So. Um...this one is a bit more brutal. One reason why I changed the rating from T to M here. Anyways...here we meet the second of the two Masters I have control over. This is a big shift in tone from what we saw with Tori's chapter. There are some very sensitive topics in this one, so be warned.
Chapter II
Amos hit the wall so hard that whatever air left in his lungs rushed out. Pain stabbed through his ribs and side but he kept silent. He knew that saying something or making a sound would only make it worse. He wiped his mouth, internally flinching at the crimson streak left on it. His dark eyes flickered as a shadow passed before him.
"Not again...you've already got me down on the floor…" he thought bitterly, "I burn dinner once and this is what I get…"
"Useless." Ryan Fletching somehow managed to slur and snarl simultaneously. "After everything we've done for you, you just don't learn. Anything! How can you possibly-"
"Dear." His wife, Lyra - Amos's other foster parents - usually spoke with an infuriatingly permanent pretentiousness; any seemingly genuine affection that she displayed was usually followed by an instance in which she got what she wanted. The correlation was not difficult to determine, but somehow she was difficult to resist. "What good does berating the boy do? This is not helpful to him, or to anyone, wouldn't you say?"
Ryan seemed angrier. "Just because he-!"
"Dear," she said again; her voice had softened poignantly; there was almost an uncharacteristic pout on her face. Even Amos could see how she was so reliably convincing, even if he could see straight through her façade. "I'm hungry."
Ryan's face twisted into something like disgust, but only for a moment. Soon, his expression softened, and a vodka-scented sigh escaped him. "I… ugh, fine. Whatever." He stalked from the room to collapse into his favorite chair - next to his favorite bottle - and pulled a Marlboro Menthol Gold from his pocket, reaching for a lighter on the table beside him.
"Dear," came the call a third time. "Outside. Please?"
"Yeah, yeah," Ryan replied; heavy footfalls and a closing door indicated that she had done as he asked.
After a moment, Lyra approached him. She smiled. It seemed so reassuring, in spite of its assured perfidy. "Are you hurt, Amos?" She reached out to him, touching his arm lightly. "Are you hurt?"
Despite every bone and muscle protesting against moving, Amos knew that if he said 'yes' it wouldn't matter.
"I am bleeding, what do you think…" he thought bitterly, but he kept his words to himself.
It wasn't like they'd do any good anyway, so he shook his head.
"No, ma'am," he said slowly, trying to keep the pain from lacing his voice.
He started to get up. Internally groaning as his body ached, but he stood upright, wiping the blood off his lip, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly as he took a calming breath.
"Don't say anything...just stay calm or you'll have another incident...and we don't want that…"
"Oh, dear," Lyra said, standing with him; her voice would have been soothing had Amos not found her so snakelike. "Oh, sweetie, you will be fine. Go on, try again. I know you can do it." She gave him a beaming smile before turning and walking out of the room to do whatever indulgences she entertained while waiting for him to do the housework.
He looked down at himself. While the damage wasn't bad per say...his favorite shirt was spattered with blood and tracked with mud from where his foster father had kicked him. If he tried doing the chores and cooking dinner with this on...it wouldn't end well for him.
Amos gave a sigh as he limped towards the bathroom, his ribs screeching in protest with every breath he took, almost as if they wished he would stop breathing just so they could get a break. He got inside the tiny room, shut and locked the door and proceeded to peel his shirt off of his back. He grimaced as he looked at the rapidly forming bruises...but he counted his blessings nonetheless.
For one, he was still alive (he wasn't sure if that was quite the blessing or a curse…) but other than the split lip and bloodied nose, his face was fine. Most of the damage seemed to be on his chest, back and sides...so no explaining the mysterious bruises to his handful of friends and the teachers. He highly doubted the excuse of him walking into the doorknob was going to fly this time. His history professor didn't look convinced when Amos told him that was what happened.
He turned on the sink and began to clean up, grabbing the anti-septic and other medical supplies to make the damage less hard on the eyes. When he was done with his face, he started cleaning up his hands, scrubbing the already crusty blood off of them...except some of it wouldn't come off.
Amos frowned, holding his hand and examining it closer...only for his dark eyes to widen in shock. On his hand was what looked like a spoked wheel flanked by two laurel branches. Trembling, Amos backed up until he hit the wall, still stunned as he rubbed the crimson marks.
