AN: I strongly recommend that you watch the movie Perfume: the story of a murderer . It's one of my favorites, and is where the character Caster (Grenouille) is from.
I can feel it, coming in the air tonight. Oh lord.
Trace over the scars. The remnants of lessons, beatings, that he had learned in his youth. Dime sized holes healed over on his thighs and stomach, rough and dead to the touch. He had survived anthrax as a child. Grenouille had only died because he chose to. Suicide is the natural conclusion for a God. If one is all powerful, there can be no ending save for the one that is deliberate and chosen. Grenouille had been the closest thing to a God that the world had known in his past life; and now, here he was in a new city, surrounded by new, but no different, people. And perhaps it was the wisdom of his true age speaking, but it felt good to lord over the commonfolk.
True, inexhaustible power was in his hand, contained to a small glass bottle that he alone controlled. A single drop had caused the entire world to kneel. Another one would likely send them all into dreamy convulsions, the smell so strong and wonderful that it might be that the mind fry itself trying to comprehend the hidden beauties in the smell. That's what had happened to Uryuu, after all. A single whiff of undiluted love had killed him… or perhaps it was love that had done it. The serial killer had never loved in his entire life. To feel true, sincere love for the first time would have been devastating. See how it had turned the entire world into drooling fiends. This was the true nature of love.
Grenouille thought back to his days apprenticed to that man, Baldini, the washed up perfumer. What had been the first perfume he had made for him? That weak little thing called Amor and Psyche? The perfume had been shit, of course it had been shit, a man other than Grenouille had crafted it; but the name was a surprisingly apt way of describing the art of perfumery. Amor and Psyche. Love and the human spirit, soul, the ethereal portion of the human condition that made it possible for man to experience abstracts. This psyche was what allowed humans to be affected so strongly by smell, Grenouille theorized. The ethereal, unseen portions of the mind resonating with the unseen smells in the world, each one warping and shaping the soul to its own shape and form.
It stood to reason then, that Grenouille's own psyche was either so far above the rest of humanity that he could subjugate them with the most basic of machinery. Simple perfume. Sense of smell is the first facet of human sensation to develop, for even as a fetus, a child can discern who is 'mother'.
"You there." Grenouille pointed towards a man caught in the throes of ecstasy. "Kill yourself." It was a pointless exhibition of his power, but it thrilled him all the same. The power over love is the power over life and death… "I don't care how you do it. Just do it quickly. And make sure I can watch."
The man scrambled out of the tangle of legs he was part of and picked up a stone from the ground. It was strange to think that it had been underwater for however many millions of years the Fuyuki River had existed, and even stranger to realize that for all that time it had been underwater and that now, finally it was exposed to the surface, to the light. It had waited all that time in the depths of the river to be used here, the greatest purpose that a stone can dream of—
The man did not hesitate at all. Clutching the rock in his hand, he smashed it over his face, breaking teeth and nose cartilage. Blood fell from the wound but the man was not deterred. He wasn't even fazed by the pain. Quickly, he did it again, and this time the stone, already slick and red, hit his cheekbone, shattering the thin bones under his unrestrained strength. His right orbital socket went next. The thinnest, most fragile bones broke to pieces and the soft eye popped with a small squelching sound. Then again, straight in the forehead. The first strike there only drew blood. The second scored through skin to show white bone and slowly welling blood. Again. Again. Again. Again. Now pink and red and tender flesh, the brain peeked through the hole the man had made in his own head.
Grenouille watched on, somewhat bored, as the man hit himself one final time. The rattling scent of death, the smell of the soul as it wafted up from the body did not excite him any longer. The time for leisure seemed to have passed. Somewhere in the world was the scentless girl, Irisviel von Einzbern. Certainly she'd have to die, and the other Servants need be removed as well…
"You there," this time he pointed to a girl. "Kill yourself…"
As they entered the city, it became apparent that the world had gone to heaven. People of all kinds, together in love without regard for any laws or restrictions. Their desires, their fantasies made true through simple expression and contact. Sex. Had any of these libertines known each other in life? They certainly knew each other now. They knew each other as man and woman know each other. Even the children…
They had gone in the car for the first leg of their journey (Assassin driving), but had quickly given it up when they realized that the streets were filled.
There was such a look of fury on Spy's face. His gun was out and hot to the touch. He had killed a dozen men in the past hour either by the steel of his knife or by the bite of his gun… the victims had been deserving of it in Saber's eyes. Profligates breeding with animals or laying with children, none in the streets flinched as Assassin's revolver roared again, carving a hole through a man's skull. The small boy next to him, cried out in disappointment at the cessation of the man's thrusting. Pushing the man off, the boy crawled out from under the corpse, unnoticing or uncaring of the gore that spattered his nude body, and looked for a new partner. Vainly, Spy called after the boy and made to grab him by the arm, but Saber held him back.
"There's no point in trying to stop him. These people are not in the right mind. No matter how… distasteful their actions may be, we cannot indiscriminately kill those who do wrong. Not tonight." She was flushed and sweaty under her armor. Not exactly because of the unnatural sunlight, but also because she was excited. The musk of an entire city, pheromones and the smell of sex was addicting it its own pungent way. Every step towards the river only made the desire to strip and join the crowds grew, and Saber knew that both Assassin and Irisviel felt the same way. There was no escaping the desire, it was like something in the air, filling their lungs and dissipating into their blood just as easily as oxygen.
"So you'd let that sort of deviancy continue? Pederasty may have been common when you ruled, Saber, but my more, ah, modern sensibilities tell me that sodomy with a child is wrong." Spy spoke brusquely and aimed his firearm in the distance, taking the head of a woman this time who had been mounted by a spectacularly large dog. As the woman's body dropped to the ground, limp and dead, the dog never once ceased in its thrusting. "Mon dieu… I am going to kill Caster when I see him."
"That's the plan," Saber said, huffing. Each member of the trio had shed a layer of clothing by now. The sun had been high for an unnaturally long period of time, no doubt Caster's work, and the mercury was reaching at least 40 degrees. "What remains to be seen is how we will kill Caster. I would use Excalibur to do so from a safe distance, but I fear there will be too many casualties." She wouldn't mention how she still did not have full usage of her arm. The wound from Lancer's spear had not disappeared, and Excalibur's full capacity was out of her reach.
