Chapter 12:
The Spider's Trap
The only sound that occasionally interrupted the roar of the northern winds, which November had brought onto the city of Hartcroft, was the distant noise of the ocean's waves crashing against the shores of the island. It was downright eerie how the usual hustle and bustle of the metropolis had died down, as if all the residents of the city had suddenly disappeared into nothingness. True, it was far past even the Witching hour but it wasn't long until dawn would peek between the mighty giants of glass and steel that made up Hartcroft's skyline.
And yet it was an unnatural silence. All the residents in the city, even those without an ounce of magical potential, seemed to feel the heaviness in the air. It wasn't an ominous presence, it wasn't even a tangible threat, but it was definitely there. Hartcroft was fully aware of the imminent danger, even if only a scant few of its citizens knew the cause. The Sixth Holy Grail War had put the whole city on edge and it had barely even started.
Meissa knew this just made things easier for her on tonight's hunt and all the ones to come. But the blonde just couldn't shake off the dreadful feeling which welled up inside her when faced with such emptiness and silence. This just wasn't the city she knew- wasn't the kingdom she had sworn to earn and inherit. The teen's electric blue eyes wandered down towards the rushing waters of the Vimur channel below. The only thing she could make out was even more of the depressing murky darkness.
"Found him!" came Lancer's confident shout from somewhere above, atop one of the towers lined along Melchior bridge. "He seems to be setting up some kind of a ritual circle on the roof of one of the office buildings in the business district. Must be Caster's Master- he has one of those hellhounds with him."
The Scintillare mage pushed back from the railing she had been leaning onto and stretched her lithe body. Unlike her rather disastrous first duel in the War, Meissa was determined to come out triumphant after this one. It was high time she showed Hartcroft, the world and even though she would never admit it- her father- just how brightly she could shine.
"Come now, Lancer. It's showtime," said the blonde, hands on her hips and a confident smile playing on her lips.
As always, the most one could make out of Lancer's face was cold indifference. One could say that the black knight wore the face of a particularly grumpy grandfather, despite being far from old age. Even the Servant's eyes were a steel-grey color, long ago devoid from any emotion. And yet, despite looking more like the shell of a man than anything else, there was still longing for the thrill of battle in the warrior's cold heart. Only two battles had he had in this Holy War and yet those two skirmishes had been enough to reignite the flames which had once driven his blood to boil in his youth. Truly, the opponents he was going to face were on a whole different level than the insolent riff-raff he had been forced to war against in life.
But it wasn't just the longing for blood and glory that pushed him forward this time. There was something else that urged his spirit onwards. And it took barely a look at the young girl clutching his armored waist as they leaped from one roof to another, to remember what it was. Most fools would have probably assumed that it had been her blue eyes and golden hair, so akin to the ones he had fallen in love with so long ago, which had made the knight pledge his loyalty to Meissa. But fools were fools precisely because they couldn't see past the surface.
Only once had Vlad Tepes sworn himself to a person out of love. And, in his heart of hearts, he was sure this would never happen again no matter how many times he would be summoned from the Throne of Heroes. No, this time, it was camaraderie that had made him swear his loyalty to the feisty mage. In Meissa he saw the ideals of the king who had once forsaken his humanity for his country. The desire to protect their homeland, the constant striving to improve oneself, the façade of distrustfulness, despite their want for someone to confide in…
It all matched up so well it actually pained him to let her go on and suffer like he had. The one who had taken on the mantle of Dracula knew well enough where such a path would lead her. Meissa used her ego to hide it, but her Servant knew better than to believe. There was nothing more she wanted than to prove herself capable of ruling this modern kingdom of mages. And, despite himself, Vlad couldn't help but want to see her succeed. Something in her youthful enthusiasm just made him throw his caution to the wind and try to help her succeed.
No ruler could protect his kingdom and emerge untainted- and yet Lancer somehow had faith that if anyone could, it was his Master.
"What, are you daydreaming now?" asked the blonde and jabbed an accusing finger in his chestpiece. "This time I'm going to prove to you just how superior I am to the other Masters!" announced Meissa as confidently as ever. "So don't go and die while I emerge triumphant, got it?" ordered the Master, this time her voice a bit mellower, eyes refusing to meet her Servant's.
