AN: the logical conclusion to the Caster arc
Absolute corruption
She landed on her face. A dull thud of concrete against forehead and the crack of cartilage and bone snapping as impact force broke the volmer and the thin, weak bones of the face. A dark, wet spot of blood on the pavement where the blood gushed from her nose. Rin stood up, dazed, mouth open and tongue lolling, dripping clear, hot saliva and even hotter blood.
"Mister… I feel hot…" The girl, dizzy and unconcerned with her injury began to claw at her clothes, strength from some mysterious source fueling her young muscles to tear through the sweat soaked cloth. "I can get a hug? Can you kiss me all better? It kinda hurts 'cause I fell down."
Valentine paused for an aching, eternal moment and turned around to stare at his young charge. He was supposed to bring her back to Kariya unharmed… and he had failed. Her eyes colored ground aquamarine and turquoise were dilated, huge like saucers, full of mature desire and fervent longing for intimacy, love, contact. Why now? The child had been somewhat cognizant, had shown an incredible ability to resist Caster's magic in the forest, but now that they traversed the empty outskirts of the city, populated only sparsely with groups of orgy goers; she had succumbed to the magic that seemed to have filled the space between every molecule, every bond between molecules, the magic spaces between conscious and subconscious, reality and fantasy, love and hate…
"Mister? Please?" Rin fluttered her eyes, it would have been sexy had she been older, but it seemed disturbing on a fundamental level to see such a sultry, smouldering expression on the face of a little girl. "Just a little kiss?" Lips puckered and wet with spit and steps ever so slow, Rin strode forward, hips swinging and arms outstretched for an embrace. "Mister, I feel so strange. I want a hug." She was only seven or eight and seemed willing as a thirty year old whore.
There wasn't any time to spare taking care of a child. He had to reach the Spine before anyone else found it… he was so, so close now. Just one more and he'd have the world again, he'd be the first to take the napkin in this era…
'I have no time. Whatever arrangement I made with Kariya can be put on hold. The Corpse before all.' Valentine told himself, silently pushing away the lascivious girl with his Stand, holding her at bay. 'Injustice will be done to this girl if I leave her here… terrible things will happen to her…' But he found that he didn't care all that much. Whatever pain and debauchery that Tokiomi's child would suffer was irrelevant. The Corpse would better the lives of hundreds of millions. 'I must leave her.'
It was the right thing to do. He felt no guilt.
"Mister, please!" Whether it was a cry for salvation or a cry of mercy or a cry for love, Valentine did not know. He did not care.
"Girl," he said, knowing full well that his words fell on a mind that could no longer think or anything other than sex and lust. "You have my condolences. It is highly likely that you die tonight." It was the Arm, Valentine reasoned, that had been keeping the effects of Caster's magic at bay. But now that he held the Arm… there was nothing to protect that little girl's mind from the creeping tendrils of satanic desires that seemed to be everywhere. "It's unfortunate that you will lose your innocence like this…" he could stop it, prevent it by sending her away to a mirror world; it would be a mercy to kill her before she could further debase herself, but Valentine did not care enough about the life of one little girl to act. "But the world is a harsh place, and it is not my place to save you."
"Mister…" Rin was clawing at his pant leg now, drooling.
He sighed and grabbed her by the face with one hand, firmly but gently. The night was so bright and it would very nearly be morning soon, a time where the sun wasn't out of place, but welcomed and expected. If only the going ons of the world would be the same… they would eat her alive. Valentine turned her around, pushing her away by the small of her thin little back.
"Go. Find your mother and sister and father." Valentine watched without expression as Rin nodded dumbly and sauntered off into the city. Undoubtedly she would be snatched up by some group of revelers and she'd be eaten alive. He had damned the girl to a terrible, terrible fate and felt nothing of it. The meth head vampires of this tainted, glowing city, gorged on sex and fluid, they'd take care of her.
And now that the girl was gone, it was time for the Spine...
She gave the witch's cry, tongue dissolving in her mouth like gas. Sheer fear. Hot terror as thin, wet, sticky fingers wrapped around her ankles. Irisviel panicked and stomped, wincing as she heard bones break and laughter. She looked down at the bush by her side. A woman, naked and cut by the harsh brambleback branches of the shrub, had grabbed her by the ankle, dirty, bony fingers digging in harshly, broken now by Irisviel's hurried stomp.
Two gunshots from her companion and the bush woman died with a gurgle.
"These degenerates…" Spy panted out, tired and haggard and injured, so badly injured. His leg had not healed. There was no mana for him anymore and no sign of his Master either. It was nearing the end for him. "They should die now. What will they do when they awaken? They will find blood and the products of the night on their hands, children in their bellies," Spy spat on the dead woman, angry. "How will they take responsibility for their crimes against goodness and righteousness? I am no saint…"
"We'll get to that when we're done. Once Saber reaches Caster, it'll all be over. I have confidence in her," she brushed off her dress, feeling sticky and dirty and baking in the too hot sun. The dead woman at her feet had shaken her. "She can do it. She can do anything." They had to have faith. They had nothing else left. Just a weak girl and a crippled man trying to fix the world…
"At least we're close," Spy offered. He didn't want to contest Irisviel's optimism with his own dour world view. They were a mile and a half away from the banks of the Fuyuki River, close enough to hear the center of the orgy, the tremendous throng of sex-fiends lusting for one another. And they were speaking to one another, whispering gossip in hushed voices that somehow carried over all the slapping skin and dripping sweat, oozing semen down chests and from holes, dark and cavernous and inviting… they were speaking and there was nothing to do but to listen.
"Be with us. Love with us. You'll be happy. We're all happy."
"Spy? What's happening?" The low murmur grew as more people joined the incessant chanting, all of them in total agreement. "Who are they talking to?"
A question that didn't have an answer.
"I don't know, Irisviel." He loaded his firearm; the huge, thumb-like bullets, still warm from being in his pocket for so long hot and heavy in his gloved hand. "But there's danger here. Something's about to happen." He cursed his leg and the fact that they hadn't found Kirei yet. If only he had mana… then he would be able to heal. "I need mana, Irisviel. I can't protect you like this. We're going to die here if we don't find safety."
"We've come this far, Spy. I'm going to find my husband." Her gentleness had been consumed by the heat of the world, the frustration and lingering feelings of betrayal and anger and helplessness… she wanted so badly to be useful. "We can't give up."
"There are others?"
"Those who aren't like us?"
"They don't love to love love?"
More whispers— could they be called whispers? It was so loud now, constant, buzzing murmurs everywhere, coming from every mouth in the world, carrying over oceans and winds and barren deserts.
"They need to go."
