle and ran away? Or were you caught in that deadly tornado a few days ago and tossed here?"
"I'm not sure. My mind feels so blank…"
"Can you at least tell me your name?"
The girl paused, trying to think of anything that could clue her in to her identity. Her skin blanched a couple shades of white as she realized, "I have no idea."
"So you have amnesia," Geronimo murmured. "That's not good. I need to take you to a safe place right away, yet I must carry out my mission posthaste."
"Were you in a hurry? I'm sorry for delaying you."
"It's okay. I'm not in enough of a rush that I would ignore a young lady lying in the woods. That said, I am in the middle of urgent business, yet I cannot bring myself to leave you here like this."
"Then… would it be okay if I went with you?"
"You, coming with me? I wonder about that…" Geronimo frowned hard.
"I don't really know who I am, but for some reason, I feel like I'm familiar with the concept of combat. I'm sure I won't slow you down."
"Hm. You certainly look like a capable warrior. Even if you are not in good health, you're still clearly a Servant. Judging by that slingshot and the number of rocks in your possession, you're an Archer-class Heroic Spirit, yes?"
"An Archer…?" the girl murmured, holding the weapon in her hand for a moment. "I don't think I am… Yet, it feels natural for me to use this…"
"I don't really understand either, but for the time being, you should fight as an Archer. Furthermore, it would be best to give you a temporary name until you can remember who you are. How does Ituha sound?"
"Ituha?"
"In my tongue, it can either mean 'white stone' or 'sturdy oak'. I figured it was suitable since you use stones as your weapon, and I found you lying next to an oak tree."
"I see."
"Now then, you'd best prepare yourself. If you wish to accompany me, you must be ready for battle," Geronimo warned her.
"Battle?"
"Yes. I will explain along the way."
The Native American warrior guided his new companion through the forest while talking. He told her, "We're in the middle of an East-West war, with the United Western States fighting against the Celtic army that has dominated the eastern states. Along with the Presi-King and the Mad King's forces, resistance groups have been forming to protect civilians, but we cannot last like this."
"If it's a war, doesn't that mean one side will eventually run out of soldiers?" Ituha asked.
"Normally that's the case, but not this time. Queen Medb, one of the Celts' rulers, is in possession of the Holy Grail and is using it to supply herself with an endless army of battle-driven creatures. It's not a matter of if the west will fall, but when. Servants have been appearing who are helping us with the resistance, one of whom is critically injured. He is a rather powerful warrior from Hindu mythology, so to lose him would potentially be fatal.
"That is why I am on this mission. I have heard of a woman who is trained as a nurse. I believe she will be able to help heal him, but right now she has been imprisoned for insubordination. According to my intel, she went against the Presi-King because she wanted to actually fight the root cause of this war, but he wouldn't allow it. I'm going to retrieve her from her prison and bring her to the Servant who needs treatment."
Ituha nodded in acknowledgement, but then asked, "Why are there resistance groups separate from the two armies?"
Geronimo grumbled. "Naturally, we refuse to side with those bloodthirsty Celts who live only to destroy, going so far as to turn on each other to sate their violent appetite. Unfortunately, the Presi-King has likewise become closed-minded to any sort of rational thinking. He believes that conscripting people and manufacturing countless mechanized infantry is the key to his victory. How naïve; he does not realize that this land's resources will run dry, leaving him powerless to the endless flow of Medb's killer beasts."
"What a desperate situation."
"It certainly is. That's why it's imperative that I rescue this nurse and have her treat the injured Servant. With his aid, we may have a much better chance of surviving."
"I understand the gist of it now. I don't know how much I can offer, but I'll do what I can to help."
"Thank you for your kindly assistance, young one," the Apache man smiled. "Don't strain yourself too much though. Not only do you have amnesia, but you also have some serious wounds. Perhaps after we finish our mission, I'll convince the nurse to take a look at you."
"But I wouldn't want to slow her down from treating this other Servant…"
"Well let's just play it by ear, all right? For now, we're almost at the Presi-King's fortress. We should be careful not to be spotted by his infantry."
Geronimo and Ituha reached the edge of the forest and kneeled behind some foliage to conceal their presence. Several robots could be seen lumbering around on patrol. He squinted and whispered, "There's quite a lot of them."
"How are we going to get in?" Ituha asked. "It's impossible to sneak past them like this."
"Fortunately, one of my allies allowed me to borrow his Noble Phantasm for this occasion."
He took out a large pine green mantle from his bag and unfurled it while explaining, "He called it the No Face May King, a cloak that he uses to completely conceal his presence. So long as we keep ourselves beneath it, we should be able to slip in undetected. Make sure you don't make any unnecessary sounds or movements though, got it?"
"Okay."
"Are you ready?"
"Yes."