"Duly noted," answered Lancer in his usual tone. "Now stand aside."
Out of thin air, a long bone-white javelin materialized into the black knight's waiting hand. Vlad threw a cautious look downwards- on the roof of the nearby office building, the enemy Master still seemed to be preoccupied with whatever ritual circle he was forging. His hoodie obscured his face but he was clearly male. The hellhound was still there as well, warily sniffing in the attacking duo's general direction. Lancer quickly concluded that the benefits of a surprise attack would even out with whatever lecture Meissa had in store as punishment for what he would do next.
Like a bullet, the white javelin soared through the air and right into the unfortunate Master's back. The man didn't even manage to let out a dying scream. The spear had nailed him to the concrete roof, dead center into his own ritual circle. Meissa looked just about ready to let steam out of her ears.
"Lancer, what the… I was supposed to be the one to defeat him! Why did you-"
"Not now," cut her off her Servant and raised an armored finger to silence her. The blonde mage turned an even brighter shade of red. "This was too easy. Way too easy. We'll go check whether he is really dead or just good at faking it."
"If it's a trap, shouldn't I stay here?" asked Meissa and glanced warily at the motionless body on the roof below. "We would both be walking right into it."
"At least I would be able to protect you," said Lancer and shook his head. "Leaving you here defenseless against a potential Servant counterattack would be an even bigger mistake."
After half a minute or so of scrutinizing the situation, Meissa nodded curtly and extended her hand towards her Servant. Vlad didn't waste any time and, after taking a more secured hold of her, leaped towards their pray. Only the dreadful hellhound acknowledged their arrival and bared three rows of shark-like teeth. And yet, despite the intensity of the fiery mane running down its back, the beast looked ready for a flight more than for a fight. Lancer had met many a beast in his country's lush forests and he knew well enough when an animal was scared. But the first time he had encountered such a beast it had been willing to fight him head-on…
"Wait here," said the grey-haired knight and, with yet another spear at the ready, started to advance towards their prey. His eyes remained locked with those of the beast, the seasoned warrior ready to act in his Master's defense.
The hellhound just kept warily stepping back with each one Lancer took. Its sulfur-colored eyes darted between the lying body and the black knight. Finally, when Vlad was just about to step into the circle, the beast turned around to beat a hasty retreat- only for a bluish crystalline chain to materialize out of thin air and drag it back towards the body. The whine of the hellhound accompanied the hum of the Servant's weapon as it was thrust into the still unmoving body of the creature's apparent master.
Mind clouded with suspicion, the aged knight leaned down to remove the man's hood. But there was no face to reveal- only his own grey eyes stared back from the reflective surface of the bluish-white crystal that made up his target's body. With the signature sound of shattered glass, the body burst into a million of tiny pieces, leaving only the ragged clothes in Vlad's hand behind. It was then that realization struck Lancer's mind- but the moment he tried to rush back to his Master, the runes making up the ritual circle he had stepped into came alive. Their dark blue glow was reflected by the scattered shards, which assaulted the unsuspecting knight. One after the other they stuck onto his body, melding back together and encasing both the unfortunate warrior and the hellhound into a crystalline prison.
Meissa let out some kind of a shout, a warning perhaps, but there was nothing she could do to help him now that he was trapped. Lancer tried telling her not to waste those precious seconds, tried shouting that he would escape himself, but it was all in vain. All words died inside his throat when he saw the tell-tale black flames erupt into the air behind his Master. Assassin, a wicked smile playing on her lips, extended her hand greedily towards the blonde girl- only to end up grasping nothing but air.
The signature smell of ozone and crackling of electricity were all that was left behind by the Scintillare mage at the spot she had been mere moments ago. Meissa skidded to a halt right behind her Servant, a daring smile now adorning her face. With that signature spark of confidence playing in her blue eyes, the girl readied her weapon. But before Vlad could warn her not to attack, before he could shatter the crystal armor serving as his prison, the hum of vibrating blade and wire filled the night air. Meissa's electrified pendulum jolted towards its still startled target…
Only to be stopped dead on its tracks, right between Assassin's waiting fingers. Blue arcs of electricity raced across the Servant's body but she just shrugged it off and threw a greedy look towards Meissa. The black flame raced across the wire, reaching his Master just as Lancer broke free. But the only things left for him to chase were the dying embers floating in the air left after Assassin had teleported both of them away.