A mounting feeling of dread that both Irisviel and Spy felt in some secret organ buried deep within. A surge of mana, of magic and power that could not be ignored. Something was coming. Another Servant rushing towards them, stabbing through the chaff and buildings— something was coming with murder on their mind. Was it Berserker? Saber? Lancer? Rider was already out of commission and who knew where Archer was… but the other three; they were still out there, ready to fight and kill. Had Saber been corrupted by Caster's magic? Had Lancer? Murder was coming.
"Irisviel. You should go." Spy's words came out calm and just a bit tired as he fished out a golden pocketwatch from his suit pocket.
"What?"
"Find your husband. End this. Reach into my left inner pocket and light me a cigarette." Spy shifted so that Irisviel had an easier vantage point and the confused woman did as she was bid.
"Spy… what's going to happen?" But she already knew. "You're not seriously thinking about staying here, are you? Look around! There's so many of them!" And there were dozens of men and women embedded in, entangled around each other, all of them screaming and moaning and still whispering between their breaths the incessant dogma of the libertine.
"Love loves to love love."
"They're not an issue, Irisviel. You know what's coming."
Her hands, lily white and shaking, flicked at the steel lighter flint, sending sparks once, twice, three times before she lit the flame and fed the cigarette head to it. Smoke, dirty, nasty cigarette smoke of tar and cancer went spiraling into the too-hot world. Carefully, trembling, she placed it in Caster's mouth, so close to him, so worried about the future and the impending doom that threatened to take them all and smother them. Something terrible was about to happen.
"You need to go." His guns were loaded and his knives were sharp. Even sans leg he was dangerous. Dead Ringer in hand and pistol in pocket, knife ready to be sheathed in someone's back… he could win. "The Grail means nothing to me if Caster isn't stopped."
"But this isn't fair! You can't even stand without using a crutch!"
"I'm going to win, Irisviel. I'm going to win and after this is all said and done, after Caster is dead— I'm coming for you." It was a joke at this point, something to assuage the homunculus' fear and guilt. "I tried to kill you once before, didn't I? Shot three times in the chest and you survived. I'll make sure you die next time." He could have run. He could have taken the golden pocket watch in his suit coat and turned into a ghost, waiting out the endless false day. Instead he stood and cried silent tears because victory could have been his. The Grail could have been his, his life could have been his own again. Everything could have been but here he was, throwing it all away; for what? For the world? A world full of people he had never cared for, full of men and women he would have, in the past, killed for the right price. And he was now defending it, giving up the chance of two lifetimes just so that the men and women and children didn't have to live as slaves. If he lost here… he'd always be a non-person.
"Spy…" that angry magic would be here soon. The Servant Lancer. Irisviel could feel it, she was the Vessel of the Grail, after all. "What did you want from the Grail? We're not friends, we're only working together 'cause of this magic, but I want to know. What is your wish?"
"To be my own person," Spy finished his cigarette and began chewing on the filter, thin yellow nicotine juice mixing with his saliva and phlegm and being absorbed through the membranes of his gums. "I want to be accountable for my own actions, not for those of some carbon copy of me. I want to be an individual instead of being one half of a pair. I want to be human again. I was going to wish that I had never been cloned…"
"I assume that you're the original then?" Irisviel asked, stuttering, trying her best to calm herself by smoothing Spy's wrinkled suit to the best of her ability. "I won't pretend to know why you were cloned, but you're the original, right?"
"I don't know."
And this was his personal tragedy; not knowing whether or not he was the copy or if his counterpart, the BLU Spy, was the copy. Would his wish destroy himself and free his enemy? It might be suicide, but that was an unavoidable risk.
"My counterpart is dead by now. But my life— Irisviel, you must understand how terrible it is to have a life that is not your own. To know that your existence is irrevocably tied to another being… I don't want it. Saber and Rider and Valentine all speak of grand ambitions; to save a country, to rule the world, to take the highest blessing of God for himself— I don't want any of that. I want to be human again. I want to be able to speak about myself with a clear conscience, no more of that niggling feeling in my mind saying that I'm not my own man."
"No, Spy… you're unique. You're special. I know it sounds cliche, but I understand. I'm not a human, you see. I had no feelings, no emotions until my husband taught me… I was made for this Holy Grail War and I'm going to die at the end. You're still the Spy I know, right? The only Spy I've ever met and the only Spy I'll ever meet. That makes you unique, that makes you special." She was crying and her arms found themselves draped around Spy's shoulders. Together they had traveled through enough horrors for a hundred lifetimes. It had bonded them together in a strange, strong way… they were friends.
So close now. Whatever Servant was coming was close.
"If my copy were here instead of me… he would have made the same choices, Irisviel. He would say the same things and you would never be able to tell the difference."
"I think I would; be able to tell the difference that is."
The crowd was parting now, all of them murmuring and still sticky close to one another, frantically pumping even as the groping, panting pairs stepped off the slick street to make way for the monster than was coming. Spy saw in the distance two people, a man and woman, their bodies shaded black by the harsh sun behind— Lancer and his Master, both of them naked, both of them very much under Caster's spell…
"You need to leave, Irisviel."
"What's your name, Spy? Your real name? Tell me so that I know who you are."
"Goodbye." And with his one leg, knife clenched now in his mouth, crutch under one arm and gun in the other, Spy stepped forward to meet his opponent, nameless, anonymous, and ready to die.
"I'm assuming that you're here to kill me, just like the others."
Berserker nodded his head, mute and covered in rust and blood.
"You appreciated the gift then? I had to slow you down, you know. Ten thousand men and women… a literal army, I know they're weak, but to kill every last one in half an hour… None of the other Servants would be able, or perhaps it's more accurate to say they wouldn't so cruel." Caster shrugged and pointed to a group of men, all of them standing shoulder to shoulder with one another, circled around something or someone.
"I know you can't talk, so I suspect that this conversation will be short," Caster continued, keeping a wary eye on Berserker and the massive, gore stained knife in his webbed, brutal hands. "You're here to kill me on your Master's orders. My perfume doesn't affect you. There is nothing I could do to stop you from killing me. You know this."
Once again, Berserker responded by nodding his head, crimson blood powder being shed like dandruff with every movement. He hefted his sword to his shoulder, readying himself to strike.
"I'm quite happy with what I've done, you know. I've brought peace to this world, you understand? All of the others, Saber, Rider, Archer, Lancer— none of them so much as came near to accomplishing what I've done here. Peace. Love, love for all, love for those who've never been loved and who have never loved before. This is truly a work of God," Caster strutted with his arms spread, proud of his work, the world of sex and free love that he built solely with the power of scent. "And you can join, Berserker. There was a time in your life where you were a man, with the desires and dreams of a man. I'll give you this as a gift…"
Clapping his hands, the circle of men standing just a dozen meters away parted with incredible efficiency. Each one of the men, old and fat, young and strong, wore satisfied smirks on their faces, happy and content from being serviced. Their organs, some still hard, others flaccid, dripped with thick fluids, their testicles still clenching and unloading their payloads in aching rhythm. In the center of the now open circle was a girl, blonde and sticky, licking her fingers clean of the bitter-salty semen that coated them like a thick sheen of glue.