"Casualties or not, the fact remains that there will come a point where we can no longer approach Caster. Surely you two notice it, every step you take your body gets heavier and," he sighed and loosened his tie, "it gets hotter. The blood flows lower and quicker…" Assassin took a moment to look at both Saber and Irisviel. "We may be enemies, but I'd hate to see either of you join the others…"
It was embarrassing to be sure; but Irisviel had at least birthed a child. She knew all about the what happened between men and women during the night, or day in this case. Saber, though, had never had the luxury to be able to love. Her whole life had been about duty. Her husband was her throne, her responsibility to the people of her kingdom. She had even taken a wife, pretending all the while to be a man… whatever love she could have known in life had to be unreciprocated. She had died a virgin.
"That will not be happening," Saber said quickly. "It will not get to that point. The other Servants, once we find them, will surely have a method of dealing with Caster. If not, I am certain I can endure whatever magic that Caster is using to bend the wills of these people. I have no succumbed so far, I will go alone if need be, and cut him down." It was at least somewhat true. Saber had so far fared the best out of the trio. Her class traits afforded her higher magical resistance than any of the other Servants, so she would likely be able to endure the corrupting influence for longer than the rest.
"If that's a risk you're willing to take… it would be noble, but foolhardy. Caster cannot be beaten through combat." Assassin shrugged and walked on. Their progress had been growing steadily slower and slower as the sheer volume of human beings increased exponentially. More and more depraved the crowds became. Children, small children involved in the most terrible of acts. True sexual sadism and perversity became known. The darkest nature of human beings is revealed through their love…
Coprophagia is defined as the eating of feces. Disturbing, too disturbing to see people derive pleasure from such a disgusting action. An elderly woman squatting over her daughter's face, cackling and moaning as a murky, watery spray of dung expelled from her anus, splattering over her wrinkled, mottled thighs as she covered the younger girl's face. Saber turned away and made sure to at least try and Iri's view, but it seemed she had failed…
Irisviel made a gagging sound, the smell of evaporated sweat and the wet mushroom cellar smell of semen mixed with that of shit and it proved to be too much for the homunculus. She vomited, a thin soup of yellow bile and stomach acid, acrid as anything, onto the floor. It was interspersed with chunks and speckles of half digested food. Stragglers came from the crowd, crawling like animals they licked the revolting gruel like dogs. Quickly, Irisviel stumbled over the bodies, tripping, falling, picking herself up, eyes almost blinded by the hot tears that erupt whenever the body purges itself.
"That's just sick…" an understatement. Just thinking of what had happened made Assassin want to gag, and that wasn't counting everything he was trying to ignore. People were disgusting. Their bodies imperfect and hairy, some too fat, morbidly fat, and others thin and brittle as matchsticks. It was a wonder they didn't snap under the weight of their partners…
But they wanted to join. No matter how fervently they might have denied it, there was always a part of the brain that was eager to join, to feel pleasure beyond pleasure and to surrender oneself to love.
"Perhaps we shouldn't have left behind the vehicle behind. There must be nothing wrong with running these animals over." Spy raved darkly. He was running low on ammunition and realized that he had perhaps two dozen shots left. He couldn't spare any more bullets on these hedonists. Already it was growing difficult to walk. How badly he wanted to sit, perhaps lay down and rest for a while! Maybe even find a pretty girl to sate his thirst… No! He couldn't succumb. Caster needed to die. This world the enemy had made was an offense. To give in and lose free will, the most valuable possession according to Assassin, was unforgivable. Wasn't that why he had heeded the call of the Grail? To free himself of the most insidious form of bondage imaginable? To be one individual person, but split into two separate forms… his BLU team clone, his other half. Better half? Worse half? Spy didn't know, but once the BLU Spy was out of the picture, he'd be able to call himself an individual again.
"We seek to minimize casualties, Assassin. The people here are innocent. They have done no wrong except to have lived in this city. It is Caster who has corrupted them into acting the way they do."
"You're wrong, Saber." It was an apt judgement that the King of Knights had made, but shortsighted in an important way. "These people are acting out the forbidden, secret desires of the heart. The man who lies with a child or with an animal wants to do it. They have no place gracing the same earth as you or I."
"They would not have acted on their deviancies had Caster not forced them to."
"It wasn't coercion, they did so because the opportunity was presented and there was no—"
"Please stop arguing," Irisviel panted out. The conversation was growing heated, and in the humid, stagnant, sex filled air, it was worse than useless. The homunculus looked and sounded haggard, as if she had run a marathon. Even with the resistance that her non-humanity and possession of Avalon afforded her, Caster's magic was taking it's toll. She had already lost her heavy coat, and was left in a sheer blouse, drenched in sweat. "It's hard enough as it is without the two of you bickering. We have the same goal, so shouldn't we focus on that?"
The two Servants, seemingly embarrassed and sufficiently chastised, fell silent.
"Now it's difficult for me to do so with the latent magic in the air, but I think I sense other Servants. There seems to be a concentration of mana moving closer to us. Perhaps a block or two away."
"I see him Iri. It's Rider." True to Saber's word, the tall Servant was walking alone towards the unlikely trio, holding the edge of his cape up so as to not brush against any of the degenerates squirming on the floor.
"Ho! Friends! How goes the early day?" Rider's usually jovial tone was forced. An undercurrent of disgust tinged his words. "A beautiful day, we must go show Caster our thanks." His eyes hardened as he caught the sight of Assassin, walking about free and unmolested. No one was smiling. The air filled with tension and the mist of sex that rose from the clapping, shuddering bodies, some of them caught and frozen in moments of ecstasy. "And Assassin. You must be overjoyed that Valentine was so merciful."
"Mercy had nothing to do with it. Valentine simply knew the value of information. It was an exchange." Spy lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Rider's direction. "If you understood strategy instead of trying to muscle your way through everything, maybe you'd have at the chance at the Grail."
Rider guffawed. "I'm Iskander the Great! I conquered the world only because of strategy. Information is power, as they say."
"Then perhaps you know where Archer is," Irisviel cut in. If those two started arguing, they'd never stop. "We've planned to join our forces together. All the Servants to take out Caster. Are you in?" No one paid enough attention to notice that Irisviel had begun to walk strangely, her stockinged thighs rubbing together to relieve pressure.
"That's why I'm here, girl," Iskander sounded annoyed, "Caster has made this world, the world that I am to conquer, into some sort of pleasure house. There is a place and time for such things."
Like a group of crusaders, the now quartet walked on toward the Fuyuki River, mind steeled against temptation and heads held high, eyes to the sky, ignoring the rest of the world… they tried to, at least. Sex was on their minds.
"Change of plans, Kariya." In the abnormal heat of the bright, loud night; Valentine stood shirtless, looking over his reflection in a dirty shop window. His body was perfect, seemingly molded out of bronze by a master sculptor, it was like looking at a museum piece… only the star-spangled stacs on his back and the letters on his chest marred the physical perfection.