"Well, well, what have we here?"
The unfamiliar voice grated on the insides of her skull. Meissa's whole body felt as if each and every bone inside of her had been taken out and then put back in. The sensation of getting seemingly devoured by a black hole and then spat out on the other side still lingered heavily in her mind. The young magus desperately gasped for air, afraid her lungs had turned into mush alongside the rest of her body. But no, despite all the pain, despite the dizziness and desire to retch, she was still very much alive.
The blonde decided to focus on that thought as she tried to assess her situation. The much needed air helped her brain finally calm down. Her eyelids felt as heavy as lead but, with great effort, she did manage to open her eyes. Wherever she was, it seemed to be underground. Battered and broken, age-old columns held up the spacious hall's roof. A double-winged door, reinforced with steel by the looks of it, was visible on the far side. Attached to the pillars, rows and rows of torches provided some much needed light to the depressing scenery.
Meissa tried to step forward, only to find that both her legs and arms were bound to the nearest column by the all-too-familiar black flames of Assassin. The eerie black chains made no sound when she tried breaking free, but they didn't budge in the slightest either.
"Now, now, it's just plain rude to go just after arriving, isn't it?" asked once again the voice, prompting the young mage to jerk her head in its direction. At the end of the hall, atop a simplistic throne of grey stone, was lazily lounging a dreadfully familiar face. The blood drained from Meissa's face when her eyes met with the grey ones of her captor. Of all the mages in Hartcroft she could have faced against in this War, this one was the only she would pay everything not to.
There wasn't any magus in this city, sane or otherwise, willing to go up against the Spider King.
"Alexander Portia, pleased to meet you," said Meissa's captor and almost giddily stood up from his spot. His whole attire contrasted sharply with the archaic setting he had chosen to confront her in. With his immaculate suit, neatly tied up long white hair and leather trenchcoat draped over the shoulders, Portia would have been right at home in some conference room or with a cigar in his hand at the yacht club. And that's precisely where Meissa wanted him to be- as far away from her as possible.
"I see you have heard of me, judging by your reactions," said Alexander, a smug smile playing on his lips. The blonde's heart sank further and further with each of his steps that echoed in the dimly-lit hall. "Some would say it's good when one's reputation precedes him, but I find it tiresome. Frankly, it gets boring after a while. I can't surprise anyone anymore. Where's the suspense in that, hm?"
"We have met before, once."
The words escaped from her mouth before Meissa could do anything about it. Her brain was too busy coming up with some miracle so she could escape alive. Hell, she was straining to even speak without stuttering. The young magus knew she couldn't afford showing fear to a predator of his caliber. All she could do for now was talk to buy some time. The Scintillare was sure that the moment she tried to summon her Servant with a Command Spell, he'd either cut off her arm or tear out her tongue. Or both.
Yeah, judging by what she had heard of him, probably both.
"Is that so? I can't seem to recall you," replied Portia almost apologetically and ran a hand through his prematurely white hair. The predator continued with his brisk pace, drawing closer and closer.
"At a Christmas fundraiser organized by Nebula Industries last year. You were the representative of VEXA so you sat near father at the main table."
She was sure she was babbling nonsense by now. And yet Meissa knew that it was critical to her survival to keep him talking, no matter what about. If only Lancer could somehow pinpoint her location through their bond and come on time!
"So you're Scorpius' little girl?" asked Alexander, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Well, figures a Scintillare would butt into the War."
"You go to such lengths to set a trap and you don't even know who you're trapping?" blurted out the blonde, surprising even herself.
Her opponent seemed genuinely amused as well. The predator finally reached his prey and leaned in closely to examine her under the meager light of the torch. His hand was gripping her neck before she knew it. Meissa felt her legs leave the ground as she tried prying off the vice currently denying her any and all air.