"Come here, Saber." Caster ordered and the Servant, her mind broken and enslaved, stood to her feet, trembling and tottering like a child. There was a distinct bulge to her stomach for she had gorged herself on the juices of men. "Look at her, Berserker. Look at how her hair is caked and how her eyes can barely open, so crusted they are with fluid. See the filth dripping down her leg? See the way her legs buckle as she tries to walk? She's yours provided you don't kill me."
It seemed for a moment that Berserker would swing anyways, cut Caster down and end the nightmare once and for all, but things were not meant to be. The knife clattered to the ground, the ringing of steel filling the night. With surprising gentleness Berserker shrugged off his skirt of layered human skin from around his waist.
He was a monster and excited to be alive.
"Glad you see it my way…" Caster stepped away and took a deep breath of air, utterly content, utterly justified in every action, holy action, because he was God and he was good.
Tears in her eyes and heart heavy, Irisviel ran for her husband, searching, seeking, hoping against all logic that she'd find him well and alone. It felt like betrayal, all those times he had told her that she was the only woman in her life, all those nights they had spent laughing, smiling, making love— being together had been enough to send her heart into strange convulsions induced by love, sweet love… Was that all to end tonight? Love didn't seem to be so pure anymore, not after what she had seen on these dirty streets. And now, Kiritsugu was with another. There was no time for anger, but there was time enough for feeling weak…
She heard gunshots in the distance behind her, Assassin and Lancer finally coming to blows. At least one of them would die tonight…
Saber had failed. It was all up to her now and she felt the pressure, hot and heavy like the slutty heaving breaths of the women lining the streets, burning with ecstasy and fervent desire, always looking for more. Harder, larger, faster, thicker, more, more, more.
"Kiritsugu!"
What she was feeling, that terrible burn of betrayal itching through her stomach and arms and eyes and head and everywhere in between, it was more like horror. Horror because she knew what was happening, what was to come, but could do nothing at all to stop it. Horror because she was scared and useless. Her husband…
"Where are you?" That last word was belted out, stuttered over as if she had some speech impediment. "Kiritsugu, I need your help. I can't do this alone, I can't, I can't, I can't!"
And still she continued to run, run for the river, the boiling river that sat slowing, suspended a hundred feet above, a watery castle, monument to Caster's power, his evil, his Godhood.
"You need not be alone." It wasn't Kiritsugu, but it was still someone familiar.
"Valentine!" Irisviel turned to see the tall Servant standing, leaning against a traffic sign. "You're here!" Quickly she ran to meet the man. It was so good to see an ally, especially one that wasn't affected by Caster.
The President wasn't smiling. "Where is Saber?"
Irisviel faltered for a moment. "I don't know. I think she's under Caster's control, but I'm not sure." She hadn't seen any sign of her friend in a while.
"As I feared. Irisviel," Valentine took a lunging step towards her, over a large puddle of blood that seemed to be growing out of the empty landscape behind him. "There is something that I must have. How much do you know of the Corpse?"
"Corpse? Like a dead person?" She hadn't heard the phrase used as Valentine was using it. "I think Saber mentioned something about you searching for it… I don't know exactly what it is."
"Why are you out here? Are you looking for Saber?"
She nodded her head yes. "And my husband. I need to find them. If I get Avalon to my husband, he'll be able to join us in stopping Caster. Saber I hope will snap out of it if we talk to her, but a Corpse? What do you mean?"
"It doesn't concern you." Valentine said harshly, more harshly that needed to be said. There was clearly something bothering him. "I can tell you already that if Saber has truly fallen to Caster's magic, there will be no saving her other than killing Caster himself. You have a method then to clear your husband from this curse?"
"Yes. I have Avalon with me. It should provide enough healing and resistance to magic so that a human being can overcome whatever magical influence Caster is using to control them— but, how do you know that Saber can't be helped? Shouldn't we at least try?" Irisviel looked around at the orgy and cringed. "I would hate to think that she's part of this. It's everything that she isn't."
Valentine sighed and brushed his end curled hair to the side. Somehow he looked perfectly normal in the burning heat. "I've determined that those with willpower, with motivations, strong enough to resist, will remain clear from Caster's influence— to a point. Saber, for all her bluster and honour, she considers herself a failure. Her wish for the Grail is to erase herself. She will be of no help when we go to kill Caster. Leave her out of this."
She hesitated, but saw the wisdom in Valentine's words. "Okay then… we'll help Saber afterwards. We'll find Kiritsugu first."
The man in the white coat pointed toward the river which Irisviel had been originally running towards. "He's nearby. Irisviel," Valentine spoke deliberately and clearly. "Remember that his adultery was not of his own doing. Whatever anger you may feel towards him and the woman he is with, you must save that for later. Caster must die."
"I understand." Irisviel nodded and felt Valentine's hand on her shoulder.
"Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap!"
And then there were many. Valentines, all of them identical with their too perfect hair and ostentatious pink coats, they crept from— Irisviel couldn't tell. Everywhere really. They came from under cars and out of sewers, from the spaces behind telephone poles and from directly underneath the twitching, screaming masses; hundreds of them armed with handguns executing the unconcerned deviants. He was ending the orgy.
"Where did they— Don't kill them!"
"Not your concern." Valentin was indistinguishable from the rest except by the silver ghost resting at his side. "Find your husband, defeat Caster, but remember—" Valentine wore a deathly stern glare on his face. "There is something that I must have from Caster. A certain artifact, this I must have. Promise me, Irisviel, you will not interfere with Caster and myself."
She understood only vaguely. "Valentine! The people, they haven't done anything wrong! They're being controlled by Caster!"
"They will pounce as soon as Caster gives the order. Their innocence does not absolve them from sin. Their innocence does not mean they are not dangerous. Be glad, Irisviel," Valentine spoke while touching things at random, somehow calling out more copies of himself. "I do this for our safety and so that we may find Saber and your husband more quickly. And…" Valentine stretched his fingers, latticing them and cracking them all at once. "If we find Berserker or Caster, we have an army to deal with them."
"It's murder, Valentine. They aren't part of this war, the Magus Association will come to cancel the War if too many people notice it—"
He threw his head back and laughed a cruel laugh. "Notice it? Have you not realized yet, Irisviel? Caster's influence extends past the boundaries of Fuyuki City. No bounded field or magical barrier can stop his magic. The entire world is under his control. "
The homunculus gulped deeply. Could it be true? What Valentine was saying seemed preposterous. Magecraft had limits. Even during the Age of Gods magic would have been hardpressed to engulf the entire world. To think that Caster was capable of such a momentous feat…
"You're lying."