Could it be? No...that wasn't possible...he was too far away from that nonsense in Fuyuki to even be considered a Master. But there they were...clear as day. Three Command Seals. He gave a breathless laugh as he leaned his head against the wall.
His parents had told him about the Holy Grail Wars when he was a kid, he remembered that they had told him they were dangerous...but the reward was spectacular. To get your heart's desire? That was a prize that anyone would kill for.
Amos' smile faltered slightly as he remembered why he was with fosters instead of his family. He could still hear their screams of agony as the flames burned higher and higher, hissing in their dry crackling language that Amos knew all too well.
He glared at the swirling pattern on his arm, his family's Crest, ironically being pyromancers of great skill...only to lose everyone but him in a single day to the very flames they thought they could control.
He had been six.
Amos shook his head and finished getting himself cleaned up. The sooner her got his chores done, the sooner he could just go off by himself and be at peace.
After a few hours of scathing glares from his foster father and some sickly sweet words from his foster mother, Amos finally was able to get away. He gave a sigh as he climbed out of his window and sat on the roof, looking up at the stars that were muted and barely shone through the lights of the suburbs.
He gave a sigh as he remembered the country house he and his parents had lived in, where the sky seemed endless with thousands of stars. Here, however, they were choked off and strangled...much like he felt.
Amos looked down from the heavens and at his hand, tracing the crimson marks upon it. He'd been chosen...but what would he give to the Grail as a wish? His heart clenched as a faint spark flickered around his fingertips. There. That was one thing he'd wish for. If the Grail couldn't give his parents back to him...he'd wish just to see them so briefly that he could apologize to them for causing their deaths.
But, there was another problem. He was very sure that his fosters knew nothing about magecraft or the Holy Grail War...and he was doubly sure that they wouldn't help him even if it meant getting rid of him. BUt he needed a relic to summon his Servant...what class it was he didn't care, just so long as he had someone to help him win this war.
He heard voices below him...probably his fosters having another talk about their jobs in the museum. He normally tuned them out...but this time he found himself listening.
"How much?!" Lyra squeaked incredulously. If Amos had ever heard this much excitement in her voice - and that was most certainly in question - it would have been a long, long while indeed. "Who is this much buyer, and how does he have so much-"
"It doesn't matter," Ryan's voice returned, similarly animated; apparently, whatever had just transpired had had such an impact that he had immediately sobered somewhat. "He has opened an escrow account. I've seen the money, it's good. What he wants is important, a mainstay of our museum for sure, but given the timeframe… I jacked up the price. And he doubled it. Look at this!"
There was a moment of silence.
"Ryan… we're going to be set for life! This is more than we could ever need!"
"I don't know about that," Ryan replied. "I can think of some amazing things to use that money for…"
Another silence.
"We have to do this. We have to!"
"Yes, my dear," Amos could hear the grin on his face. "We do. We will. He wants to meet in an hour."
"So soon…" Lyra responded. "Well… I'll need to redo my makeup. Who is this man, anyway?"
"He's from Germany, I think, some kind of reclusive collector, I should expect. Said his name was 'Von Einzbern', or something like that. You know Germans, none of their names are pronounceable."
Amos' eyes widened and the name. He'd heard of the Einzberns, mostly from his parents before they had passed. They were one of the great mage families and very prominent in the Grail Wars. If he remembered right, they'd had representatives in the last two. This could be bad for him and he knew it. If an Einzbern was contacting his fosters and needed something in a timeframe...there was a very good chance that there was an Einzbern in this war.
He shook his head. It didn't matter. No matter what family was there, he wouldn't let them stand in his way. Amos gave a hum as an idea entertained itself. If there was someone coming to the museum to meet with his fosters, the curators...there was a good chance that many of the displays would be unlocked…
Amos put his head in his hands.
"You idiot...you're going to get yourself thrown in jail!" the rational part of his mind screeched at him.
But he didn't have a choice. It was act now and flee to Fuyuki for the War...or don't do anything and waste the opportunity that had given itself to him.