Behind the glass storefront, the screens of televisions, grey, blockish models, displayed only static. It was difficult to make out with the strong glare from the sun, but if one squinted enough… a pattern was visible in the softly falling digital snow.
"Look here, Kariya. A clue. We should act on it immediately." Valentine's Noble Phantasm, his Dirty Deeds, materialized behind him and punched the thick, tempered glass, shattering it completely. All around them came the orgasmic moans of the debauched masses, so loud that Kariya could hardly hear his ally.
"What clue?" Kariya shouted, distracted by the cries of a particularly attractive woman and Berserker's casual destruction of the surroundings. "If this is about your Corpse again, I swear, it's getting old." It seemed at times that all Valentine ever talked about was the Corpse, always stressing its importance or how he was destined to gather the scattered parts.
With the glass broken and television free from the glare of the sun, the clue was readily visible. The static of the television was warped. A strange set of symbols, letters maybe? It had been quite some time since Kariya had been in school, and the english characters were unfamiliar to him. T A I N; Kariya slowly pieced together the message with his limited knowledge of english. "So what you're looking for is on a mountain?" The fuzzy letters shifted constantly, not their overall shapes, but the borders of the symbols buzzed in tune with the television static.
"That seems to be the case." Valentine took a moment to scratch his chin. "That begs the question then: what is our next course of action? We could continue on our way to defeat Caster, save the little girl you mentioned, or we could chase the Corpse. There are three pieces that remain. The rest are with me." The original plan had been to find the other Servants and defeat Caster, but now that other options were available… "Perhaps we should save the child first. You mention that she is being held by your father. It is most likely that the both of them have succumbed to Caster's evil; and you know what happens to children in this night." Valentine didn't need to explain any further. Just gesturing to the copulating, degenerates on the street corners, all of them sweating and panting with ill restrained lust— it was too much to think that Sakura could be in such a terrible situation.
"The girl first. Please, let's go get her. I don't want her to be a part of this." But it was too late, wasn't it? The genie would not go back in the bottle. Sakura was likely out on the streets already, mingling with strangers in ways that she shouldn't. The only thing to do now was to end it prematurely…
"Perhaps it would be better to go after the Corpse. While the other Servants are fighting Caster, I would not be interrupted. Saber has vowed to take the Corpse for herself, after all… what a selfish girl. I could go now to the mountain and take it for myself… yes. Then there would be Rin Tohsaka to visit. Then when Caster is weakened by the rest, I could come in and—"
"Are you hearing yourself, Valentine? This is the innocence of a little girl we're talking about! Screw the Corpse! It's wrong to leave her outside in this," Kariya swept his arm in a wide arc, indicating the rest of the city, "we should save her as soon as possible! I'll help you do whatever you need done, later. I'll even help you fight the other Servants; Berserker will help you. I know he will."
Archer pointed toward Kariya's hand, the one with the remnants of the Command Spells, an inert sigil in the shape of an endless pyramid, overlapped thrice over. "You can promise all you want, Kariya; but the fact remains that you have no more Command Spells. You cannot control Berserker. Any order without the threat of force behind is only a suggestion. The longer I think of it, Kariya… you have no real bargaining chip." His eyes were sparking flints with purpose and drive. "What worth do you have? You're a second rate Magus who cannot even stop your rampaging Servant…"
Panicking over the supposed danger that Sakura was in, Kariya spoke rapidly, saying the first things to come to his mind. "The Mediator's promise, remember? If Berserker kills Caster, I'll win an additional Command Spell! Would you deal with me then?"
"I would." It was what Valentine had wanted to hear all along. Kariya's desperation made him predictable, easy to manipulate. Kariya would kill himself if it meant keeping that little girl safe. The man would even give up his own Servant, the very thing keeping him alive in this War for the sake of that girl, his love was fierce, but foolish… exactly the kind of ally he needed. "Have him kill Caster while the two of us save the girl. If Berserker is successful, you will have a Command Spell for me to use."
"Then," Kariya said with an exhalation of relief, "I'll lead you to the Matou estate." He turned to his Servant, Pyramid Head, the Berserker, the tall, scarred monster that laid waste to the crowds of sex fiends, pulping them underfoot and cutting them to small, easily digestible cuts of meat with his great cleaver. "Berserker…" his apprehension was high, with just a sentence more he'd be letting loose a monster; one that would never stop until his appetite for gore and human pain was fulfilled. He didn't even have a Command Spell to stop Pyramid Head if he got too out of control. "Kill Caster. Kill everything between you and he. When the real sun comes up or when the fake sun goes down, I want him dead by then. Alright?"
Berserker would likely kill everything. But that was the price to pay for Sakura's life and what was left of her innocence. Pyramid Head would rampage and once, if, Caster fell to his blade; the deal would be done. Sakura would be safe and Valentine would have his due.
Was he smiling? Even under the heavy metal apparatus that served as Berserker's only real armor, Kariya could sense that the Servant was smiling. Ecstatic. Happy. Overjoyed. With a guttural yelp of what could only be excitement, Berserker turned to the crowds, to the buildings and cars and homes that made up the city and began to cut everything down. Dozens at a time they began to fall. The people. The razor wind from each and every one of Berserker's knife slashes scoured deep, thin grooves into the building faces, bisecting cars and maiming those humans unfortunate enough to be caught in Berserker's rampage.
But the citizens didn't care. They simply looked up from their sick tangles, dazed and smiling as Berserker dispensed hate. They died on their backs, stinking of sweat and semen. Sex. They died fucking. Their bodies, still intertwined in love twitched in orgasm, then in by their deathrattles.
Valentine and Kariya turned away and left for their journey.
Berserker never stopped. Each step and swing of his knife took him closer to the riverfront…
He could smell them moving now. Each and every one of them. Five Servants and a Master. Was the scentless one immune to his charm, or had she already joined the orgy? Grenouille didn't know. What he could not smell, he could not be sure of. He'd trust his nose before his eyes. The rest of them were part of his congregation. Perhaps a hundred meters away was Lancer and his Master, the red-haired one, both of them worshipping fervently. The had been at it for a while now, and showed no signs of tiring.
To know that he had single handedly brought peace to the world, to know that people who hadn't ever heard of his name were worshipping him all across the globe; it was a marvelous feeling. One that Grenouille decided must last forever. It was his right as God of the world to be worshipped. Lancer, the great warrior for Ireland, a magician with his spear; he had been subjugated, subjugated easily. The other Servants, however, did not seem so willing to cooperate.