"You overestimate yourself by thinking this trap has been specifically set for you," said the white-haired man, still without a hint of malice in his voice despite his current actions. "This trap was meant for any of the Masters who got the bright idea of hunting tonight. It was a trap for a predator and so I set it up as one. Providing a prey to trail and attack was the most logical way of catching one of you. But, frankly, getting hold of one of Caster's beasties to sell the ruse was harder."
Still engaged in her futile battle for a breadth of air, all Meissa could do was stare accusingly into his empty grey eyes and claw at the hand crushing her windpipe. At last, with a sigh of utter boredom, Portia released his captive. The blonde slumped onto the ground, heaving heavily.
"Although, it's not like the other Masters in this War are of any matter to me anyway. At any rate, there's no mage in this city capable of standing up to me," said the arrogant Master and shrugged. "So don't beat yourself up on being unimportant, okay? You're not alone in that regard."
"For someone supposedly so scary, you sure are full of hot air," finally shot back Meissa, despite still being on all fours. On his part, her enemy just let out a hearty laugh.
"Well, it's not like I'm lying or anything. Miss Scintillare, you'd do well not to mistake facts for bragging in the future. The Servants are my only concern. Even my magecraft can't stand up to a Noble Phantasm. But, curiously, your Servant dispelled my puppet without using one. My theory is that it is caused by the fact that all his weapons are part of his Noble Phantasm. So, you see, in a way I'm glad it's you that got captured."
Electric blue met steel grey in silent defiance. Despite her ragged breath, the young magus stood up and steadied herself. The adrenaline rush was finally starting to overcome her fear. Before her stood none other than the Spider King, the sole of Hartcroft's strongest seven who had never been injured and yet… Meissa wanted the inevitable fight that was to come. She didn't even know if science had come up with a number big enough to signify the odds against her, but the blonde was ready to take her chances. After all, this War was the stage meant for her to shine on.
Beating Portia here and now would be almost akin to outright winning the Grail.
"So, let me ask you this, Miss Scintillare," said the grey-haired Master, ignoring the proverbial sparks flying out of his opponent's eyes. "Can you be so kind and give up your Command Spells?"
"No," was the blond magus' simple answer. A tired sigh escaped Portia's lips.
"Seriously, there is just no cure for stupidity. No wonder humanity has fallen so far these days!"
A snap of his fingers- and out of the shadows morphed the familiar figure of Assassin. The masked woman knelt in obedience as her hair, flames blacker than even the darkness surrounding them, danced wildly.
"What is it you wish of me, my Master?"
"Here's how it's going to be, Miss Scintillare," said Alexander, completely ignoring his Servant. The predator leaned closer to his prey, his hot breath caressing her ear. "Assassin is rather hungry right now, so we will arrange a little bit of… prana transfer. She has this nasty habit of playing with her food, just like me actually, so forgive her if she's a bit more… forceful then necessary. And then, after she sucks you dry out of any prana, I'll give you the exquisite chance of getting to experience the pain born from my magecaft. It's a real eye-opener, you'll see. Afterwards, I'll ask you again. And when you agree, I'll just cut off your arm and leave you here for whatever wretched experiments still wander around. Is. This. Understood?"
"Normally, I'd leave an opponent as strong as you for last in the War. Grand finale, y'know?" said Meissa, seemingly undisturbed. "But I guess I'll have to kick your sorry butt now."
Yet again, a sigh of boredom escaped Portia's lips as he let go of his prey.
"Enjoy your meal," said the grey-haired Master and turned his back to his chained enemy.
With barely restrained glee, the scantly-clad Servant drew closer to her bound victim. Deciding to play along, Meissa retreated to the column behind her. The young magus placed her palms on the cold stone surface, waiting for the opportune moment. And as Assassin's hands readily prepared to venture up and down the captive's body-
"Lucis cantis!"
Nothing happened at first. Merely a few stray sparks arching from Meissa's fingers, palms still pressed against the stone. And then, as the lightning arced up the pillar, the surge erupted outwards- along with the pillar itself, now nothing more than stray chunks of debris. The blast sent the Scintillare flying meters away. She could swear quite a few of her bones had been broken but, most importantly, she was free at last. She wasted no time summoning him- and when the dust finally settled down, it was the unforgiving stare of Lancer that met Portia's indifferent gaze.
