FATE/NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM
"New Order of the Ages"
Chapter 5: Cleansing With A Vengeance
Inside the inn, Nightingale dabbed some antiseptic on Rama's wound before covering it with a copious amount of bandages. Geronimo and Ituha entered the room, and the former asked, "How's his condition?"
"I've repaired as much of his heart as I can, but 10% of it is already deteriorating once again. The only way I can stave this off is with continuous treatment, and even then it is only a stopgap measure before his inevitable death," Nightingale shook her head in disappointment. "I only have my own incompetence to blame for this outcome, but I will not give up on him. As long as he is willing to not give up, then I shall fight just as hard so he may live. Yet, there is too much I do not know about this curse. If either of you have any information to offer, then tell me at once!"
"I may be a warrior shaman, but this type of witchcraft is beyond my expertise," Geronimo admitted, then looked at Ituha. "On the other hand, you're a Celt, aren't you? Although you may not remember anything about yourself, you must be familiar with the culture and folklore."
"Well, I suppose so," the child frowned. "I feel like I have a strong connection with that part of the world. But I can't promise that I know anything that will be useful."
"That's okay. Any knowledge you have will be worth its weight in gold."
She took another look at Rama's wound, not necessarily at his ruined heart, but at the strange dark marks that were coursing their way across his flesh. She explained, "Celts are known for their use of curses and geasa to either strengthen themselves at a cost, or to hinder their opponents in some way. Even I know how famous Gae Bolg is – it reverses cause and effect to guarantee death to the enemy. I just find it strange that Lord Rama is still alive despite these odds."
"In a way, the patient's willpower is negating Gae Bolg's effects," Nightingale explained. "But while he may have high endurance, it means nothing if we cannot lift this curse off of him. How do we get rid of it?"
"Curses are always dispelled when you kill the one who placed it. That means the most guaranteed way to save him is to kill Cuchulainn."
"That's not going to be easy. We need this patient at full health to help us defeat Cuchulainn, yet we must defeat him in order to restore this man's condition."
"I know that. It's the most efficient method of purification, but I'm sure it's not the only one."
"Do you know of an alternative?"
"Well… It's kind of hard to explain, but it feels like this world is greatly distorted."
Geronimo narrowed his eyes. "So you sensed it as well? It is as if life itself is in a precarious state of fluctuations."
Ituha nodded. "If I were to give it an analogy, the world is sick, and the 'distortion' is the antibody it needs to fight against the toxic invaders. That distortion is what's summoning Servants to this land – we're like white blood cells that protect the world from illness. These fluctuations are trying to expel the foreign intruders while strengthening the existences of the natural antibodies."
"Hmm… A fitting analogy," Nightingale smirked. "But then, what does this mean for the patient?"
"Basically, he needs to have his existence strengthened so that it overrides the curse. The best way is for Lord Rama to make contact with a Servant who knew him in his lifetime. If someone else is familiar with how his physical form is designed, they can improve his connection to this world and increase the efficacy of your healing techniques."
"So he's like a white blood cell that has lost its strength. In order to revitalize him, another white blood cell that is extremely close to him needs to assist me."
"I think so. I know it's kind of difficult to understand, but should everything go well, his existence should grow strong enough to override the curse. Maybe it won't eliminate it, but at least he'll be strong enough to fight Cuchulainn and hopefully destroy him."
"That seems to be our best option. The only trouble is finding a Servant who knows this man personally."
"Ungh…" Rama grunted. "T-There's someone who fits your criteria… I can sense her in this world. I know she's here…"
"Who would that be?" Nightingale asked.
"My wife, Sita. I heard that she was being held captive here. That's why I was fighting Cuchulainn – to get the location where she is imprisoned."
Geronimo said, "I see. The front lines need to be preserved, but Rama's treatment is equally as imperative. Should he regain his full strength, he could be a match for Karna. To that end, we must search for Sita as soon as possible and have her aid us."