"Well…" he muttered as he quietly stood, "Looks like I'm going to be on America's Most Wanted…"
Following the Fletchers to the museum was no difficult task. Lyra had adorned herself in a green, glitzy, sequin-bedecked dress. Golden hoops hung from her ears, thick enough that they might have been uncomfortably heavy. Ryan had thrown on a very expensive tuxedo; it was clear they wanted to leave a good impression on this generous Einzbern buyer. They took the car; this late at night, it would have been a bad idea to walk, even though the museum was only a few blocks away - Amos, however, did not suffer the encumbrances of a posh appearance; he arrived at the museum mere minutes after they had, just in time to see them shake hands with a similarly strikingly-dressed young man in suit so clean and pristine a white that it was matched only by his hair. They shared a few brief words which Amos could not hear, before they headed inside, locking the front door behind them.
Amos crept closer, examining the door and the lock. He gave a sigh. He hated using his magic...mainly because it always got him in trouble. Unfortunately, he had no choice now. If he wanted to get into the museum, he needed to use his 'gift'.
He placed his fingertips on the lock and closed his eyes, mentally touching the sleeping embers of his family legacy.
"At saraph," he murmured, feeling the Crest on his arm warm and send tingles throughout his body, concentrating in his fingertips.
He opened his eyes just to see the lock glowing a warm cherry color, despite not feeling the fire burning in the lock himself. He heard a faint clanking sound as the lock was seared through and he quietly opened the door, slipping through in pursuit of his fosters and their Einzbern guest.
Amos quietly went through the museum, looking at the exhibits not out of curiosity, but with the purpose of determining which would make a good relic for a good Servant. Unfortunately, most of what the museum had was Natural History and he doubted you could summon a dinosaur as a Servant…
"No matter how cool that would be…" he thought to himself with a smile as he continued on.
He knew the museum often had travelling exhibits. A couple years ago it had been the Egyptian exhibit with its mummies. Last year had been the showcase of Attila the Hun. This year was something about the fall of Rome and the time where Jesus of Nazareth had walked the earth, so that would be the best place to look for a relic. Unfortunately...that would also be where his fosters and the Einzbern representative would be.
The hard walls and floors made it very easy to tell where the Fletchers and the buyer were; their voices echoed through the halls. While this helped Amos maintain a general understanding of where they were, it also made his own efforts to remain silent more difficult to manage. In spite of a heavy dose of concentration in this endeavor, his shoes still squeaked against the polished marble floors. He could only hope that their conversation was loud enough to block out the evidence of his infiltration.
"I must say," Ryan's voice could be heard. "I find myself wondering what has brought you to us so… desperately. Not to say that your demeanor has been anything other than the picture of composure," he added, almost apologetically. "But you can understand my concerns. This is all highly irregular, this timeframe, the amount…"
"Yes," came another voice, no doubt that of the immaculately-garbed buyer. "I understand. Much of my purpose here, unfortunately, must remain confidential; I believe much of the sum I offer should account for that particular concern. Suffice it to say, we have an urgent need for this particular piece to complete a certain… assemblage."
"Oho!" Ryan laughed eagerly. "So you're putting together a, uh, high value contract of some sort?"
There was a pause.
"You might say that," the buyer replied quietly.
Amos' blood ran cold. This wasn't just the Einzbern representative...this was the Master. He kept sneaking behind them, dodging behind the pillars and some of the exhibits every time he saw them pause. He nearly got caught by Lyra as she turned her head to flip her hair out of her eyes, but luckily there was an exhibit he could dodge behind and thus avoided getting caught. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched...not by the security feed, but by something else. Almost as if someone knew he was there. He dropped the notion though. There was no way that they could know he was following...though he was tempted to take off his shoes to avoid the squeaking they made against the tile.
In what few glimpses that Amos could take at the conversation, though, he noted several key facts: The Einzbern man most certainly appeared to have some sort of mark on his right hand, and he held two suitcases. This seemed to verify his realization: this was very, very likely the Einzbern Master. If he was chosen by the Grail, then he was absolutely not to be taken lightly. Moreover, the two suitcases gave him a basic understanding of what exactly he was buying. Certainly he was making this purchase at a substantial mark-up, but if the money didn't even fit into a single case...
Then this was no ordinary Relic. This was something of overwhelming import. And that did not bode well for Amos's own chances in this War.