The President scoffed and brushed his hair past his ears, seemingly in deep thought. "It's the truth. And these men and women will never be freed unless Caster dies. Irisviel," in the sunlight, Valentine looked so noble, so righteous in his speech and cause. "Remember that I am a ruler in my own right. I have a country that I must look after just as Saber has her precious England. Caster must be stopped." Raising a hand, Valentine pointed towards the river. "Your husband is there. Go to him, Irisviel. Go to him and save him. I will find Saber and then I will kill Caster. There is nothing that you can do, now."
"Stop there and I'll let you live. The both of you." Assassin stood uneasily, favoring his good leg and holding himself up with a crutch. "Listen to reason if you can."
Lancer stood in the distance, his Master by his side, both of them nude and stinking, sweaty, sticky with love juice and passion. Panting and slobbering, undignified, Lancer strode forward, proud and muscular, strong arms clutching at his twin spears, the red and gold.
"Can you even speak? Or has Caster broken you of that habit?" Assassin squinted hard, tired arms shaking as he held his revolver, the Enforcer, pointed towards the slowly advancing pair. Blood and sweat had soaked through his mask and dripped into his eyes, causing him to blink every so often. He wasn't sure if he could make the shot at this distance, but the closer that Lancer got, the more likely it was that Assassin would lose. If only he could kill the woman, that red haired one, then his victory would be guaranteed. Without a Master, without mana, Lancer would inevitably die.
… but then again, Assassin had only one leg, no mana to speak of, and only a handful of bullets left. His body fatigued and crippled, how would he evade? It was looking grim already. He had the Dead Ringer with him, but there was no telling how Lancer's magic would interact with his invisibility and false death. There was no certainty in victory, not like how Assassin usually liked to operate. It was life and death, and unlike before in his freelance work and his work as an employee of RED, it wasn't his own victory and own defeat to consider. It wasn't about pride or even survival— winning meant that the world could possibly find a sense of normalcy. Lancer, likely one of the strongest individuals under Caster's control, if Assassin could kill him; it would be all the more easy for Irisviel and her husband to defeat the madman. He'd be saving the world, or at least helping it go back to the way it always was.
"I know your name, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, I know your legend. How you lived and how you died, it's no mystery. But it's courtesy for the damned to introduce themselves to the executioner, isn't it? Introduce yourself and the mana battery you call a woman. Where's your pride? Your honour?" Assassin spat on the dusty asphalt. His previous research had shown Lancer to value honour and tradition, a true knight, a true fool. Assassin would tear him apart if the Servant was expecting a fair fight. Would that dedication to honour and knightly values, chivalry and all the other foolish ideals that men like Lancer carried, would that translate even through Caster's spell?
"My name… how did you know?" Lancer spoke, for the first time that night one of the damned spoke of their own accord, none of the scripted moans of pleasure that Caster had undoubtedly ordered. "I am Diarmuid." But the voice was dumb and slow, Lancer struggled to speak. "I am Diarmuid and I don't know who you are, but I know that you are not like me and that you must die."
Assassin smiled and shot, the modified bullet, made and improved by Engineer all those years ago, careening through hot air, running its deadly course at fifteen thousand feet per second, faster than the explosion of expanding gases, supersonic death screaming faster than sound could ever follow. Scarlet clouds erupted. Then came the roar of the gun. Then came her screams and the thump of her knees hitting the floor.
"Sola-ui!" Lancer shouted, shocked— why hadn't he blocked that? Any Servant could have, one of the knight classes would almost certainly be able to out time a bullet, even one that had been enhanced to maximize damage and speed. For the briefest moment the Irish Servant turned his head towards his injured Master.
A mistake. The bullet had caught her by shoulder, pulverizing bone and vaporizing blood, burning skin and fragile hair— with her head hazy and mind muted by Caster's magic, she couldn't even think of healing herself with a spot of thaumaturgy. Another shot while his head was turned, this one he blocked, sparks flying as his golden lance met the bullet in mid air, casual collision.
"You've lost, Lancer. Worse yet, you've lost to a man missing a leg…"
Lancer looked around, confused, angry, fervent in his desire for murder; but Assassin was not there, that taunting, accented voice came from all around and couldn't be pointed to one spot.
"You two, you're both going to die. You're going to die as a dog, mind raped and body used as Caster's plaything. What a sad, sad life…" Assassin, invisible, glanced at the golden pocket watch in his hand, the blue display reading that he only had a couple minutes left of invisibility. His first shot had been meant to kill the woman, but he had merely crippled her. Now that he had made his attack, Lancer would not be caught off guard again.
But Lancer couldn't see where Assassin was hiding. Perhaps if his mind were whole and untarnished by that evil magic of Caster's he could have pieced together the mystery behind Assassin's invisibility, perhaps even countered it with his own ability to pierce magical barriers and illusions— but his thinking didn't extend that far. It was all about his bleeding lover on the ground.
"You're a coward, whoever you are." Still Lancer's voice was eerily calm, full of masked anger, even as his bare feet grew red from Sola-ui's blood, the Servant stood protectively over Master so that he wouldn't be taken off guard again. "Show yourself so that I may kill you."
Assassin laughed as loud as he could, limping slowly and quietly towards his quarry, gun cocked and ready, four shots left. "That seems to be a very common sentiment among those who are about to die. Everyone wants to see their murderer. And they will. When I'm close enough for you to smell, you'll see me and it'll be all over." He had made his way behind Lancer now, if Assassin got the chance, there'd be a bullet in the head of the red haired woman and a knife in the Lancer's naked back, then it'd all be over and he'd be free to find his own Master or perhaps aid Irisviel in defeating Caster. Just a few more steps now…
"Surprise." Assassin shot four times, emptying his gun, the greedy machine chomping brass fruits and spitting lead. The woman's red hair made an easy target in the gleam of the sun.
Lancer was quick enough to parry two bullets but the remaining two embedded themselves in his body, one in his thigh and the other in his knee cap, blowing cartilage and bone shards all around. He fell on his side.
"Trash, trash, trash." The spent casings slid from their hot cages and new ones, these pregnant and ready to birth pain, were loaded into the gun. "You're the Lancer. The famed knight, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, can't you kill me? Even hit me once? I have but one leg and one gun and one fucking chance at killing you. Can't you stand, or have the fumes eaten at your mind?"
"You…" Lancer struggled into a kneeling position with his two spears propping himself up, "were aiming for Sola-ui. Where's your honour? I am your opponent."
"And I am going to kill you. You can have my honour if it soothes you. I have little need for it." Spy limped forward, reloaded, and shot twice, once through each of Lancer's hands, forcing him to drop his weapons. "But I'm going to kill your Master first. You can watch." The rest of the bullets were spent to further cripple Lancer, break his bones into pink and yellow dust and ensure that he wouldn't stand. "Your Eternal Reward." With a flourish, Spy called his Noble Phantasm into his hand and limped forward on his crutch.