Why? Grenouille did not understand. Here he had offered the world paradise. A place for love to flow freely as rain in April. Everyone was loved here. They all had their places, their niches, their lovers. No one was ugly. No was disliked. Everything and everyone was available to each other. Here there would be no war. No pain. No suffering. Just… love. He was generous. The world had given him nothing but scorn and hate, Grenouille returned it all with love. All the beatings and words of hate he had suffered while young, those seven long years spent in the wilderness, surrounded only by the sparse mountain grass and the scrawny bats and mice that he had eaten twice a day… he had built his empire there.
World peace. The elusive goal lurking in the back of every man's mind. Countless billions had worked towards it. Countless billions had either failed or brought upon the world tragedy instead of the heaven they sought. The road to Hell is paved… a popular saying that held no sway here. Grenouille had done what God had been unable to do. All that omnipotent power and the Old Man in the Sky had done nothing. Grenouille had taken the world with just a single drop of perfume.
But here they were now. Agents of hate and destruction that worked against him. The Servants were marching against him. Berserker to his east. Saber and Rider to the north. Archer moving away from him. At least someone realized the perfection that Grenouille was making on this earth. But the others… they'd have to die. Or at the very least be made to understand his perfect world over heaven.
Grenouille stood, unstoppering his flacon of Bottled Love. The whole world turned to watch him. Even thousands of miles away, across stormy oceans and bone dry desert gulches, where the distance made it impossible to even begin to see what Grenouille was doing, people turned. In his hand was something more revered than Mecca or St. Peter's Basilica. True love was in his hand. Contained in a small glass bottle. Slowly he tilted the glass and a small drop of pure love fell to the ground. The world stood still. The fucking stopped.
"Teach them how to love," he said.
And the crowd went wild.
What the world would do when it woke from its slumber, Saber did not know. Around the small group, the masses rose as a collective, each man and woman sticky with sick, nacreous fluids, the fruits and seeds of the past several hours. Their love for each other, be it fake or genuine, encrusted and stinking, cooking on clammy skin, baked by sun. No longer were they fucking, but the spell was not broken. The lust was not sated. The atmosphere grew thicker, almost like a heavy fog rolling in from the sea. Caster's spell was growing in power, intensity, scope.
They were all watching. The sex crazed men and women of the city, of the world; the whole world had turned to stare now. Saber and her group, the sole wanderers of the misty, hazy wasteland where the only thing to exist was the desire for more sex… they were different. And the world would not tolerate differences. Be a part of paradise or die. An easy choice for most, but one that Saber would not make.
"They're different." Saber said tensely. The group had stopped, spooked by the sudden change in atmosphere. It was one thing to be a traveler through the land of lust, but to have the greedy eyes of the men and women, children and animals focused on her, looking over her every movement and unconscious breath… it was disturbing. Never before had she been wanted in this way. It was an uncomfortable, awkward feeling. These innocent people around her, minds broken by Caster's magic… they loved her, not as a King or friend, but as a woman. They wanted her. "Rider, Assassin. Be prepared to fight," she managed to pant out. "We haven't met with Archer yet; but we should launch our assault on Caster as soon as possible. The atmosphere is getting worse."
The crowds took their first steps forward, tottering and stumbling on themselves. Fat, old men with jiggling bellies and genitals and little girls, their breasts barely more than mosquito bites on their chests; they were all coming with lust in their eyes. They'd eat them. This was Caster's command. Teach the outsiders how to love or how to die. Either one was acceptable.
Assassin wasted no time. With a grimace sitting on his mouth, he raised his gun, unloading into the crowd. Three, four, five people died. There was no discrimination. The children he had sought to protect earlier died the same as the adults, with holes through their chests. So much hostility in the air. The whole world wanted them dead, damned to Hell for the sin of being different, noncompliant to the orders of God.
"We want to teach you love!" The entire world shouted all at once, shaking the very building and roads they stood on in a collective resonance. "We're so happy together! Why don't you join us? Are you so cruel as to deny yourself paradise?" And they strode forward, tripping on each other, tripping on the corpses made by the gleaming sword strikes from Saber and Rider, the angry piercing wire constructs from Irisviel… but there were a hundred thousand million soldiers marching on four. Even those who had been crippled beyond belief, disemboweled and limbs missing, cut apart by the expert swordsman ship from Rider and Saber; they crawled, dragged themselves along the ground to reach and clutch at the hem of Saber's battle dress or at the cuff of Assassin's well tailored pants.
Five died at once, Rider's short sword cleaving them in two, straight across the stomach. But what good was it? A hundred filled the empty spaces left behind by the dead men. Children, small and monkey like began to climb the buildings, some falling to their deaths as their small, weak fingers gave way to gravity, but many of them chose to jump, leap towards the Servants who, already occupied with the attackers on the ground, could not hope to defend against an aerial assault.
Two landed on Rider's shoulders, their ribs splintering as the young bones tried in vain to absorb the shock of a twelve story drop. But the pain was ignored and the children began to bite and scratch at Rider's face… With a tremendous shrug of his shoulders, Rider swatted the children away. There was no mercy. The attackers may have been normal human beings, incapable of magic or miracles, but they were motivated by the fervor of righteousness. Despair, an unfamiliar emotion filled his heart. Too many. There were too many. Iskander had won battles against insurmountable odds before, but this was impossible. Three Servants and a Magus against all six billion people on the earth. Against every animal that had joined the fray. Dogs barked and snapped at him only to meet a cruel end at the point of his sword. He killed dozens, but there were thousands, hundreds of thousands just in this city alone, all of them bent on teaching him the new world order…
Did they have what it took to kill an entire city? Saber thought not. Her arm was crippled thanks to Lancer's cursed spear. Excalibur was out of her reach… and would she use it anyways? If given the opportunity to raze the city to the ground under Excalibur's wrath, could she call herself a King? She would be responsible for the death of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. All of them innocent, seduced by magic to fall into sin. It wasn't their fault, no matter what Assassin claimed. It was difficult to swing her sword, burdened by guilt as she was. Each swing of her sword, burst of mana that turned human beings into paste, it was hard. Not because of any physical exertion or pain. There was a certainly hot pang of guilt associated with killing those she knew had no choice but to act the way they did. Caster was in the wrong, not the people… and yet she killed. Every movement she made was deadly, precise, and merciful. Justice? Not justice.