"But do we know where she is at the moment?" Ituha wondered.
Rama groaned, "I'm afraid… I didn't get her location."
"Oh, dear…"
"Don't worry," Nightingale assured. "I'll keep treating him for as long as it takes until we find her."
Finding themselves to be at a loss on this angle, Geronimo explained, "Aside from healing Rama, we also must formulate a strategy for dealing with Edison and the Celts. We already know that the Celtic leaders are capable of reproducing soldiers infinitely, so trying to reduce their numbers is foolishness. On the other hand, Edison's mass-produced infantry follows the same principle. For now, both sides are using sheer numbers to force each other into a stalemate. That unusual tornado which touched down a few days ago also wiped out thousands, so there's been a sort of 'middle line' drawn between them."
"There's something I don't get, though," Ituha wondered.
"What's wrong?"
"I understand that Mr. Edison is an amazing inventor, but why is he the President? Shouldn't it be someone else?"
"Oh, that. The Celts assassinated the Founding Father George Washington before he could be instated as the very first President of America. Thomas Edison was summoned as a Servant and given command thanks to him being summoned in his native land."
"Hmm…" Nightingale hummed to herself, thinking of the unusual 'possession' she felt emanating from the Presi-King before.
Geronimo continued, "America prides itself on mass-producing war machines at an enormous scale. It's only natural that the world-famous King of Inventions would be summoned here to face the Celts. But that's not going to be enough. That leads to my main point – while Edison's existence here is indeed abnormal, the Celts' invasion is beyond extraordinary. Should they continue advancing west, this world will be eventually destroyed.
"Wasting our resources and trying to fight them head-on is not an option. In that case, there's only one drastic measure of action that can be taken here; assassination. We gather as many Resistance Servants as we can and kill the leaders Cuchulainn and Medb so that they cannot spawn any more soldiers."
"So our current task is to meet other friendly Servants?" Ituha asked.
"Exactly. If we're lucky, one of them may know where Rama's wife is being held. Well, I say that, but I can't make any guarantees."
Rama muttered, "That's fine. Anything's better than just sitting here."
"Excellent. Everything we do is so we can return this land to its rightful owners – the people who shall forge this fertile country into a mighty civilization!"
"Well spoken, Warrior of the Apache," Nightingale concurred. "Now then, if you just give me a moment, I need to prepare the patient for transport."
"Transport!?" Rama exclaimed, his eyes wide with shock. "What are you-!? AAAAHH! OO~OOWWW!"
Ituha and Geronimo winced as they watched the nurse forcefully wrap the swordsman in a series of blankets. She slung a makeshift strap around her shoulder and waist, then hauled him in her arms so she was carrying him with some support from the strap. If she was bothered by having to carry a person around for miles on end, she certainly didn't show it.
"This is ridiculous!" Rama objected, appearing to be blushing profusely. "This is how I used to carry Sita around – like a princess! To be reduced to this state is nothing short of pure shame!"
"Oh my…" Ituha paled.
"Well…" Geronimo uttered. "The rumors about you are true, Ms. Nightingale. You truly are an angel… um… admired by her patients…"
"This is a far cry from admiration!" Rama shouted. "Put me down already, you iron-willed demon!"
The nurse grumbled, "Think nothing of it. I'm used to dealing with violent patients. If he struggles too much, I can always give him a sedative."
"Don't say that like I'm not here!"
"Shall we get going then?"
"You're ignoring me on purpose, aren't you!?"
A platoon of Celtic soldiers and monsters marched westward through Georgia from South Carolina, reaching as southwest as they could go through the original 13 colonies of America before heading out into the war zone that would be known as Alabama in the future. These forces had been summoned by Medb through her own power of spawning soldiers with her blood along with the power of the Holy Grail sustaining their existences.
They continued on their path towards the next battle, wherever that may be. Their journey was uneventful going through Celtic territory, venturing onward to the northern top of Logan Martin Lake toward the area where the town of Locust Fork would be established several decades later. Along the way though, the were-men were appearing unusually agitated by their surroundings. Their sense of smell was much stronger compared to their human counterparts, so when something amiss was in the air, they would detect it right away.