The feeling of dread filled Amos' heart. The Einzbern Master and the fosters were blocking his view of the exhibit. Perhaps it would be a good idea to move up a floor. There was a balcony above the exhibit...he could better see what was going on as well as look as the relics he could use.
With that, he quietly slipped away up to the staircase, the feeling of dread lessening with each step away from the other Master. He finally made his way to the balcony, looking over and watching what was transpiring below him.
As he reached his new vantage point, the Ryan unlocked the case, and opened the thick security-glass container. Then, when he turned back to his business partner, the Einzbern man handed both suitcases out, one to each of them. To Amos's surprise - and the Fletcher's as well - when Ryan and Lyra placed their hands on the cases and the man released them, they both dropped them.
"Whoa," Ryan's voice rang out. "What is this?"
The Master, poise still completely untarnished, uttered only the following response.
"As curators of a museum, I imagine you are familiar with the fact that large sums of cash can become quite… cumbersome. Even I could not carry one hundred million dollars in bills. This is… easier."
Flustered, Ryan popped the case open, and it was revealed that the cases were jammed full not with paper notes, but instead with uncut diamonds.
"You can see how this might be more convenient."
"I…" was all Ryan could manage, transfixed as he was by the precious stones before him.
The feeling of dread intensified for Amos. There was something off...if you wanted to give that much money, normally you'd write a check for it for the convenience. At least...that's what he would have done. Something wasn't right...and that made him shrink down just a little more so he wouldn't be seen.
Before Ryan could craft a more eloquent answer, an impossibly loud BANG sounded from the front entrance, followed by a tumultuous crash. The three figures below Amos spun to face the noise; the sudden shock on the face of the to-this-point expressionless man only served to make the whole thing more alarming.
"What was-" Lyra began, but their buyer interrupted her.
"What trickery is this?" he hissed, apparently very angry very suddenly. "What have you done?"
"Nothing!" Ryan insisted. "I don't know what this is, what are you-"
As the echoes from the crash died down, heavy footfalls could be heard from the front entrance. They were slow, almost deliberate, and each one was accompanied by the grating noise of clanking chains scraping across the marble floor. The three below appeared to regard something directly below Amos with shock and horror, particularly the Einzbern Master.
"No," he murmured, eyes wide with horror. "No, you can't…"
-
Amos dared to poke his head out between the pillars of the balcony so he could see, but he couldn't see much even with the extra room...for fear of getting his head stuck and/or being seen.
Judging by the expressions on the Einzbern Master's and his fosters' faces, this newcomer was not a welcome sight...or a good one for that matter. And that knowledge both fascinated and terrified Amos to no end.
"Adalbert!" the Master demanded once he had found his voice. "This is inexcusable, what are you doing?"
The rasp that responded a few moments later felt like sandpaper applied directly to Amos's ears.
"GEREVERT," came the rumbling reply. "THIEF…"
"What is the meaning of this?!" Gerevert responded, stepping back towards the relic he had just purchased, fumbling to place his hand on it without taking his eyes off of whatever thing stood below Amos's balcony. "You can't-"
"I CAN'T?!" it screeched suddenly. The echo died into silence. Lyra - still on the floor from where she had been inspecting the diamonds - knelt, frozen, in terror, her eyes locked on the source of the outcry. Ryan had stumbled backwards at the sheer volume of the thing's voice.
"Can't," it repeated, much more quietly. "Can't, can't. Cannot, can not. Can," it seemed to ruminate over the word. "Can… to be able…"
A horrible pause.
"YOU ARE WRONG."
A figure dashed forward with a speed that belied the outfit that came into view. Even in a full-pelt run towards the three, it was clear that he wore only the tattered remains of a straight jacket, and other nullified restraints. Gerevert raised his hand, but Adalbert moved unnaturally quickly; his filthy, unkempt hair was suddenly speckled by blood as he rammed full-tilt into Gerevert's chest, throwing the Master backwards as though he'd been hit by a car. Gerevert collided with a display case, which successfully stopped his momentum; cracks spider-webbed through the surface, barely visible for the starburst of blood that accompanied the collision of Gerevert's head with the case.
Adalbert's head turned to look slowly down at Lyra. There was silence.
Then she screamed.
Amos knew that scream...that was the scream of someone who knew they were going to die. He'd heard that scream before. It had been twelve, nearly thirteen, years since he had heard it...but the sound was still seared into his memory.