"Rider! Assassin!" Arturia ran to Irisviel's side, cutting through a nude crone, slicked with oil who had been ready to grasp Irisviel by the shoulders and pull her into the depraved crowd. "We must leave!" There were too many of them. The masses were relentless and uncaring of any casualty or pain. In fact, each and every person, even those dead or dying had smiles on their faces, happy to work towards whatever sick goal their God had commanded them to work towards. "We'll die here if we don't!" And that was a fact. No matter how strong or powerful the Servants might have been compared to a normal human; quantity was it's own quality. Even the sun might be doused by a trillion droplets of water…
"They'll just follow us! We can't afford to show weakness here. They'll chase us and they'll tear us apart when our backs are turned! We take our stand here!" Rider shouted even as he killed a man, throwing him backwards into the crowd with such force that his body broke. "Ionioi Hetairoi!" Rider shouted and the world became a desert. His army materialized like the great ocean tide to sweep away the crowd. Soldiers, trained killers, all of them veterans of Iskander's countless battles; each one of them a Heroic Spirit in their own right, they found it easy to cut through the lustful masses.
Rider atop his mount, Bucephalus, quickly made his way to Assassin, Saber, and Irisviel. The former looked impressed now that he was not on the receiving end of Rider's Noble Phantasm.
"I can only maintain this for so long. Much mana was used the previous day when Assassin and I fought. My chariot is so far unavailable because my Divine Bulls are badly affected by Caster's spell… if we must escape, we must do it quickly." He was reluctant to retreat, but Rider knew it was wise to do so. Since Waver wasn't nearby, he had little mana to work with. Even calling on Ionioi Hetairoi for these brief moments was rapidly depleting his reserves. He could only hope that Waver was near and that there would be a way to break him from the curse of Caster.
"What about Archer," Saber asked. "He's out there in the city— what am I saying," she mumbled, "he can take care of himself. Let's go!"
The frenzied melee between Iskander's army and the relentless hordes of reached its fever pitched climax, hundreds of humans dying at once, torn apart by spear lines and cavalry charges, pierced by a sky full of arrows so thick that the hot desert sun of the Reality Marble was for a brief moment obscured. Then all at once the world went still, the sand gritty in the air, cloying and sharp as it rose and fell with the winds… Rider released his tenuous hold over his army and they went out of existence. The action was physically painful, his mana so low that he could now barely keep himself materialized.
For perhaps half a minute the world was silent save for the whispers of the wind and the clank of boots on concrete. Saber and her group made their way up to the top of an apartment complex in hopes of escaping the mob. But it was to no avail. No matter where they went they could not hide their individual scents; and Caster, who directed the mob with whatever psychic trickery he was using to control them, knew exactly where they were going. The bodies, their souls seduced by promised happiness, were but empty shells only intent of fulfilling Caster's will. Like zombies.
"Irisviel, how many people live in Fuyuki City. Do you know?" Saber asked breathlessly. The endless procession of footsteps stomping on the concrete stairway of the multistory apartment complex was deafening.
"A little over a million I think…"
A million human bodies, little more than ammunition for Caster now. A million bullets from a million guns, all of them pointed right to their heads. They'd die here in this city. No magic or power save that of mass genocide could save them now.
"They'll be here shortly, Saber." Assassin said from the doorway leading back into the building. The sun was hot on the flat rooftop and the plants had already began to shrivel. It was near fifty degrees celsius now. "We could retreat further or we could stay to fight. It's your choice." He had maybe two dozen bullets left for his firearm.
There was pressure like she had felt a thousand times before. Saber had ordered entire armies to their deaths before, just to stave away the barbarian hordes or to provide an advantage in a future battle. She had done this without batting a lash. Unflinching, unfeeling King Arthur. Her knights, friends forged through battle had whispered that she had lost her humanity… and hadn't she? Always serious, never a moment of relaxation. That was her duty as King. To be above the common man, to be above even the knight and nobles. It was her duty to sacrifice and it was the duty of others to die on her orders… so why was it so hard now? Assassin, weakest of the Servants, and Rider, crippled by his lack of mana, both seemed to look towards her for guidance.
'We stand and fight,' she wanted to say. But she couldn't. What ever decisiveness she had during her reign had been shattered by her defeat at Camlann, at the hands of her own son, Mordred. 'We stand and fight, and we will take Caster's head.' She couldn't say it. She couldn't think it. It all seemed so hopeless.
They were waiting for a miracle. Backs pressed against empty air and nowhere else to go, standing at the edge of a roof waiting to die. Three Servants and a homunculus against the entire world. Against all the powers of love and goodness.
Archer's ghost, his Stand, broke down the doors of the Matou estate easily. The unlikely pair walked inside. Valentine with an expression of complete serenity on his face and Kariya sweating bullets. If they screwed up in saving Sakura, there was no telling what Zouken would do. That old man wasn't human anymore. Kariya had seen first hand how magic and the Worms had twisted his father's body into something ghastly. A monster, just like the ones to haunt the dreams of children…
"I'm trusting you, Valentine." Kariya knew he was the vulnerable party here. The Crest Worms gave him some magical power, including the ability to fly; but whatever battle would ensue between the Servant and his father would be far beyond his meager ability. His own well being and Sakura's salvation lay in the hands of this man, this stranger, whom Kariya did not fully trust. "If you can keep my father distracted for just a short amount of time, I should be able to save Sakura. I'm trusting you."
"Why haven't you done this sooner? You summoned your own Servant; I'm sure Berserker could manage to kill this Zouken Matou, no matter how monstrous he may be." Valentine stood on a pile of rubble, peering through the cloud of dust that had been knocked up by the wall and door that D4C had destroyed. It was the best type of environment for Valentine to fight in, full of rubble and other such objects for D4C to use effectively. Whoever Zouken Matou was, no matter what magic he used, the man had no forewarning or experience with Valentine's Dirty Deeds. Victory was assured.
"The way his body is made makes him immune to most physical attacks. Now, I don't know if you have a way of killing a man with an incredibly durable body, but Berserker can't end him for good with simple weapons. Magic or some other power is needed."
Slow footsteps came from the house, behind its rotund walls covered in creeping ivy and once brilliant hedges all dry in the harsh night's sun. There was a strange rhythm to the steps, triple time like waltz instead of the usual step-step of a human being. An old man, dressed in the traditional clothes of the Japanese fashion, skin pulled taut, then let to sag over his bony skull. A picture of horror. An old man, so old that Valentine thought him to be already dead. Valentine shivered. Was that how he had looked after being aged to the point of senescence by Gyro Zeppeli's Steel Ball?
"And so the prodigal son returns. You didn't have to knock so loud, you know. We did have a doorbell installed just a couple weeks ago." Zouken's voice was utterly unconcerned and bored.