"What's wrong?" one of the human soldiers asked.
A wolf-man wielding dual daggers sniffed, then said, "Something's been tailing us."
"For how long?"
"The last mile or so. It doesn't smell like steel, so it can't be those mechs."
"Maybe they're allies."
"No, the scent isn't the same as ours. It's completely different."
"Hmph. Assume it's an enemy and take them out."
As the group of around 30 warriors concurred with this decision, that was when the birds squawked in surprise and flew away all at once. They felt a gust of wind blow past them and thought nothing of it at first… Until one of the druids collapsed onto the grass in a gory mess of body parts and organs!
"W-What the hell!?" an archer shouted and trained his bow and arrow at whatever this force was. The wind returned, and his arms were sliced clean off and plopped on the ground first before his legs, torso and head followed suit. The other warriors were astonished by this killer gust, but remained steadfast and kept a sharp eye out for whoever this intruder was. The trees and bushes swayed in random directions as a small figure leapt and pounced about with inhuman speed. When they landed, the soldiers finally got to get a good look at the murderous stranger.
They thought it was going to be some flexible man or a woman who could move at such ridiculous speeds. They never imagined that their foe was a child wearing a loose green dress beneath a white fur coat and hood. The hood had fake wolf ears on the top, and a false wolf tail swayed from their belt. The child wore white mittens and moccasins which, chillingly, were not stained red with blood from the two victims they just slaughtered. The white clothing remained as pristine as if they had been cleaned that day. The ensemble would have been cute, were it not for the child wearing a spooky animal-themed mask to completely conceal their original appearance. In addition, they wielded a wooden spear in their right hand, which was stained with some blood. It was impossible to tell what the kid's gender was because they never spoke.
"KILL IT!" one of the warriors screamed.
The others rushed toward the child as a united force. The intruder didn't seem to care and waited for them to get close, then spun high in mid-air and conjured a series of blustery twisters around their body to give them a boost in speed. In a vicious display of raw brutality, coupled with a disturbing silence, the kid dashed and darted around in no discernible pattern while slashing their spear at the unprepared warriors. Blood flew about everywhere and sprayed in many directions. Heads, limbs and body parts separated from each other and fell as ghastly heaps of flesh and blood.
"This kid's like a fucking blender! We're being turned into bloody paste!" a were-man screamed and tried to run away. The child descended upon him and cut open his back to expose his spine and ribcage. The carnage finally caused some of their coat and gloves to be stained red, but they weren't concerned about dirty clothing. All that mattered was that anyone they laid their sights on was dead, no questions asked.
The whole thing took around a minute, then everything was quiet once again. The feral child looked around at the destruction they caused, then sauntered over to one of the butchered corpses and took out a small knife. They cut into the chest to expose the non-beating heart, then pulled it out and started eating it whole. They felt a small surge of mana coursing through their veins and arteries – after all, this was a Servant who needed mana to sustain themselves, and there was no better food source than the Celts' respawning soldiers born from the Holy Grail.
The child took its time enjoying the meal, making sure to cut up and eat the relevant parts of their victims and discarding the rest for the actual animals to devour. While they were busy feasting however, goosebumps prickled their skin and made the hairs stand on end. A sinister, potent aura permeated the air. It was getting closer too. They heard footsteps rustling the grass, but they weren't sure from where at first. The child's eyes slowly turned aside as they noticed something in the corner of their sight. They tilted their head up, baring their sharp teeth. Their chin, cheeks and mouth dripped with blood and saliva, and they heaved so heavily that a puff of breath curled in front of their face.