"Sola-ui!" Lancer crawled forward with the desperation of a man about to lose love. "Run! Do something!" His hands twitched as nerves fired and fired a litany of injuries, pain, damage. He couldn't pick up his spear to throw, to stab, he couldn't do anything from his spot on the floor.
It was slow progress walking without a leg, but Assassin managed as best as he could. His quarry, the woman, was scrambling away. "Why are you even here, Lancer? What wish will the Grail be granting you, should you win?"
Hot tears of inability filled Lancer's eyes. Sola-ui, his Master, his Lover, how he wanted to die for her, but even that privilege was barred from him. "The victory was all that mattered. But now, I just want her to live— please, Assassin! She's done nothing but fall in love with the wrong man, with me; don't you know of my curse? I am Diarmuid of the Love Spot, my magic, my legend has enthralled her, she's blameless…"
"She loves you and she will die because of that love. Lancer," Spy's calm expression turned dark and angry. "I hate those who think love is a good enough reason to live. It isn't."
Then what is?
Spy, still limping, brought out his pocket watch, his other Noble Phantasm, the Dead Ringer, and checked the time. It was eight at night and the sun was still high as anything. Forward, forever forward, Spy stalked toward the crawling woman, ignoring the shouts and chants of the rest of the crowd, the pleas from Lancer. God, his leg, Spy looked down to see the bloody stump and winced. It'd be over soon.
"Come here," Spy bent and grabbed Sola-ui by the hair and with his knife struck her cleanly between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae, severing her spinal chord instantly, killing her without any aplomb or ceremony. Efficient and economical, Sola-ui died. "There," his gloves were soaked in warmth from the wound in her back and Spy stood straight again, readjusting his crutch. "How do I look?"
He had stolen Sola-ui's face, voice, and body with Your Eternal Reward.
"You dare?"
"Threats from a naked man mean nothing at all, Lancer." Assassin spoke just as Sola-ui spoke but Lancer was not fooled. Reluctant Lancer may have been before, Caster's perfume had broken his mind and Lancer had fallen in love, real love with his Master. He could tell that the voice behind the voice of his beloved was not true, was not real.
It was desecration of death.
"A dead woman, my dead woman, you take her form and voice and you expect me to rest?"
"You should have stood when she was still alive." Spy put his hand to his mouth as if he was smoking. His knife was in his hand, but everything else was not his own. "You could have saved her."
"Love, loss of love," Diarmuid laughed sadly, "it's a good enough reason to live. You're wrong, Assassin. Love is reason to die, reason to live, and reason enough to kill. Draw— I will kill you like a man."
"That's what I am." It was disturbing, heart wrenching to watch Assassin steal Sola-ui's form, to watch the corpse disappear into nothingness as Your Eternal Reward worked it's magic, hiding it's victim forever, and Lancer had no choice but to watch. "I am a man, Diarmuid. Unlike you and the rest of the Servants, monsters and gods and heroes of the highest degree—" Spy spat blood. "I have nothing but my knife and my gun and the tools of my trade, the same tools that I used during my life. You, knight, you are at the advantage here. I have no leg, have had no mana from my Master for the past day or so. There is nothing but my cunning and dream that throws me towards victory. Kill me then. You've already lost. A Masterless Servant can't live long."
Lancer trembled with anger and made an attempt to stand, but his legs and arms were too broken and they buckled and broke further under the strain. He couldn't even dodge the bullets rushing towards him. His death was one unbecoming of a knight…
Once again, Valentine was right.
That wasn't a good thing.
Disgusting and perverse and bothersome the orgy may have been— at least they hadn't been violent. Now, Irisviel watched as the tangles of men and women and children separated, all of them with different hungers in their eyes now, no more for intimacy. They wanted blood now and they came running, ignoring the heavy bullets crashing through their bodies as Valentines clones tried their best to stave off the hordes of frenzied orgy goers.
Irisviel flinched when a girl burst apart at the chest. A tear came to her eye when the girl kept trying to crawl forward, trailing blood, still desperate to kill.
Why?
Because Caster had ordered it. Perhaps the man had finally realized Valentines forces cutting through his worshippers. Two armies were meeting now. One side uniformed in long, pink coats, absurd considering the situation, and the other side comprised of mobs of naked, slobbering ghouls, Irisviel couldn't consider them fully human now.
'I've got to find him, I've got to find him. We'll be safe together. Once I give him Avalon—'
Irisviel turned, tripped, stood, and ran. Two Servants, Lancer and Assassin, had just died. The shock was great, the Grail responding as the Throne of Heroes reclaimed their spirits. Assassin had become a sort of friend, but there was no time to mourn. Kiritsugu was right there, even from a distance she could tell that the man in the distance was her husband, was it some sort of magical attraction, or maybe it was just the characteristic shape of his hair… maybe it was even the secret connection of true love that called out to her?
She didn't know. How could she? All around her was Hell on earth. The riverbed, hidden away for thousands of years, suddenly bared to the baking sun, the river itself suspended in the sky, a titanic tower of nebulous dark green marble, groups of men and women engaged in such terrible, hedonistic acts of the most disgusting sort… she was running, heart racing, mind hurting. Five Servants left…
Valentine's agents had been on the move for quite sometime now, Irisviel heard cry of murder as the guns rang out in vicious volleys, killing scores of people callously, without any regard for innocence or blame. They didn't deserve to die, Irisviel knew this, but… she couldn't exactly convince Valentine otherwise, the Servant of the Bow, his ideas on justice were extreme. It was the ultimate pragmatism. Remove any and all threat, even if they hadn't done anything wrong. It made sense, but it wasn't correct. But Irisviel had to banish such thoughts from her head.
She reached her husband after a quarter hour of searching, dodging through the clones of Valentine and orgy goers, the citizens of Fuyuki City. Kiritsugu was naked and it appeared that he had collapsed from exhaustion at some point during the false day, he wasn't part of the battle. Thankfully his trenchcoat was nearby, clinking with spare bullets and heavy with the weight of his hand gun, Irisviel put it over the man and cradled his face lovingly. Next to him was Maiya and Irisviel knew what had happened… but as much as the adultery hurt, she knew there was no one to blame besides Caster. Kiritsugu would never have slept with another woman otherwise. Her hands clenched hard.
"Kiri, can you hear me?" There was only a moan as a response. "Wake up!" She pulsed healing magic through her hands into her husband's chest and knew it was useless. Whatever magic Caster had woven was powerful, far too powerful to be spelled away, even if Irisviel was a powerful magus. It would take a miracle to wake him… and Irisviel only had one.