"You just had to get captured and ruin it all, didn't you?" mumbled Meissa, shakily getting back on her feet.
"Funny you should say that," replied Lancer without even looking back. "Here I thought I was the one getting you out of this bloody mess."
An indignant 'hmph' was the only answer Meissa dignified her Servant with.
The mocking echo of Portia's slow clapping reverberated off the stone walls. The smile he had plastered on looked as if it was splitting his face from ear to ear. There was now liveliness in his usually empty of any such spark grey eyes. Perhaps it was true, what he had said. Now that Alexander had been given the opportunity to play with his food to earn it, the aura of indifference and boredom he had been giving off changed to excitement and barely restrained violence.
"Bravo, Miss Scintillare!" shouted out the white-haired Master, louder than necessary. The stone walls threw his words back at him. "I was ready for many a zany scheme my potential prisoner can concoct to get out of these chains but… blowing up the whole pillar? While still being chained to it? I admit, for sheer insanity like this, I never prepared."
"This clown is our enemy?" asked Lancer, a not-so-subtle tinge of annoyance in his voice.
"Don't let him fool you," replied hastily Meissa and tried to steady her still shaking feet. "This guy is probably the most dangerous opponent we could face in this War."
"Assassin," suddenly ordered Portia, his voice remaining as cheerful as it could be. "Please show our guests the delightful brand of hospitality we offer here."
"With pleasure, my Master," answered the fiery-haired Servant, twin scimitars of blackest fire already ready in her hands. "I've been waiting for this rematch for quite some time. Greetings again, sir knight," said Assassin and curtsied mockingly. "May you indulge an itsy-bitsy request of mine?"
"I take it you wouldn't shut up even if I said 'no', right?" grumbled Lancer in reply.
"Oh, sir knight, I had such fun last time we clashed together! But this time… this time I'll make sure you die for me!"
Before the echo of her words had even died down, dozens upon dozens of spikes and spears morphed into the air above Assassin. Just as their mistress lunged forward, twin weapons at the ready, so did they shot towards their designated target. A second spear appeared into Vlad's free hand. It was precisely the two spinning spears which served as his shields against the aerial assault. Forced to pirouette one step back at a time, the black knight morphed a new spear behind his back just as the one up front ended up shattered into a billion of tiny pieces by the onslaught of cold flames.
Assassin was finally upon him, the scimitars in her hand arcing from both sides. Skidding to a halt, Lancer's defense changed into offense as he thrust his newest halberd forward. Wild sparks illuminated the air as the Servants' respective weapons clashed against each other. Lancer's spear was caught between Assassin's criss-crossed blades, neither combatant giving an inch to the other.
Unexpectedly, the female Servant melted into thin air, leaving behind only her signature black embers floating in the stillness of the underground darkness. Without even bothering to turn around, Vlad switched the spear in his hands to a reverse grip and jabbed backwards. Meissa, surprised by her Servant's actions, hastily tried to dodge to the side to avoid being skewered. But before the blonde magus could do anything, Assassin appeared in front of her in a swirl of black flames… only to once again disappear immediately just as Lancer's spear pierced the spot where she had been a mere moment before.
Yet another burst of black flames later, Assassin was skidding to a halt, one hand buried in the floor to serve as a break, several meters in front of Lancer. Her luscious lips morphed into a mocking smile.
"My, my, sir knight, it seems you won't allow anyone else to be invited into our little game, hm? Such a shame. The more the merrier, as they say."
Vlad's answer was leaping forward, spear at the ready. The black knight's weapon ended up buried halfway into the ground as Assassin just somersaulted backwards to safety. The wave of spears erupted from the ground seconds later, surging straight towards the fiery-haired Servant. Forced to keep on leaping backwards, Assassin was pushed all the way back to her starting point- albeit now perching atop the final spear in the long row of weapons which had grown in the middle of the underground hall.
"So we skip the foreplay then?" asked Assassin, an oh-so-innocent pout adorning her face. "Even I would like some cuddling before the main course from time to time, you know!"
"How about I just stab you and be done with it?" suggested Lancer and picked up a javelin from amidst the trail of spears that had sprouted from the ground. Starting from its jagged tip, rows of rusty spikes adorned half its shaft.