"Where's Sakura, old man? Bring her out to us and we won't have any trouble."
The old man sighed and shook his head in mock disappointment. "Where are your manners, Kariya? Didn't I raise you better?" He asked sarcastically. "Introduce your companion first. Then we'll talk."
"Old man, if you don't—"
Valentine put a hand up in front of Kariya's face to mean silence. "Mr. Zouken Matou, I presume? My name is Funny Valentine. The twenty third President—"
"Of the United States. Yes. I know. I was there." Zouken punctuated each short sentence with a curt nod of his head. "I watched the Steel Ball Run, you know. And when it was announced that you were the one who made it all possible for Stephen Steel to host the race… I can't help but say that I was impressed. Well done."
"I suppose a thanks is in order then." Valentine strode forward, Stand hovering behind him the whole time, a hugely intimidating shadow that shone in the sunlight. "I'm glad that so many enjoyed the race; but that was nearly two hundred years ago. How is that you were present?"
Zouken shrugged. "Good genetics I suppose. Blessed with a long life. Magic goes a long way to preserve my health."
Valentine nodded in understanding. His arms were crossed over his muscular body, the letters on his chest shifted and the scars on his back, the scars that had been alight with phantom pain for so much of his life; they twitched. Everyone in the courtyard knew what was coming next. There would be a battle. One would live and one would die. But first…
"I have a question for you, Matou."
"Ask away. It's a good sign if a dead man is wanting some education."
Valentine brushed a lock of errant hair behind his ears, seemingly out of irritation. Completing the movement he opened his hand for all to see. A human ear, leathery dry, sat in his hand. Everyone, even Kariya who had little experience with magic, could sense the gravity of what was in Archer's hand. The Ear…
"Have you heard of this before, Magus? The legend of the Corpse?" It would probably be best to approach either Kirei or Risei Kotomine about the Corpse, seeing as they were clergymen; but Valentine was no longer allied to them and the opportunity had passed. "It is a matter of great importance."
"How many do you have?" Zouken asked. "Just out of curiosity, how many?"
"Four of nine. The Ears, the Right Arm, Legs, and the Heart."
"And you'll be wanting the rest. Correct?" The expression on the old man, worm corrupted, festering corpse of a man, was downright sinister. Evil. "I know of the Corpse."
"Kariya. Go find the girl." Valentine was ready to kill. In his hand was his flag, balled up and hidden. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap floated behind him, every muscle ready to explode into action.
"The Corpse you see, was brought to Japan by a man, an American, by the name of Johnny Joestar."
Valentine flinched at that. Johnny Joestar… the man who had killed him, who had stopped him from lifting America over the stars and moon… Valentine felt such hate.
"I don't know exactly why the Corpse was brought to this land, but Johnny Joestar died in short order and the Corpse was recollected by government agents. While transporting the Corpse back to America, a typhoon struck, sinking the boat the Corpse was on. I can only assume that it floated back to Japan. And I'd like to know how you came across it, Mr. President."
It wasn't a typhoon to have sank that boat. It was the will of God himself. The Corpse… it had known that Valentine would be summoned two centuries later and it had waited, waited patiently like a little dog, never bestowing the power of Stand upon anyone else until Valentine came once more to claim what was rightfully his.
"Tokiomi Tohsaka was the owner of three Parts of the Corpse. He was ignorant to their true nature and thought them to be powerful summoning catalysts for the Holy Grail War. I took them from him."
"So I take it that he's dead?" Zouken asked with an glee written in the tired wrinkles of his face.
"Yes. He's dead. He's dead and I have the Pieces now. Five more and I'll have assembled it all over again."
Zouken threw his head back, laughing with unrestrained glee. When he calmed himself and looked at Valentine once more, a third eye stared blankly at the Servant, embedded in the old man's cheek. Another one looked towards the sun, blinking slowly. It was in Zouken's forehead, the same dead color as the other one. The Eyes…
"I'm curious, Mr. Valentine. I've had these Eyes for over a century and I've never met anyone else who held the Corpse. To think the Tohsaka family held so many pieces and were ignorant of the whole thing… it's insulting isn't it? The power that one receives just by owning a Corpse Part is incredible, but it is not for all people, is it? I tried with my son, Byakuya, and my grandson, but neither of them showed any ability to bond with the Eyes… Why is that?"
Valentine and Zouken circled each other now, both of them searching for weakness.
"The Corpse only blesses those who have a strong will, a personal drive to want to obtain and hold the Corpse. The reasoning behind it does not matter. Selfishness, goodness, badness; none of this matters to the Corpse! It will only recognize the true holder! It gravitates towards whomever is meant to have it! And it is I, Funny Valentine, who will take the first napkin!"
He leapt forward, the arms of Dirty Deeds, more dangerous than anything, outstretched and ready to crush Zouken between the fists. It was almost unfair, Valentine thought. The power over dimensions was a terrifying one, one that was nearly impossible to counter unless one knew of the mechanics behind Dirty Deeds. Zouken would die, no matter how durable he was, he would die in a spatter of blood and Menger sponges. There was no defense against a dimensional paradox except for his own Stand.
The old man was limber, even if he didn't seem like it. The spine bent at an unholy angle, straight backwards so that the silver white fists of Dirty Deeds passed over harmlessly. Zouken cackled and his body shifted, expelling worms from his body in gouts of blood. They were long greenish beasts that glistened in the sunlight and snapped their terribly sharp jaws and there were so many. Hundreds of them tore through the elder's parchment like skin, swimming through flesh like sharks cutting through waves, leaving no trail as the body healed instantly. So this was what Kariya had spoken of. A healing factor that effectively nulled any physical damage.
The worms frothed with greenish liquid and landed on the ground, a tide of them crawling their way towards Valentine, forcing him to run in long, looping circles to evade. The fluids that oozed from the fat, carnivorous worms hissed and smoked as it ate through the ground, corroding the world.
"The Corpse, as you so eloquently put it, Mr. Valentine, bestows a certain type of blessing to its owner. The Eyes have given me power! This is my Stand! The Golden Eel!" The Stand materialized in front of Zouken. Its torso was vaguely humanoid in shape, but the legs had been replaced with a long, winding tail, its entire body scaled with cucumber green scales, chitinous and buglike. More than an eel it looked like a huge Crest Worm, swollen and bloated with fluid, blood taken from victims. It had no face, merely a smooth surface where a man's head would be and its arms were covered in slime.