Standing there tall and mighty as a warlord was Cuchulainn Alter, looking as equally angry as the unknown Berserker. He had heard the commotion and came running to find this visceral mess. Normally his attitude was mired in constant lassitude and disinterest in everything around him. However, as he gazed upon the mystery Servant's brutal bloodshed and flagrant cannibalism, a fury he thought he'd never experience again raged in his soul. Gae Bolg shone red in response to his anger, and he got into his battle position. Likewise, the child hunched on all fours like a hungry animal, trembling with unbridled wrath.
Neither of them said anything to each other. There really wasn't any need to speak. Both of them were Berserkers, having succumbed to insanity, who would fight to the gory death. Not only that, they also housed wild animals in their souls that yearned to unleash absolute carnage upon their enemy. They stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time, waiting for one to make the first move.
Not a sound could be heard. The world around them was perfectly silent. Any wildlife that had been around immediately retreated upon sensing the seething aura surrounding these two.
Then, without any apparent warning, the two fighters lunged at each other.
After the Servants were finished in the previous town, they headed eastward toward the territory that would become Texas around 60 years later. Most of the area was dry and desolate, and it was also dangerously wide open for attackers to try and assault them. Fortunately, the heroes would also be able to see them coming and prepare accordingly. Geronimo took the lead, Ituha remained near him, and Nightingale was in the rear carrying a thoroughly embarrassed Rama in her arms.
"Where are we going, Mr. Geronimo?" Ituha asked the Native American.
He replied, "We're going to rendezvous with two other Servants I made my acquaintance with earlier. Both of them are Archers like you are. Remember that green cloak we used back in Denver? It belongs to one of them."
"What are their True Names?"
"I didn't get to learn that. They're both specialists in guerilla warfare and are quite wary of society, so they were not willing to divulge their names to me. I have a hunch as to who they are, but I don't want to make any assumptions."
"Fair enough."
"They're both experienced in utilizing unscrupulous tactics such as traps, poisons and sniper fire, but they're not front line warriors. The best they can do is minimize the damage that the Celts are causing with their savagery. Things are made harder when the Celts are not mobilized as one united force with predictable movements."
"Just as I thought. Celts are known for following an overall mission, but how they accomplish it is up to each individual."
"Precisely. It gives them the freedom to be as vicious as they please."
Ituha looked back at Nightingale while she was carrying Rama, and she asked the swordsman, "How are you doing?"
"Argh… To be carted around like a sack of potatoes… in a woman's arms, no less… How disgraceful," Rama moaned pitifully.
"Don't say that. No one is going to judge you for saving your strength to fight the curse."
"I-I'm glad to hear that, but… Ungh!"
"Ituha, please do not disturb the patient," Nightingale scolded the child. "This is not just any body bag for him to rest in – it is a one-of-a-kind, specialized Rama Bag."
"A Rama Bag…" Ituha raised an eyebrow curiously, wondering how the nurse could say something so silly with such a straight face. She decided not to bother them further and asked Geronimo, "A-Anyway, if the Celts are behaving on an individual basis, what about the Americans? How is Mr. Edison moving his troops?"
"Hmm," he grumbled. "Although Edison is far more civil than Cuchulainn, he's still conscripting people into his factories and forcing them to work on mass production of those mechs we saw before."
"Wow. Their leadership is very different, yet it feels so similar."
"You got that right. Even so, many have sought refuge with the West, preferring slavery over being slaughtered. It gives me great assurance that we don't need to worry about the civilians' safety at this point."
Geronimo was about to continue talking, but he suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and hissed, "Hide!"
Ituha gasped and joined the others behind a large rock formation. The Apache warrior had been startled when he noticed a group of Celts walking along the desert in the distance.
"Scouts," he said. "We may not have been spotted yet, but if they find the previous town, they'll be decimated without us to provide backup."
Without any provocation, Nightingale sat Rama against the rock and dashed along the barren wasteland with a vengeance, screaming along the way, "I shall purify all illness that stands in my way! Time for a thorough disinfection!"
"And there she goes," Ituha moaned wryly.