"Now you're getting into the spirit of things, darling," gleefully announced Assassin and disappeared in a swirl of black flames.
Despite the sneak attack, the thrust of the zweihander she had conjured was easily blocked. Both sword and spear shattered on impact but their wielders wasted no time. Almost immediately, a scythe and a halberd morphed into their hands, only to clash and disappear just as fast. It was a duel between the fastest Servants in this War- and Meissa soon found out mere mortals had trouble even keeping up with what was going on. Even she, who took such pride in her speed, had trouble believing such agility was even conceivable.
A spectator would have had trouble believing Lancer was wielding only a single weapon at a time. It was as if his spears multiplied with each thrust he made- such was his attack speed that one could easily mistake the afterimages for the real thing. Assassin herself impressed even further. Whereas Lancer's agility was evident in his lightning-fast attacks, blocks and dodges, the fiery-haired Servant fought with each and every limb of her body. The black flames which morphed into swords and daggers, halberds and axes, were but a mere fraction of her arsenal. Kicks, somersaults, swift punches and unbelievable dodges showcased just how insanely fast she was. And when one took into account her Noble Phantasm's ability to teleport at will as well…
Thinking back to Lancer's first battle against Assassin, Meissa realized the situation was far more serious now. Whereas the first skirmish had been merely a quick scuffle to taste out both sides strengths and weaknesses, this time it was truly a battle to the death. The young magus would have never worried about her Servant being too slow but when compared to Assassin's ridiculous agility, Meissa knew he would be fatally late in his movements sooner or later. The enemy Servant's combination of Eye of the Mind and Eternal Arms Mastery was what made her surprisingly viable for face-to-face combat. Not to mention the ability to wield a different weapon just by wishing for it. Speed, tactical superiority and surprises were Assassin's three main trump cards.
And they were going to win this duel unless Lancer was to fall back on his Noble Phantasms. But he probably had just enough prana for a single activation. And that stubborn fool would surely decline taking hers, considering he could feel how depleted she was after blowing up that pillar to smithereens. Meissa was surprised she hadn't noticed she had started chewing on her lip so much, blood had been drawn. The young magus was furious at herself that all she could do was anxiously clench her fists and watch the events unfold.
Both duelists still seemed to be fighting on fast forward. Only in those fleeting moments when their respective weapons clashed, time seemed to slow down as the erupting sparks illuminated the spacious underground cavern. And then, as if to make up for lost time, events sped up once more.
"Take my prana, you idiot! You'll die if you keep this up!"
The words had left the blonde's mouth without her even realizing it. Her shout seemed to put the duel on hold, as both participants pushed away from each other after their umpteenth vicious clash.
"Oh, is the little princess worried about her Prince Charmless?" asked Assassin, hands on her hips.
"Save you prana for when I really need it," said Lancer to Meissa, completely ignoring his opponent's words. "And calm down already! I still have more than a few cards up my sleeve."
A snap of his armored fingers later, the familiar banner of Dracula materialized into thin air and sank into the ground halfway between the two duelists.
"But my poor knight, a little boost of strength and speed certainly won't be enough to help you overpower little old me," gleefully announced Assassin, twin scimitars yet again at the ready.
"We will see," was Lancer's gruff response.
A blink of Meissa's eyes later, Assassin had covered almost all the distance to her opponent. The fiery-haired Servant flung one of her blades towards Lancer… and disappeared into a swirl of black flames just as the black knight's spear shattered the weapon of fire into tiny embers. Assassin reappeared right behind the grey-haired warrior, whilst Lancer's weapon was still stuck in a downwards arc after deflecting his opponent's initial attack. Assassin, with a triumphant smirk on her face, slashed at his neck with her remaining weapon.
And it went right through Lancer as his silhouette suddenly distorted and his body turned into an almost transparent black mist. The black knight swung his spear around, seemingly hoping to hit his enemy with the shaft. With his Noble Phantasm masking his movements, Assassin ended up forced to block with her blade instead of dodging. Lancer's form solidified when their weapons made contact, only to become amorphous and transparent once again when both of them shattered.