He wanted to turn his head, close his eyes, anything...but he could not look away.
The sound of the scream seemed to galvanize Adalbert. He showed no mercy. His hands shot out from under the frayed and torn jacket, snatching her up and lifting her easily into the air. She struggled and kicked at him for just a moment, before he threw her savagely into the floor at his feet. Even from his perch on the balcony, Amos could hear the bones shatter and the blood splatter.
For once in his life, Ryan Fletcher seemed to finally find his courage. "You bastard!" he roared, snatching the relic from the open case beside him: it was a rusted, dilapidated sword, with a bizarre curve to it, but it was better than nothing. "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you!" He threw his weight forward and swung with all his might.
Once again, blood sprayed through the air. Ryan opened his eyes - having unconsciously closed them during the engagement - and noted with a start that the sword had connected; he had succeeded! He nearly had time to celebrate his own self-defense before Adalbert's hand - the one he hadn't used to block Ryan's swing - was wrapped around his throat. Ryan gurgled in pain and surprise as his entire weight was lifted only by his neck; he clawed at Adalbert's wrists and fingers, trying to break the iron grip.
"CAREFUL…" he breathed, a cruel chuckle buoying up beneath the words his words. "I'LL NEED THAT."
Adalbert flicked his wrist; the sword clattered to the floor. Then, he plunged his fingers into Ryan's chest, and waited until he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
The last thing that Ryan Fletcher heard was Adalbert's nightmare-inducing laugh as he pulled downwards, tearing his head from his body with a sickening snap.
At that moment, Amos turned his head and tried hard not to throw up. He didn't like either of his fosters...but to go out like that…
No one deserved to die. Not like that.
"Please, dear God, don't let him find me up here…" Amos prayed, his heartbeat throbbing in his throat, "Please don't look up...please God...please…"
Could a monster like that hear him? Surely not...but Amos kept still, trying to calm himself and failing miserably.
Adalbert observed his work with apparent satisfaction. Amos could hear the sounds of his barely restrained laughter from time to time, as he moved to look at where his brother had been thrown-
"GRAAGHH!" Adalbert cried out in pain as his chest was riven by an invisible blow. Gerevert had somehow picked himself back up after Adalbert had thrown him like a rag doll, his white suit stained crimson. He stood with his hand out, and he had produced a staff seemingly from nowhere.
"You will not take this from me," Gerevert barked confidently. "You are not worthy! Elder Acht chose me!"
"HE CHOSE YOU BECAUSE HE WAS TOO WEAK TO CHOOSE ME," Adalbert answered. "I AM THE EINZBERN'S PERFECTION."
"You're a failed experiment," Gerevert called back. "You're a monster!"
Amos watched the two with morbid curiosity. What kind of person could take a blow like that and get up again? He remembered that the Einzberns were a family that specialized in something...but he couldn't remember what. Was it a durability spell or just how they were in general?
"You were a mistake that the Elder never should have consented to elevate!" Gerevert bellowed. "You, who could not even withstand the procedure undergone by a young girl, who became a Master! You're weak-minded, you're an embarrassment to the family! You're a freak!"
There was a long, pregnant silence. Its interruption was gradual.
"Ehhhhhgh," a gurgle escaped Adalbert's lips, which turned after a short time into a blood-curdling laugh. "Ehhhgheeegheeh hehh hehh hehh HEHH HEHH HEHH HEHH, AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHl!"
He appeared to need a moment to contain himself. Gerevert eyed him with disgust.
"FREAK…" Adalbert repeated slowly. "FREAK… YESSSSS…. I APPROVE."
"Approve of what?" Gerevert demanded.
"OF THE WORD," Adalbert responded maliciously. "FREAK. I LIKE IT. IT HAS WEIGHT."
Gerevert sneered. "Only the mentally deficient would approve of an insult."
"NOT IF THEY FIT!"
Adalbert dashed forward once more, but Gerevert had expected this; he threw his hands forward, and what appeared to be some sort of shockwave emanated from them; it struck Adalbert across the chest once more, cleaving a horrific gash from shoulder to hip.