"I could have sworn that Kariya ordered you to kill Caster." A trashcan fell on its side as Valentine stepped from under it. There were dozens of Valentines, but it was obvious that the one in the center of the mob was the original, or closest to original. "And yet here you are, raping Saber. Have you no shame? No respect or common decency?" Valentine didn't care so much about the rape, but it was something to say regardless. "And of course, you can't even speak for yourself. I didn't know the Grail could summon subhumans."
And of course, Berserker did not even look up from his task at hand. His body, lean and wire taut, slicked with sweat and pale grey even in the brightness. He grunted and kept thrusting.
"Look at me when I speak to you, dog." Valentine and his posse pulled revolvers from their coat pockets, long barreled models that looked more like rifles than pistols. They shot into the air, hundreds of Valentines acting in stunning synchronicity. It was like thunder speaking.
That got Berserker's attention. Pyramid Head didn't cease in his ministrations, but there came an aggressive, angry growl from the monster and the massive helmet turned in Valentine's direction.
"I have an army." And the tide of pink coats and blonde hair coalesced into a tight formation, each and every one of them holding their firearms, ready to shoot and kill. "Berserker. I'd prefer you move so that Saber isn't caught in the crossfire." Valentine held his hand in the air, ready to drop at a moments notice and signal his army to fire. "Die with dignity, Pyramid Head." Thousands of stinging, white hot arrows of lead filled the air, each Valentine pulling the deadly trigger until the gun reported empty.
So Berserker acted, pulling his knife from the earth and leaving his prize behind, swinging at Valentine, sending sparks flying every time bullet met knife, spraying blood with every shot he failed to block or dodge. Hundreds of bullets, hundreds of holes in Berserker's body, bloody and dark and still the Servant didn't care, running forward unimpeded by the rain of lead, solely intent on killing his enemy. The monster roared his anger and met Valentine's army, tearing them apart with hard steel and clutching hands, webbed fingers gradually becoming coated in gore.
Behind the raging Servant, Saber lay on the ground, dazed, naked, totally unaware and confused as to what was happening. Errant bullets shot by Valentine in his attack on Berserker careened towards her, cutting grooves in her oblivious skin, leaving huge impact craters in the ground around her, craters in her flesh. For a moment it seemed the pain would break her from the insidious trace, but Saber sat doing nothing but bleeding and looking around at the world. Something more would need be done to wake her…
A dozen of his clones were mowed down by Berserker's all cutting knife and from the space where the two halves of each torn body met, more Valentines crawled out to wage war against the one man army. So many bullets flew through the air, so many dead bodies on the ground, Berserker never stopped cutting and Valentines never stopped flooding into the world, an endless tide of pink and blonde bent on killing their enemy, each soldier united by collective will.
Valentine knew he would lose. Even though he had an infinite amount of bodies to throw at Berserker, he knew he wouldn't be able to break the monster. Something, something primal and base was fueling Pyramid Head and although Valentine did not know what, he knew it would have to be found eventually if the mad Servant were to be stopped. Still, it wasn't a waste. All these bodies, all these thousands of deaths and gunshots ringing, it was buying time. Brushing past the throngs of his alternate universe clones, Valentine made his way to Saber who still sat dazed and naked in the sunlight.
"Saber," Valentine grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her to a dull stand, mentally ordering his copies to both stall Berserker and destroy Caster's army, the orgy. "Can you stand? Can you walk?" From the blank glaze over her eyes, Valentine knew his words were not being heard and spat out a curse. "God, Arturia. How could this have happened?" He looked her over, frowning at the fluids and bruises and dirt that caked her body. Her shame and humiliation… Valentine felt the slightest bit of pity and took off his jacket, wrapping her in it. To protect her? He mused quietly in the milieu of battle and called forth his Stand and the two disappeared into some strange new world.
Kiritsugu Emiya opened his eyes and felt the full anger of the sun beating through his retinas, scorching the optic nerve, eating away at his newfound sanity.
"God— what?" The world was first in black and white, then after a moment of pain, in blinding, brilliant color. His wife, the sky, the sun scorched river bed beneath and all around. Where was he? "Irisviel? What?" His wife was kneeling next to him, breathing heavily and clutching at her chest. "What happened?" A hot breeze blew and Kiritsugu realized that he was naked, thankfully, with minimal wear, his trenchcoat lay just a few meters away.
The homunculus was weeping, but Kiritsugu didn't know why. "Thank God… Kiri, it's alright now. I know it was Caster. I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you."
"What are you talking about?" Kiritsugu stood uneasily, swallowing too thick spit and trying to wet his parched throat. "Irisviel, what did I do?" There was nothing he could do but ask. The period of time under Caster's control, he couldn't even begin to remember. "Tell me!" Kiritsugu looked around for hints as to what happened. All he saw was a battle taking place, thousands of naked men and women raving, charging toward an entire battalion of men in pink suits. Those were the Servant Archer, weren't they?
Irisviel swallowed her tears and wiped her eyes and face against the soft, dirty fabric of her coat. "Sometime last night? Two nights ago? I can't tell how much time has passed. The sun's been up forever it seems." Her voice broke abruptly. "I don't want to talk about this, Kiri."
But he had to know. Kiritsugu grabbed his wife by the hand, staring intently. What had he done? What atrocity had he committed? "Irisviel, you have to tell me. I need to know what happened."
"We just need to get to safety, Kiri. Everything, you'll find out everything eventually so let's just go. There's…" Irisviel stood to her feet and sighed, looking at the fighting all around, at the gunshots and tearing of bodies as the masses overwhelmed some of Valentine's forces. "There's nothing we can do here."
He didn't know what to say.
"What happened to me, Valentine?" Saber sat next to the president, legs pulled tight against her chest. She was in her armor, summoned as soon as she found herself cognizant enough to do so. There was a beating, pulsing pain in her head, the remnants of Caster's magic and she was so, so tired. "What happened to everyone?" She remembered the scorch of the sun and the depravity of that dry bone gulch that Caster had cleared out, but not much else.
Night time meant that Fuyuki City was gleaming. The lights were on and the cars and people were out, shopping, eating, living their lives as if nothing happened, as if Caster had never existed.
"It's better not to know certain things, Saber." Valentine stood at the edge of the roof, staring towards the ocean. "All we can do is plan and pray that Caster is defeated. He is a dangerous man."
"But what did he do? I know that he and I met. I unable to defeat him? And what of the others? Lancer and Assassin and Berserker, what of them?"
"I assume that Lancer and Assassin are dead. From what Einzbern mentioned, Spy choose to stay behind and fight Diarmuid. The two are evenly matched, in my opinion."
"And Rider… he was with me. He used his Noble Phantasm to save us, I believe. We were separated soon afterwards. He didn't have the mana to stay corporeal. I don't know how long ago that was. Valentine," Saber looked towards the President, intent on getting an answer. "Tell me what happened. How did Caster subdue me so easily? And why is the city so… normal?"