The black knight's armored fist flew forward, Lancer relying on his inertia to strike Assassin in the torso. The twin scimitars reappeared into their mistress' readied hands as she prepared to scissor-cut his head off when his blow made contact. Meissa opened her mouth to shout a warning, knowing full well it was probably useless…
And the twin blades just passed harmlessly through the formless knight's neck a second later. Up to his wrist, Lancer's armored hand had disappeared into Assassin's chest… but no longer was the warrior's body distorted and transparent. The combatants stood silent and unmoving, both of them aware of the outcome of their duel. Accompanied by the sprout of blood and the sound of a Servant falling on her knees, Lancer tore out his opponent's still-beating heart from her chest.
And when the black knight closed his fist, the stolen heart burst into a million of blackened embers, harmlessly melting into the stillness of the underground air. Assassin now lay on the ground, her body distorting as her edges disappeared into nothingness like burnt-off paper. Slowly, the woman's trembling hand reached towards her Master in a silent plea for help.
"A most impressive battle indeed, Lancer!" came Alexander's booming voice from the opposite sight of the hall. The white-haired mage seemed to have eyes only for the black knight, not even sparing a glance at his dying ally.
"Are you freaking insane?!" shouted Meissa, face red with rage. "Your Servant is dead and you won't even look at her now? How fucked up can you get, you monster?!"
"Don't forget, Miss Scintillare," replied Portia as calmly as ever. "Evil isn't inborn. It is taught. If I am a monster then it is only because I reflect this city's teachings. The moment I became a glorified lab rat was the moment this world lost the right to judge me."
"What, do you think yourself a god to place yourself above people's judgment?" shot back Meissa. "You're just a sociopath with a flimsy excuse for his actions."
"While I do think I can provide some rather convincing arguments concerning my divinity… no, I don't think myself a god. But in a week or two I will be," answered Portia and shrugged, as if the conversation was mere banter between friends. "But that reminds me of the final part of tonight's plan. You see, Assassin was really quite useful in this initial stage of the War. But despite her surprising prowess in direct confrontations compared to the average Servant of her class, I quickly realized she just wouldn't cut it later on. It took me two Command Spells to fully test out her battle abilities and still keep her alive but her brief skirmishes proved to me my initial doubts. So this duel tonight was going to be her last chance. Even if you hadn't managed to summon your Servant, Miss Scintillare, I would've sought him out anyway."
With his usual nonchalance, Portia raised his hand to show off the last remaining Command Spell on his left wrist. A lone simple circle was all that was left, with a pair of faded out rows of four lines encircling it on the sides. Meissa found it a convincing representation of a spider. How disgustingly fitting, thought the young mage.
"What I'm trying to say here is," continued the white-haired mage. "Join me Lancer. Twice you triumphed over Assassin- this time with some handicaps no less- and you have already proven superior to this War's Saber, supposedly the strongest class there is. With me you won't have to worry ever again about whether to use your Noble Phantasm or not. I'm a veritable prana furnace anyway. It's the only logical conclusion that the strongest Master and Servant join forces."
It appeared for only the fraction of the second, but it was there. That pinprick of doubt in Meissa's heart, which whispered traitorously to her how Lancer was going to leave her for a clearly superior mage. The feeling that Lancer would still betray her and leave her behind despite all his oaths and speeches tore her from the inside. But her Servant's next words were more than enough to crush that doubt into tiny pieces.
"All I see before me is a betrayer who thinks someone will believe him trustworthy if he just runs his mouth long enough," dryly answered the black knight.
"Then I guess it can't be helped," said Alexander and let out a tired sigh. The white-haired magus carefully removed the expensive trenchcoat hanging from his shoulders. "I guess I should just abandon politeness and go back to the initial plan. Namely, leaving you incapable of refusing my offer. Well, she was scheduled for death anyway."
Nothing happened at first. All Portia did was stay like rooted at his spot, as smug as ever. But then, as the low rumble from below filled the spacious cavern, realization struck both Master and Servant. Lancer dashed back towards Meissa, but was stopped halfway by the crystalline pillar which erupted from the ground right in front of him. The alien substance grew and branched out, turning from a tree into a web as its sparkling tendrils shot out in each and every direction. It was more like a living thing than mere enchanted crystal. Where it touched the roof, floor, walls or pillars it encased them whole, swallowing everything on its path.