However, it did not even serve to slow Gerevert's attacker down. Adalbert leapt upon him, knocking him off his feet, and pinning him to the ground. He bared his teeth; even from his post, Amos could tell that they were sharpened to points; every one of them, like a shark's maw. And before Gerevert could protest, Adalbert dove forward, sank his teeth into Gerevert's throat, and - with his hands pressing Gerevert's face into the floor, tore most of his neck away. Gerevert's struggles fell away mere seconds later.
Amos covered his mouth to prevent himself from screaming in terror. He wanted to flee...but he knew that if he so much as moved a muscle, that...that monster would come for him and kill him just like the others. So he stayed still, his breath shaky and his body trembling as tears of fear streaked down his face, and watched to see what the monster would do next.
Adalbert stood, panting; not with exertion, but with delight. He indulged in a horrifying cackle, before dragging Gerevert's body into the center of the room. Then, he held out his hand, just as Gerevert had. He uttered an incantation, and the reinforced glass around the empty display case shattered with uncanny ease. Picking up the strange sword, he fitted it - bizarrely - back into its stand within the case, before returning his attention to the body.
He reached down, and picked up Gerevert easily. Then, he turned the corpse upside down, shaking it ruthlessly. Blood splashed onto the floor; Gerevert's head shook and dangled sickeningly. When Adalbert was finished, he tossed the body aside with ease; it flopped to the floor, and the head rolled to a sickening angle, held to its torso only by what little flesh of his neck remained.
With that, Adalbert leaned down over the pool of blood. He covered his hands with it, the odd mad chuckle escaping from his lips. Once he was satisfied, he began to draw; a perfect circle emerged from his ministrations.
Amos watched silently, too afraid to move and yet just as afraid to stay hidden. He knew what was happening, he was going to be seeing a Servant come, that was the only explanation for what Adalbert was doing. He only hoped that when the Servant got here...he would still remain undetected.
With a bit of dread, he realized something else. Adalbert would be one of the six Masters that Amos would have to go up against and hopefully defeat. But how in the world could he defeat someone like that? Who just straight up killed three people as easy as plucking the head off a daisy? Amos sincerely hoped that the Servant who was getting ready to come into the world would be weak...and that his own would be strong.
It took Adalbert over twenty minutes to complete his magic circle. Once he had finished it, he suddenly gripped his hand. From his position above, Amos could see once he had command seals on his left hand, and that Gerevert's had disappeared. He was, in fact, a Master.
And then, the incantation that Amos had feared began to slither from Adalbert's lips:
"LET SILVER AND STEEL BE THE ESSENCE! LET STONE, AND THE ARCHDUKE OF CONTRACTS BE THE FOUNDATION! LET RISE A WALL AGAINST THE WIND THAT SHALL FALL! LET THE FOUR CARDINAL GATES CLOSE! LET THE THREE-FORKED ROAD FROM THE CROWN REACHING UNTO THE KINGDOM ROTATE!
LET IT BE DECLARED NOW: YOUR FLESH SHALL SERVE UNDER ME, AND MY FATE SHALL GUIDE YOUR SWORD! SUBMIT TO THE BECKONING OF THE HOLY GRAIL! I DEMAND YOU ANSWER, AND SUBMIT TO THIS WILL AND THIS TRUTH!
AN OATH IS SWORN HERE: I SHALL ATTAIN ALL THE GLORIES OF HEAVEN; I SHALL HAVE ALL DOMINION OVER ALL EVILS!
BUT LET THINE EYES BE CLOUDED BY CHAOS! YOU ARE ONE CAGED IN MADNESS! AND I, THE WIELDER OF YOUR CHAINS!
FROM THE SEVENTH HEAVEN, ATTENDED BY THREE GREAT WORDS OF POWER, COME FORTH FROM THE RING OF RESTRAINT, DISRUPTOR OF THE HOLY BALANCE!"
The blinding flash of light that followed yielded a figure: a tattered red dress - no, a white one, marred by blood. Blonde hair, streaked with gray, falling from an ornate bun atop its head. Green, bloodshot eyes, and bared teeth. A sword dangling from her fingers, nearly identical to the one in the case, but now colored in crimson with a bright, chrome-colored edge. The teeth parted and the sound of Adalbert's laughter mingled with a blood-curdling scream.
"RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Amos covered his ears and hunkered down. He just witnessed Berserker coming into the world. He didn't know her name exactly...but he knew that she would be one to look out for, one that would possibly be the greatest threat to him and his Servant. He could only hope that the one he summoned would be able to at least be able to hold her at bay long enough for him to attempt to try and get at her Master. However...even that seemed impossible.
All he needed to do was wait...just wait until they left. Then he could attempt his own summoning.
Soon enough, Adalbert turned around. There were sounds outside: sirens, and cars arriving. The security system must have had alerted the police, somehow. Adalbert cackled.
"TIME TO SEE WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF," Adalbert cackled. "BERSERKER."
"RRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHH!" Berserker snarled, and with blinding speed she dashed out the door. Horrific sounds could be heard outside; screams, indescribable violence, and even vehicular destruction. Adalbert followed her, rubbing his hands together gleefully; his footfalls proceeded from Amos's earshot.
Amos waited until everything went silent, saying a silent prayer for those who had fallen by this monster and by Berserker...even his fosters. Unfortunately, there was no time to grieve. He needed to get what he came here for.
He waited another minute, making sure that he was alone, before finally standing upright and cautiously walking back to the first level. He shuddered at the carnage before him as he walked into the main room, he could see Lyra's crumpled body on the floor...like a ragdoll that some toddler had thrown during a tantrum. He could see Ryan's headless corpse quietly oozing blood from it's own crumpled position. And Gerevert's...Amos had to clap his hand over his mouth to fight the shriek that threatened to come.
Amos took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm down. Once the fear was tempered somewhat, he walked over to an untouched exhibit. The glass box contained what looked to be the shattered remains of a chariot or some other wooden structure. His hope rose slightly as he removed the top and reached in, picking up one of the larger shards of wood.
Perhaps he'd get someone like Julius Caesar or Marc Anthony...someone who could help him against whoever that Berserker was.
He looked at the magic circle that had been drawn with Gerevert's blood. As awful as it was...it was there and it was one less thing that Amos had to do.
So, with no further hesitation, Amos sat the wooden fragment on the glass container and stood on the other side of the circle. He took a breath and began the chant himself.
"Let silver and steel be the essence," Amos murmured, "Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Raise a wall, against the wind that shall fall."
The moon shone through the shattered doors, painting ghostly shadows on the floor as the circle faintly glowed with blued-silver.
"Close the four cardinal gates. Come out from the crown. Rotate the three-branched road reaching the Kingdom." he continued as the wind tugged at his jacket, "I shall declare here. Your body shall serve under me,"
The silver blue glow burned white and Amos held his hand up, turning the Command Seals towards the brightening circle.
"My fate shall be your fate. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail!" he roared, "If you will submit to this will and this reason...then answer!"
The wind shrieked, tearing at Amos and flinging his dark hair into his face. His eyes narrowed as the light burned them, but he kept going.
"An oath shall be sworn here! I will attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I will have dominion over all evils of all of Hell! From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint," he yelled, "Guardian of the Scales!"
The light flared, a supernova of holy light that outshone the sun in Amos' mind. The Command Seals seared his hand and his Crest burned, but Amos gave a jubilant smile. He'd done it. He'd summoned a Servant. He was a Master now.
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the light faded and Amos looked up, smiling as a man stood from a kneeling position in the circle.
He was tall, with dark hair that hit just at the nape of his neck. His dark brown eyes were kind, yet they sparkled with a mischievous air that gave off the aura of a slight troublemaker. Dressed in fine, white linen ornamented with faint colored threads, he gave off the air of someone important, but not truly royal. He gave a warm smile and pressed his fist to his heart.
"I am Judah Ben-Hur, Rider Class Servant," the man, Judah Ben-Hur, started, "At your service, Master,"
Say hello to our second Master and Servant! We were trying to come up with some Servants that weren't in Fate at all...and I mentioned to 30CaliberDonut the story of Ben-Hur. He'd never heard of it and then I showed him the famous chariot race...I got a "Oh my God that's awesome!" and Ben-Hur ended up as our Rider. I'm not completely sure where we will end up next...but we will have to see!
Anyway, hope you liked it. If you did, please let me know!
Qui vállë tóquetë, ván tecë (If no review comes from y'all; no story comes from me)
Máriessë ar mára tecië
Farewell and fair writing
Elhini Prime signing off.