"Heh heh. I saw that coming from a mile away," Geronimo chuckled. "Since she's willing to intercept them herself, I'll see about cutting off their escape routes. You stay here and protect Rama."
"Yes, sir."
He hurried after Nightingale, and Ituha ducked behind the rock formation so that she would stay out of sight. She kneeled next to Rama and sighed, "Hah… I know I haven't done much to contribute, but I feel so exhausted."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. A child like you doesn't belong on the battlefield anyway," Rama assured, then groaned in agony. "I-I'm just glad that crazy nurse… didn't drag me along with her… to that fight…"
"You're right."
They remained there for a short while, then the swordsman seemed to recall something and said, "There's something I wanted to ask you about real quick."
"What is it?" Ituha leaned in.
"When I was slain by Cuchulainn, he said something rather strange – that he was instigating this war for some woman's sake."
"Some woman? Wouldn't that be Queen Medb then?"
"I don't think it was her," Rama shook his head. "He said that he was seeking a world of peace and quiet for this unknown female, and Medb is hardly that kind of person. Cuchulainn's goal is to destroy everyone who contradicts his idea of a world of silence, so that this female may enjoy it without anyone causing suffering to her. Do you know of anyone like that who comes to mind?"
Ituha hummed to herself as she thought about the Celtic folklore she was familiar with. After a minute of pondering, she said, "There are some women in Cuchulainn's legend such as his mentor Scathach, or his wife Emer. My understanding is that he was quite the playboy, so he must have come across a number of women in his lifetime."
"That monstrosity, a womanizer? Preposterous."
"Believe it or not, it's the popular opinion about his personality. Other than that, I don't really know."
"I see. Maybe I'm just looking into it too much…" Rama moaned. Then a bizarre smile crept across his face as he looked at Ituha and wondered, "If you're really a Celt, then maybe you might be applicable as this unknown female as well."
"What!?" she yelped. "I-I mean, sure, I don't remember my True Name, but that doesn't mean I have any connection with such a dangerous man!"
"Heh heh, settle down. It's just a joke. I don't think Cuchulainn knew any children in his lifetime other than the boy troop of the Red Branch Army when he was younger. But who knows? Maybe you're one of them manifested as a Servant."
"Perhaps…"
Just like with the skirmish in the previous town, Nightingale and Geronimo finished off the Celtic scouts before any of them could escape, leaving none of them alive to report their location to any superiors. The duo returned to their hiding comrades, and the nurse said, "Extermination complete. Hygienically speaking, it was a job well done," Nightingale said.
Rama grumbled, "Geez… I wish there was something we could do about her personality."
Geronimo said, "But she's a Berserker."
Ituha wondered, "I thought it's because she's Ms. Nightingale."
"No matter which way you look at it, her uncompromising conviction is a Madness Enhancement of its own. I dread to think if she was like this when she was alive."
"Hmm…" the child looked over at the woman, who didn't look concerned about the gossip surrounding her as she hauled Rama over her shoulders piggyback style.
"In any case, we're getting close to the next town. Those two Archers I told you about are there. Unfortunately, judging from those scouts we just fought, it's highly likely that they're under attack as well."
"So those pathogens were part of a larger contamination!?" Nightingale uttered in surprise. "We have no time to waste! Until the war on disease and infection is over, my legs shall carry me to the other ends of the Earth! Onward!"
"Hey, what!? Are you serious!?" Rama protested as she dashed at full speed while still carrying him. He tried to argue with her further, but his voice got quieter as they made distance between themselves and the other two Servants.
"Now I think I know why I'm so exhausted," Ituha complained.
"I agree," Geronimo said. "Alas, we must push forward until we have made it safe to rest. Let's follow them."
The next town over was very similar in appearance and function to the previous one, being a small settlement where pioneers and travelers could either rest for a day or live here for life. Unfortunately, the flames of war caught up to this hamlet, with the fierce battle between a larger force of Celts and the defending Resistance decimating the buildings. Of the Resistance members, two Archer-class Servants were there to assist with cleaning up the stronger Celtic warriors.