Geronimo wrapped the cloak around himself and Ituha, and their forms blended in perfectly with the rich green surroundings. He kept his hand on her shoulder, and they slowly walked in unison toward the grand white fortress. She was scared of breathing and her heart beat out of sheer anxiety, yet she couldn't deny the sense of excitement welling up within her. She felt like she was some kind of spy in a sensational thriller novel. Just as he claimed, they were walking past the robots in broad daylight without being detected whatsoever.
It took an uncomfortably long time for the pair to make the trek, but their patience was rewarded as they reached the castle's ivory walls. Ituha wanted to ask if there was a way for them to get inside, but she was nervous about talking while in such a delicate situation. She decided to keep her mouth shut and trust that Geronimo knew what he was doing. After he spent some time running his hand along the pristine wall, his fingers brushed against a raised piece of stone and he pushed it like a button. They heard a clicking sound, then he pushed in a section of the wall like a heavy door, and they hurried inside before he shut it so as not to arouse suspicion from the mech guards.
"Phew…" Ituha sighed, exhaling all of the pent up stress in one long breath. She hunched forward and held on to her knees while gasping, "That was so scary!"
"You did well," Geronimo smiled. "But I'm afraid that was the easy part. From here, the mission will get much harder. Stay alert."
"Yes, sir."
The duo proceeded through the dark stone halls, lit only by an array of brightly glowing torches. Although Geronimo had a small blueprint of the fortress' dungeons to help them stay on track, the place was so massive that it would be easy to get lost if they weren't paying attention. They couldn't leave any markers or signs anywhere because it would rouse suspicion with the mech guards, so they had to commit their path to memory. They ducked their heads around numerous corners and dashed along when they saw that the area was clear.
"We're almost to the cells," Geronimo whispered. "The only trouble is I have no idea which one this woman is supposedly locked up in."
"I guess we have to investigate them one at a time," Ituha said. "How many cells are there?"
"Around a hundred or so."
"Hah…" the girl sighed. "Even if we split it up, that's still 50 per person."
"Furthermore, time is of the essence if I want her to save that Servant's life."
As they were busy mulling their options, that was when they heard the sound of gunfire, followed by a distinct metallic bashing. After a moment, the noises happened again in rapid succession.
"Hm!?" the Native American murmured in surprise. "This way!"
The pair ran down the corridor and hurried down some steps toward the source of the sounds. As they reached a particular barred room, they saw a young woman with long salmon-color hair aiming her pistol at the steel bars. She wore a traditional red military jacket, white gloves, a black skirt, white legwear and boots. Her sharp red eyes gave her the aura of a combat-hardened nurse who was used to witnessing grievous injuries caused by war and disease. She fired her gun once again and the bullet ricocheted off the metal, narrowly missing Geronimo's shoulder.
"Whoa!" he yelped.
"Oh? Who are you?" the lady wondered. He gestured for her to be quiet, then used a spare dungeon key that he had been given to open the steel door and let her out.
"That was much too reckless, Ms. Nightingale…" he grumbled. "But at least the sound of gunfire allowed us to find you much quicker."
The ruby-eyed woman narrowed her eyes. "You know of me?"
"Yes. I… Or rather, we have come to get you out of here."
She blinked, then glanced at the small figure behind him. She was surprised to see Ituha standing there with a pensive expression. The nurse exclaimed to Geronimo, "I'm not exactly sure who you are or what's going on here, but you have some nerve to bring a child along with you!"
"But we came to rescue you," Ituha said. "I agreed to help Mr. Geronimo with this mission of getting you out."
"Even so-!"
"I'm afraid we have no time for this, Ms. Nightingale," the shaman stopped them. "It is only thanks to this Noble Phantasm I borrowed that allowed the two of us to slip past Karna's detection until now."
He showed her the strange mantle, then continued, "I will be more than happy to explain everything at a later time. For now though, we must focus on leaving. Not only do we have to outwit Karna, but we must deal with the mechanized infantry that Edison has stationed as sentries. I wish we could use Robin's Noble Phantasm to sneak by unnoticed, but it's not meant for more than one adult to use."
"So that must be why you brought the child Servant," Nightingale surmised. "You could carry her beneath that cloth with you."
"Well, that's not really why she's here… But you're right, it worked out that way."
While the pair were busy conversing, Ituha peered around the corner of the hallway as a lookout. She immediately backed away as she saw some of the strange robots marching through the dark halls on patrol. She reported, "The guards just passed by. If we move now, we can sneak around them for a good while before being detected."
"Then let's move," Geronimo said. "We just need to pick off the most troublesome watchmen as quietly as possible."
"Yeah… W-What the-!?"
The girl yelped as Nightingale disregarded their strategy and rushed past them to confront the mechanized infantry head-on. Geronimo growled, "That fool! Is she trying to get herself killed!?"