Now the stage was set for battle. Zouken with a Stand was a far more dangerous foe than Valentine had initially anticipated. Even with the power of his Dirty Deeds, he knew he was not invincible. Diego Brando and Hot Pants had proven that on the train fight. It was best not to get too cocky.
Archer swept his flag across the floor and like magic the Crest Worms disappeared into another world, another reality where they would never be able to bother him again. In the same movement, three additional Valentine's came into being, seemingly coming into existence out of the folds of the flag.
"End him." The original, the shirtless one with Dirty Deeds circling close by, gave an order while Zouken watched in curiosity. What sort of power was this? Duplication? At least it was quite easy to tell apart who was the original and who were the copies; Valentine was shirtless and the others wore long pink coats.
"Golden Eel!" The buglike Stand made a shivering motion and issued a sound, the sound of a dinosaur vomiting. The smooth carapace covering the Stand's head folded open, straight down the center. There was a mouth, vertical and looking more vaginal than anything, and from it came a flood of clear green fluid, so hot and acrid that the very air around it began to boil. The earth began to melt, each spot of acid burning through meters of earth. Stone and rubble and dust all floating up, burned to vapor by the fluid. And it kept flowing, closer, ever closer to the crowd of Valentines.
"Damn!" Valentine cursed and wrapped himself in the flag, disappearing. The other Valentines drew their arms, huge revolvers that fired conical bullets that ripped through the air with tearing screams and shouts of thunder. Deafening, deafening noise.
Zouken's Stand, Golden Eel, thrashed its serpentine tail, the end of its body splashing and flinging acid into the air like mist. The bullets, finger sized slugs of lead melted instantly, stinking up the hot air with the smell of heavy metal. Valentine, all three copies of him circled, shooting and shooting, uncaring of how little damage they were doing. But they were silent and worked together seamlessly, all of them thinking the same thing, victory on all their minds.
One didn't dodge, or didn't dodge in time. A Crest Worm that Zouken threw from his body landed on him, burrowing into Valentine's throat and chewing, eating at his flesh. The clone fell to its knees with the expression of death on its face. Shock. Only in movies and books and stories could a man accept death with peace. The worst fate of all is to die, for to die means being barred from the entire world…
The bullets did nothing. Even those that were not melted out of the air, those that impacted against Zouken's body were fruitless. Huge wounds, fist sized holes in the old man's decrepit body issued blood and marrow and bone fragment for only a short while. In an instant the wounds turned to fresh skin.
"Come now, Valentine! You're a Servant! Will you only fight with gun and fist? Is that the limit to your ability? You don't deserve the title of Heroic Servant!" Zouken cackled as his face reformed. "Golden Eel! Melt them all!"
How hot could the world become? Already the atmosphere was heavy and hazy, fifty degrees celsius. Half what it takes to boil water… But around Golden Eel, the air grew even warmer, so much moisture and humidity in the air, so thick and tepid that it could very well induce nausea—
The flag that Valentine had left on the ground was suddenly blown to the side. From it stepped out yet another pair of Valentine's both of them fully clothed now, each one heavily armed. Where did one get a pair of Mossbergs in Japan? They joined the surviving pair from Valentine's initial conjuring, firing their shotguns and blasting holes through Zouken's torso, just wasting ammo and making the old man laugh even harder.
"I've never met a man who hid behind himself, Valentine!" Zouken looked for Valentine's Stand, but could not find it. The clones were indistinguishable save for the fact that two carried pistols and two were armed with shotguns. If the original was part of the quartet, Zouken could not tell. Best to kill them all. Zouken clasped his hands together like he was praying, phrases issued forth in languages long dead to the world and the ground began to quake. Hundreds of worms, their heads like mushroom caps and bodies explicitly phallic, burrowed out of the ground by the thousands, millions. All of them were so hungry and willing to eat…
The group of Valentines shifted their attention to the ground now, blasting at the insects, tearing them apart in clouds of birdshot and gunpowder residue. Kariya had better hurry up… Valentine was running low on ammunition now, and although he could jump to another universe and bring back more, it was useless. Zouken would not die to simple gunfire.
Valentine ran over the sea of Crest Worms, uncaring about how the green-red blood from the worms, popping underfoot like little eggs, stained his clothes, slowly melting at his skin as the blood was corrosive. He bent to pick up the flag, but it was already covered in worms and worm juice, being eaten away. With the tatters of the American flag, Valentine disappeared again, his expression murderous. His counterparts were being eaten apart by acid and torn apart by the Worms.
"Running away now, Valentine?" Zouken asked aloud. His Stand was next to him, still oozing acid. Its face, two flaps of flesh covered in two chitinous shells, fluttered in mock speech, a lewd, disgusting sound. "I don't know what your Stand entails, but it cannot match my Golden Eel. You will never have the Eyes…" he watched dispassionately as Valentine's clones melted, turned into a human soup by the acid. And the courtyard was empty, pock marked and ruined by the gunshots, littered with wasted shells and steaming with rock vapor from melted stone, concrete, earth.
In the end the Servant had been defeated rather easily. Zouken turned to the house now, Kariya was likely looking for Sakura or trying to free her from her restraints. The girl was going through some… interesting changes now. Like her peers in the streets, Sakura had also lost her innocence that night. Around his arm snaked a worm, this one perhaps twenty inches long and covered in barbed spines, thicker than a bottle of wine. That had been the worm to take Sakura's virginity… a perfect gift for his foolish son.
"Who are you?"
Zouken knew that voice… it was more familiar than anything in the world. Every thought he had thought and every word he had spoken was with that voice. It was his own and for the first time in decades, he felt fear.
Like tomorrow won't arrive
It was a miracle.
The only thing that Saber had complete and utter control of was herself; and there was nothing she could have done in that moment hold back the endless human tide. In a hopeless moment, hope came from the strangest of places.
The building collapsed. Some huge force; something had leveled the entire first floor in a single moment. It sank under its own massive weight, concrete cracking and moaning louder than anything. However many hundreds of people had been clamoring up the stairs; they died under tons of rubble. Their blood turning to pudding as it leaked from their broken bodies and mixed with the dust…
"Jump!" Saber sheathed her sword and grasped Irisviel by the shoulders, making a huge leap from the falling roof top toward the glass face of a neighboring building. She made a mid air turn so that her back would take the brunt of the impact. It was a terrible decision. With the temperature so high, Saber had long since abandoned her armor, and in her panic, she did not think to re equip it.
There was a clattering, shattering of the glass breaking apart, the shards flying and cutting everything, drawing blood and cutting, cutting, cutting everything. Saber screamed her displeasure and threw Irisviel across the office suite they had landed in, straight through a wall. Irisviel made a thick sound and Saber could audibly hear something fragile break even over the great cacophony of the world of glass falling all around her.