The first man had short, messy orange hair that greatly contrasted his deep green cape and bowman's clothing, and he wielded a crossbow attached to his right wrist. He looked like he belonged better in a medieval forest than in the middle of the dusty wilderness. Compared to him, the second Archer's garb and weapon were much more appropriate for the cowboy setting. He had short, bushy sand-blonde hair and wore a brown coat, pants and vest, black gloves, and dual wielded a Colt single action .44 pistol and a Colt double-action .41 pistol he nicknamed 'Thunderer'.
"Hm? Did you hear that?" the man in green asked.
"Sounded like fighting from further west," the gunman said, his voice sounding strangely more like a teenager's than a proper male tone. "Did someone pick off the scouts that got away?"
"Looks like it. The Old Man finally got us some reinforcements!"
"Yeah, but… Uhh…"
"What?"
"Remind me again – is Geronimo a crazy-eyed pink-haired woman in military attire hauling a person around on her shoulders?"
"The hell is that supposed to be? Not even a banshee sounds as scary as that!"
Just as the man in green said that, Nightingale reached the battlefield and took out her pistol from her holster while shouting, "Where are the contagions!? I must eliminate them quickly!"
"Not while carrying me around, you will!" Rama raged. "Aaaaagh! Ow, ow, ow! This isn't even funny anymore!"
A couple of Celtic soldiers spotted the new arrivals and charged at them, but the nurse immediately fired at their chests and killed them, then shouted, "Don't interfere with my treatment! Any germs that dare to get near my patient will be hygienically removed without mercy!"
"How should I say this…? Not even 'ridiculous' is a word fitting for this situation…"
"Hey you," the youthful-sounding gunman said to Rama. "Are you on our side?"
"I think so, assuming you're one of the Archers Geronimo told us about."
"Great! Hey, Green! They're allies!"
"Phew, about time," the orange-haired fellow sighed in relief. "Most of the enemies have been dealt with already, but I was afraid of having to fight that terrifying woman next. By the way… should I ask why you're being carried around on her back?"
"Please don't," Rama moaned. "It's long, complicated, and convoluted."
The gunman noticed Geronimo and Ituha running toward them. He pointed in their direction and asked, "Are they allies as well?"
"Yes. They're very reliable, more so than I am right now."
"Hm? But one of them's a Celt…"
"Don't worry. She's not with the enemy forces."
"A traitor, then?"
"Not quite."
The green-garbed man said, "I don't get what's going on, but I'll take any help you can spare. I took a look just outside town, and there seems to be a strange beast heading in our direction. It might take all of us combined to slay it."
"What do you mean by 'strange'?" the gunman asked.
"I wish I could describe it, but I can't."
Geronimo and Ituha joined the fray just as the group of Servants heard the pitter-pattering of some animal's running footsteps rushing toward them. From around the corner, a four-legged black animal emerged and spotted the menagerie of warriors. Just as the bowman claimed, it really was difficult to describe this thing in words, other than its head, legs and tail were covered in tentacles that resembled a brain's grooves and ridges. Its mouth had huge human-like teeth set in a square jaw, and its claws were pitch black. This thing was known as a Soul Eater, not attached to any particular culture's mythical bestiary, but more of a hound summoned from Hell itself.
"Oh, the humanity!" Nightingale yelled angrily. "Now we have wild animals running all over the place! I dread to imagine the pestilence festering inside their filthy hides! Furthermore, this one is an especially dangerous breeding bed for bacteria! Time to bring out the triple-power antiseptic! If at all possible, use your fire magic to burn this quadrupedal excrescence to a crisp, Ituha!"
"Uh… I'm not sure I understand those words you're using, but I'll do my best!" the child exclaimed.
Geronimo narrowed his eyes and said, "It looks to be an Assassin-type monster. As a Caster, I suppose it's my turn to shine."
"Good!" the blonde-haired gunman smiled. "Let's clean up house, y'all!"