Valentine let out a long sigh, one that suggested frustration and disinterest and futility. "You must first understand where you are, Saber. Fuyuki City, but not the Fuyuki City that you know. The Holy Grail War, but not one that you know. Look towards the ocean, Saber." Valentine pointed his finger at a section of beach that with the sharp vision afforded to Servants they could see clearly. There was a man and woman fighting, battling with murderous intent with spear and sword. "This is my doing. This is my Stand… or Noble Phantasm, I suppose. I brought you here, to another world, another reality, to break Caster's influence over you."
"Impossible," Saber stated sharply. "There's no magic, no Noble Phantasm that could so casually break the barriers between existences, between dimensions as you seem to be implying. The only person capable of such feats is Zelretch, and you are not he."
Shrugging, Valentine turned away from the edge of the rooftop, away from the beach and the battle going on. "It is your choice whether or not you believe me. If you truly wish to know what happened during that time you were incapacitated, you must confront Berserker. The Grail War will end soon, Arturia. And I am not in contention for victory. All I want is—"
"I know," Arturia interrupted. "You want to complete your collection of the Corpse. You've told me before… but how will be get back?"
"Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap." Valentine's ghost, his Noble Phantasm, materialized as he uttered his trademark phrase. "It's a funny thing, Saber. I don't exist in this world. In this iteration of the Grail War, a man by the name of Gilgamesh was summoned in my place. It makes one think of what could have been and what can be…" Valentine took a cloth from his pocket, a napkin with the date of September 20, 1847 embroidered on it, and held it over Arturia's head. "When you go back, you will regroup with your Master, and in light of your failure, I will kill Caster."
"You can't do it yourself." Saber shook her head, taking offense to the slight against her strength. "I may not understand or believe what you claim to do, Valentine, but how can you possibly hope to match Caster? He has enthralled the whole world to his command. Even with my Magical Resistance, he was able to control me. You may be the Servant of the Archer class, but you've shown nothing, you've been in no extended conflict in this War. Even Caster, he's shown his strength through his magic. What have you done?"
And strangely, Valentine let out a laugh; a sad, disappointed one with just enough cruelty to be suggestive of pity. "You, the other Servants, all of you are surprisingly… one dimensional. Combat means nothing. Victory means everything…" And with that, the napkin dropped, and Arthuria vanished back into the world she belonged in.
"You have something of mine."
This was the third time in the past half hour that Caster had been told this, each time by a different version of the same person. It was getting tiring.
With a sweep of his arm he ordered the dozen or so men and women he had kept near himself to dispose of the threat. They made for a paltry guard force, but the clones of Archer seemed no stronger than normal men. There was only the fact that they could resist his perfume and that they were armed.
But… Grenouille could not see through the tangle of bodies, but there were strange flashes of silver and pink, something was different.
"You're not worthy, Caster." With the last attacker dead, Valentine dismissed his Noble Phantasm and stepped over the bodies. The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds.
Something smelled off about this one, Grenouille realized. There was… authenticity? Power? Anger? He couldn't quite pin it down, but something about this version of Archer was outlandishly threatening.
"Unworthy of what? Have I not shown my worthiness by defeating the other Servants? All those kings and rulers meant nothing to me. They all fell before my power."
"And yet I still walk, unaffected by your magic. And my armies still tear yours to pieces. How many men and women have you left to throw away?"
"I could ask you the same thing. Is it your Noble Phantasm to create so many copies of yourself? And how are you able to resist my Bottled Love? Even Saber could not do so."
Valentine smirked. "The former is a product of my Noble Phantasm. The latter is due to something more… sacred."
They stood in stony silence for a moment.
"I have nothing for you." Caster raised his hand and pointed directly at Valentine. "I will admit that you are a threat to me, more than the other Servants. You have a sort of pragmatism that makes you dangerous. But I know that I cannot bargain with you as I did Berserker, nor can I control you the way I did Saber… you will not spare me."
"Of course not." Valentine pulled his gun from his pocket and stepped forward, aiming squarely at Caster's forehead. "You've made mistakes, Caster, and you must die for them."
"Grenouille," Caster pointed at himself. "My name is Jean-Baptiste Grenouille." Quickly, Grenouille called for his love slaves to gather around him, hopefully they'd manage to stall Archer long enough so that he'd be able to get away—
"Grenouille, then." Valentine declared. "I won't lecture you of morals or goodness or sanctity. I won't speak of you the damage you might have caused the world. But you will die. Your servants are busy. They will not come."
The Spine? Grenouille remembered that night in the Fuyuki City dump, surrounded by filth and smells beyond human understanding and rats and bird droppings. He had found that night a section of bone…
Grenouille did not beg for his life. "I have done nothing wrong. I killed those girls because I needed them."
"How can you say that?" Valentine shot, the bullet shattering Grenouille's elbow joint and breaking his arm into two pieces, forearm dangling limply, connected with one thick strip of bleeding meat. "You've done nothing wrong? You think murder is the greatest of your sins?"
Grenouille fell to his knees, too shocked to cry or scream or anything. "Nothing." He remembered his time in the prison, the endless hours of questioning while he had been subjected to the water torture, the beatings, the cruel irons, the threat of the execution, of the twelve blows that would break his joints and leave him on the wooden cross, dying for days… "I've done nothing wrong."
"Then why is that the crowds are not gathering to you? Why don't they express their love for you the way they do for each other? Is it the subconscious fear that all prisoners hold for their wardens? Or maybe they don't love you after all?"
"They love me." Grenouille recalled the horrible loneliness he had felt in his previous incarnation, how he had commanded the attention of the entire town of Grasse, had them enthralled and enraptured by the power of his perfume. His execution canceled, his crimes against society not just forgotten, but forgiven— that should have been the pinnacle of it all, the highest point of his life, the confirmation that he existed… but it had been hollow then and it was the same now. "They love me. They have to love me because I did all this for them. I created a world where everyone can open up to each other in love and camaraderie and—" His words came out in delirium clouds.
"You've forced them, Caster. You've forced everyone to come together and that sort of love is disingenuous at best, sinister at worst." Valentine's ghost rushed forward and grabbed Grenouille by the head and a terrible pulling sensation came over the smaller man. "I don't pretend to care about right or wrong. The fact is that you've caused a disturbance in this world, one that is affecting my own beloved country… isn't that right? Your influence spreads all across this world?"
"You're correct." There was a huge drain of power that Grenouille felt, it was as if the luster had gone from the world. What was happening? The President was so close now and Caster felt a physical reaction to the man's presence as if all the warmth leaving the world. "But the citizens of your country, they're happier like this. I promise you. Why not let them stay and love?"
"That is not your place to decide." Valentine forced Caster to a stand and put the barrel of his gun in the smaller man's mouth and pulled the trigger, sending blood and bone shards flying in a thousand directions, all over his own pink coat and over the dry silt ground. "The happiness of America is my responsibility. You overstep your bounds."