She heard this twice more. Assassin and Rider had both followed along.
Even a Servant couldn't walk without a leg. A particularly large shard of glass fell from the ceiling, hot to the touch and glinting in the light. It caught her arm, splitting it straight down the middle along the bones, all the way to the elbow. Arterial fluid spurted in a steady cadence, slicking the glass…
She screamed and in her panic drew away from the floor. Dust and papers from the office fluttered everywhere and for a moment, Arturia thought it impossible to master the pain. She proved herself wrong when she did. Summoning her sword and using it as a cane, she hobbled toward the doorless entrance of the cubicle.
Numbly she registered the sound of death outside. The building they had jumped from had fallen into the street, probably crushing dozens and smothering everyone who had been scaling its walls and traversing its stairways. But more than that there came sickening splats, characteristic thuds of bodies impacting against hard, unforgiving surfaces. Someone, their savior, was out there, still fighting.
"Rider! Assassin! Irisviel!" Saber called, her voice hoarse from dust and screaming. The pain was great, this whole War had been pain, constant pain and suffering on her fault; but she couldn't seem to die. Passing through a narrow, boring hallway she reached Irisviel, who was lying on the floor, unconscious, among broken drywall. Splintered chairs and mangled picture frames were all around her.
Any wounds Iri had sustained were already gone, healed over by Avalon. For a brief moment Arturia thought about taking the sheath back, healing herself of her wounds, maybe even the cursed one from Lancer, and marching onwards to Caster. But she knew it to be the wrong course of action. If she took Avalon from Irisviel there was the risk that she might become susceptible to Caster's magic… then she'd join the masses in their day of endless sex.
She turned her head at a noise and caught Assassin walking out from a cubicle at the end of the hall. Like Saber, his body had been badly mangled. His right leg, cut off right where the knee joint ended. Unusable. And without his Master nearby… he would not heal.
"Do you know what happened to Rider?" Saber asked and for the first time felt concern for her fellow Servants. Despite all their flaws, they had proven to be valuable allies against Caster.
Assassin struggled with his cigarette case as he was leaning against the wall to balance the leg he had lost. With his head trembling with exertion, it was as if the cigarette he put in his mouth weighed the world. Saber took his lighter with a roll of her eyes and lit the fag for him.
"Much appreciated." Spy sighed out a cloud of smoke. Usually there was an aura of ease and professionalism about the Servant, but now, with his bum, bleeding leg and tattered suit, he looked no better than a homeless man. "Almost certainly Rider is no longer bound to the material plain. His mana reserves were already running low and if he sustained any great injury from the jump like you and I; it would be the best that he retreat until he can find his Master."
"Damn," Saber gritted out. An ally was gone now, but there still remained Lancer and Archer and even Berserker that could help oppose Caster. "Do you know why the building collapsed? It was fortunate, but too convenient for it to happen."
Finishing up his cigarette with a long, drawn out drag, Assassin threw the butt onto the grey shag carpet and ground the ember out. "Berserker was the one. You can hear him, can't you?" Assassin paused for a moment so that they could listen. Yes, the sounds of combat and destruction, something was outside, perhaps a dozen stories below them, clearing the streets of any and all life. "I don't think the beast will ally with us, but if we point him in Caster's direction, we will win. Berserker doesn't seem at all affected by Caster's brand of magic."
"That's supposing that butcher isn't an even greater threat than Caster. He's out there killing civilians, it must be a massacre! A man, if I can even call him that, such as he cannot understand reason or temperance. Think of the after, Assassin; if Berserker is left unchecked and allowed to rampage, half the city will be destroyed! Half the citizens will be dead! There will be no covering that up and the Mediator will end the War."
Assassin shook his head. Both Servants took seats next to Irisviel who had yet to awaken. Slowly, Saber began to heal, her arm knitting together again as mana from Irisviel was transferred to her body. Assassin, on the other hand, continued to bleed, turning paler by the moment.
"We're a little past the point of being able to cover this up, Saber. The whole city was, is part of an orgy. It's very likely that even the Mediator was affected." A valid, depressing point. Even if Caster was defeated, it might be that the Holy Grail War be canceled… "The best thing to do is to cut our losses. Even though it may seem counter intuitive, we will be saving more lives if we eliminate as many enemies as we can on our way to Caster."
It didn't sit well with her, but Arturia couldn't deny that it was true.
"What would you suggest then?"
Assassin gave a sad grin and unbuckled his watch, this one plain and dated. "Here." He grabbed Arturia by her good arm and clasped the watch around it, much to her confusion.
"What is this?" She brought her wrist to her face to get a good look at the watch. The time read 2:98 AM. What?
"It's no ordinary watch, Saber." Assassin reached over a fiddled with the watch, turning a dial on the side, changing the display to read 3:17 AM. "That's the correct time. 2:98 is how many seconds of invisibility you have left."
Arturia gulped. "You mean, this is…"
"Yes. That watch is one of my Noble Phantasms. You're going to need it for the plan."
Suddenly Saber found herself wishing that she hadn't allied with Assassin.
AN: Wow, another chapter done!
I'm starting college in two days so expect updates to be very much slower.
Zouken vs. Valentine!
Zouken has the Corpse's Eyes. His Stand, Golden Eel, is named after the song by Ween.
It's powers include production of a powerful acid. A pretty generic ability for a Stand, but what can a guy do…
Saber and co. vs. Caster
They've had to escape an entire city full of people who want to jump them and rape them. They can't fight back like they would normally because each Servant is disadvantaged against the crowds. Rider doesn't have a Master so his mana is limited. Assassin doesn't have any way of fighting against large numbers. Saber can't use Excalibur because of the wound from Lancer's cursed spear and using Excalibur would kill too many people.
Think about how impossible it's going to be for Risei to cover this up. He, like most other people, has been brainwashed by Caster into joining the orgy. If it ends and everyone wakes up next to each other, naked and smelling like sex… that's not going to end well. Remember that Caster's perfume works on a global scale. The whole world right now is having a giant, epic orgy and everyone's happy.
Blog post: Tbh I'm losing a lot of motivation in this story. I recently got new writing software that makes it so much easier to organize my writing, but since I've been writing A Holy War on another program, I can't transfer the story to my new writing software. I'm not even getting that much feedback on this, so I'm thinking of cutting my losses.
Expect updates to be slow.
Please review. If you like this fic, leave some feedback about it. It really motivates me. The reason I write is so that I can get feedback and see what I can improve about my writing.
Until next time!