"We need to go after her!"
The robots turned around when they heard Nightingale's running footsteps and prepared to fire their machine guns at her. She was much too quick for them to fire upon as she leapt above them and balled her hand into a tight fist, punching her way through the metal and pulling out vital parts that the mechs needed to function. Geronimo unpocketed several long daggers and threw them with expert precision at some more robots that had heard the cacophony and were arriving to provide support.
"Curses!" the shaman yelled. "How many of these abominations does Edison have!? They just keep coming!"
"Ignore the small fry and take out the ones who are in the way!" Nightingale shouted.
"I wish I could, but they're all in the way!"
Ituha looked around frantically to see if there was an alternate route they could take. They weren't blocked in, but if they took a wrong turn anywhere, they would wind up being lost on top of fighting through an endless ambush. She glanced up at the ceiling and noticed a weak spot.
Maybe this will do the trick, she thought and readied her slingshot with a large pebble. Then she felt a strange burning sensation run through her hands and fingers, and several red magic circles with Celtic glyphs materialized around the weapon, then converged on the stone to energize it with searing fire. She didn't know why or how she was doing it, but she decided to worry about that later and fired her shot. The rock detonated with a powerful boom and collapsed the ceiling upon the mechanized infantry, crushing some while barring others from reaching their targets.
Geronimo exclaimed, "Good work! Let's run!"
The trio backtracked the same way that he and Ituha came in, although they had to contend with the occasional robot that spotted them. The young Archer slung another fiery stone at a cannon shot from an incoming droid, intercepting it in midair so Nightingale could charge in and tear it apart without hindrance. Geronimo took the lead and slid around the corner, shouting to his partners, "It's just up ahead here!"
Ituha's heart suddenly pounded as she felt a powerful presence lurking on the other side of the dungeon entrance. She swallowed hard and asked, "Is that a Servant?"
"I'd wager it's Karna," Nightingale said, readying her pistol.
"Karna?"
"The Son of the Sun God, and a great hero of the Mahabharata. No doubt, he's one of the world's most powerful Heroic Spirits."
Geronimo snarled, "Damn it. Outwitting him was too much to ask for. Yet it is impossible for us to retreat."
"Then there's only one choice - push through!"
The avid Berserker led the charge towards the exit, with the others following closely behind. The trio emerged back into the world as the sun began to set around them. Greeting them at the foot of the hill was a handsome, pale-skinned young man with white hair who wielded a fearsome obsidian lance
Ituha's chest stiffened up, and she gasped while thinking, He's strong! He hasn't done anything, and yet I can sense how powerful he is!
The man regarded Geronimo by saying, "So it is you."
"I didn't want to have to fight you like this," the Native American replied forlornly.
"Likewise, I too did not wish to battle the man who fought against an entire nation for his people's rights. That also goes for the Angel of Crimea, the woman who fights bravely against injury and illness, and…"
Karna gazed at Ituha for a moment. His expression grew curious as he murmured, "Strange. Even though you are a Servant, I do not recognize you from any history or folklore. Contending with famous Servants is one thing, but facing one who is completely shrouded in mystery is a conundrum in its own right. Do you have some kind of concealment spell that masks your identity, young one?"
"Um…" she stuttered, unsure of what to say to someone with such an incredible presence.
"Leave her out of this!" Nightingale demanded. "She is only a child!"
"That I cannot do," Karna refused with a chilly retort. "Since my allies are being attacked by invaders, I have no choice but to raise my spear in defense. Worry not – I will ensure that Edison's mech soldiers don't interfere. This battle will only be three on one; myself versus you all. Show me your conviction through your desperate struggle to survive against the odds."
"Tch… This is bad," Geronimo muttered to his comrades. "Even if we have the numbers, his power will overwhelm us if we are not careful."
Nightingale glowered, "What's the problem? Karna is obviously not taking us seriously, and he's too proud of a man to turn back on his word, so we can be assured that there will be no backup coming for him. Furthermore, he doesn't know anything about Ituha's fighting style."
"Well neither do we!"
"Then it's all the more imperative that the two of us charge at Karna while she snipes him down. She is an Archer, isn't she? He won't know what to expect."
Geronimo grumbled, then faced the girl and asked, "Can you do it? Can you help us out in this battle? If you can't, then stay out of sight until you find an opportunity to run, then do so."
She shook her head and took out her slingshot. "I won't do that. I refuse to abandon you both like this. Besides, I'd have no idea where to go."
"Hm… True that."
"Then there's nothing to think about!" Nightingale declared and pointed her gun at Karna. "No point in wasting our energy! All we have to do is send him flying away, then we flee immediately!"
"Got it!" the others chimed simultaneously.