Caster was still alive, but he couldn't speak. His mouth, tongue, cheeks had been torn to shreds by the expanding gases and force of the bullet. There was a hole in the back of his neck where the delicate bone of his spine peeked through gore and leaked blood and spinal fluid. Something terribly wrong was happening, all that power and influence that Grenouille had gathered, the power from his perfume, it was all gone… where? Where? Where? For the first time in his life, Caster could smell nothing but blood; even among the fish markets and butcheries and tanneries of France the smell hadn't been so strong…
"I would ask you where you found this, Caster, but the time for conversation has passed." Valentine held in his hand a familiar yet ancient column of bone. Grenouille had seen this weeks ago, back in the Fuyuki City Dump where he had been drawn by the most magical, powerful smell he had ever experienced. "I doubt you'd understand, but this is the source of your power, Caster. How else could a nameless urchin such as you compete against legends such as Saber and Rider and myself? Impossible without a blessing from God."
Grenouille gurgled and croaked a bubble of blood from his cavernous mouth. He meant to disagree, to say that he was worth something, that he, despite all his flaws, mattered, that he existed and had made an impact on this earth.
"And what a mess now," miraculously, the Spine sank into Valentine's arm. "I wonder what will happen once you're dead? Will these people forget the events of this night? The world may be forever changed… an event such as this cannot be hidden. It cannot be forgotten." Valentine spat at the ground and shot again, this time right at Caster's forehead, killing the Servant instantly. Without the Spine, Caster had no real power, no way of fighting back or dodging. Unlike the other Servants who were known all around the world for their legendary deeds and heroics, Caster was nameless and unknown. Such is life for a man dealing with something as ephemeral as scent.
The sun sank and with the coming of night, the river too surged into its bed. The time for play and love and revelry was over and there was still a war to be fought.
The morning after…
"Spy."
"Valentine."
The two men shook hands and stared at one another. It was the morning after Caster's death and the world was still reeling.
"What do you think? What's going to happen now?" Assassin asked. He was standing on his own two legs again. With his Master no longer under Caster's control, Spy was once again able to heal his wounds with Kirei's mana. "And what will you do?" All around there was a palpable atmosphere of regret and shame, the world had begun to wake up from their delirium and it seemed that all anyone wanted to do was forget and put the events of the endless day in the past.
"There's a War to fight, Spy. We will fight until there is nothing left to fight for, or until there is no one left to fight, whichever comes first." Valentine stated absentmindedly and played with his hair. There was only one Corpse Part left now, the Head. "My goals have very nearly been accomplished. I will not stand in anyone's way should they choose to pursue the Grail."
"The Mediator, Risei Kotomine, my Master's father, is dead." Spy stated bluntly. "He was old and he died last night in the mess."
"And?" Valentine shrugged. "It's likely that hundreds of millions died last night. The old and young, the hungry and sick… think of hospitals and geriatric homes and starving African countries. What do you think happened to them?"
"Do you think the Magus Association will tolerate this? Hundreds of millions dead. How can this be forgotten or covered up?"
"Not my concern."
Assassin was silent for a short while. "Of course it's your concern," he started softly. "You're a human being aren't you? People died, Valentine. People died because of a War that, like it or not, you were a part of. There are consequences to our actions and inactions and—"
"They're going to forget." Valentine interrupted and ran a hand through his hair, calm and disinterested look turning stony. "Tragedy is always forgotten. The collective human mind can't focus on a single topic for any span of time more than a month or so. And in cases like these, where every one was involved as both victim and perpetrator, where the causes will never be revealed— society will have no choice but to move past this. They will forget and that night will never again be discussed, do you understand?"
"What are you talking about?"
Valentine shook his head and sighed, sounding old and tired. "This has happened before, Assassin. Caster was summoned for because of his accomplishment. An unknown perfumer from 18th century France? What else could he have done in his life for the Throne of Heroes to give him a position? Remember the killings. They were methodical and professional as any assassination." Valentine paused and looked Assassin in the eye. "He's done it before and if he's summoned, he'll do it again. The city of Grasse… that's where Caster claimed to have worked his magic before. Why do you think a spontaneous, mass orgy was never recorded or spoken of? You're French, aren't you? Have you ever heard any folktales or legends about some mythical mass orgy?"
Assassin had no answer.
"It's because the very thought of an entire community losing their morals and engaging in depravity is unthinkable. It is unutterably terrible and no one, no one will want to think about it or believe it happened. Believe me. This is one myth that they will forget. Caster… he was powerful, but his ability was focused in one field that is prone to ephemerality. Perfumes and smells and scents are blown by the wind and are forgotten by the second."
"So just like that it's over? You think the men and women of the world will wake up, surrounded by naked bodies, discover that millions died in the course of a night— and you think they'll forget?"
Archer's head of gold curls nodded up and down as he looked upon the city from the skyscraper top he stood on. It was dark but still he could make out the pale, moonlit, bodies that covered the street like some great, breathing blanket. "I know they will." The night would pass and the time would come where the sleeping citizens of the world would awake. They'd clean the mess and bodies and look shamefully at each other, never speaking a word about what happened, what had passed between them, between man and woman and child and animal and corpse. "There's someone I want you to meet, Assassin. We have some time before the world awakens, don't we?"
Assassin nodded in confusion as Valentine unfolded an American flag. "Alright then. Who is it?"
"It's more like a group of people. People you know well." Valentine stepped forward and brandished the flag.
"Don't come closer." Assassin drew his gun and pointed it straight at Valentine's head. "We might not be enemies, but that's no reason for me to trust you completely, is it?"
"You're right. It isn't."
Valentine threw the flag and Assassin shot, unloading his gun into Valentine's face, neck body, splattering blood and bone everywhere and— the flag fell on Assassin anyways.
A minute later, a man stepped out from under the flag, folding it neatly and placing it inside his long, pink coat.
'Another one gone.'
AN: Very disappointed with this chapter TBH, took me a long time to write because of college and everything. Absolutely worst chapter, super terrible, etc etc etc.
For the sake of reader's understanding, I will explain exactly what happened with Caster and the Holy Grail War.
With his perfume and the Spine, Caster plunged the entire world into a giant orgy. Once Valentine killed him and took the Spine, the spell was lifted and everyone affected passed out.
In the original source material, Grenouille (Caster) puts an entire town under the control of his perfume and causes a giant orgy. Once they wake up, the people are too ashamed and unwilling to speak about the terrible thing they've done and since everyone was involved and was guilty, no one wanted to talk about it. Same thing here, Caster forced the entire world to do something so terrible that they'd never, ever want to talk about it, even though they don't remember it well.
Kind of a shitty explanation, but that's how it went in the original, so that's how it'll go here.