Despite being busy dodging the rapidly expanding crystalline trap, the young magus tried keeping an eye out for her opponent. Portia still seemed to be on the far side of the hall, leaning onto a corrupted column. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds, Alexander flashed her a wicked smile… and just fell into the crystal, as if swallowed whole. Meissa jumped back more on instinct than anything else, barely dodging the bluish-white blade now serving as her enemy's right arm on time. Portia had appeared right behind her, jumping straight out of one of the tainted crystal veins criss-crossing the floor.
The blade had only scratched her, leaving behind several tiny fragments stuck into the wound, but the girl hoped she would be alright as long as she didn't strain the wounded limb too much…
"Game over," announced Alexander, sounding still as bored as ever. "Not much of a game but, hey, I should be an optimist, right? Maybe my next opponent would be at least somewhat exiting."
Lancer's angry shouts could have been heard from behind the makeshift wall separating them, accompanied by sound of shattered crystal as he vehemently tried breaking through on time. Portia, with a look of glee on his face, snapped his fingers.
It was then that, for the first time in her life, Meissa realized the true meaning of the word 'pain'. As the crystalline disease made its way up her left arm and her nerves seemed just about ready to cut themselves off due to the sheer strain, the blonde magus found out that she was literally willing to do anything to make it stop. She could feel herself trying to prevent the spreading with her shaking right arm, she could feel the hot tears streaming down her cheeks and yet the real Meissa was locked somewhere deeply inside the depths of her brain. Those screams she could hear were probably hers but the young mage had no way of knowing for sure. She had just… disconnected herself from the world, desperately hoping to find some shelter from the searing pain.
"What you're currently experiencing, Miss Scintillare," came Alexander's voice from somewhere far away. "Is the feeling I've been forced to live with every day of my life for the last three decades. How long do you think you can last, hm? Half an hour? Five minutes? Not even ten seconds more perhaps?"
Meissa didn't know if it was his contemptuous tone, sheer hatred towards him or plain determination. But something inside of her, something strong enough to push some semblance of herself back into reality, helped her get control over her body back and wrap the wire of her pendulum blade above the rapidly spreading infection. There was a moment of doubt- so many times had the mage used this weapon to cut through numerous obstacles but never before had she tried it on living flesh, much less her own. But then she remembered how easily her opponent had shrugged off the death of his own Servant, how mockingly had he treated her when implying Lancer was better off leaving her behind…
And as the electricity coursed through the wire and its vibrations hummed with sound akin to the string of a lire, the Scintillare cut off her own arm in front of one absolutely stunned Alexander Portia. Meissa retracted the blade back to the wrist holster and, locking her eyes with her enemy's, dashed forward, pouring electricity into her body. Portia stepped back hastily, more on reflex than anything else- the girl was in front of him in the blink of an eye. The wrist-blade had already ended its upwards arc, blood dripping from its tip.
Confusion shrouded the white-haired mage's face as he watched said blood fall down on the stone floor and lose itself in the pool rapidly forming below Meissa. He touched his face in doubt and let out the air he had been unknowingly holding in, somewhat reassured when he felt the touch of the automatic crystal armor shielding his right eye. Alas, merely seconds later, his face went pale when he noticed the blood dripping from behind said shield, through its tiny cracks and imperfections.
"You… you hit me before it could even react?"
"Guess you're not… so invincible after… all, huh?" shot back Meissa, trying not to cry out as she attempted to cauterize the useless stub with the heated flat side of her blade.
Portia certainly didn't look impressed by the young magus' monumental achievement. He swiftly raised his blade and moved to strike down the defenseless enemy- only for Lancer to finally break through and dash straight towards him, weapon at the ready. The famed Spider King of Hartcroft seemed to realize his inertia coupled with the Servant's outstanding speed made collision inevitable, so he just braced for the impact-
"Master!"
In a swirl of blackened flames, Assassin materialized between the two, shielding the white-haired mage with her own body. Clutching the spear with both hands even as it went straight through her stomach, the fiery-haired Servant bit back her cries of pain and reached towards her unfaithful Master.
"All I wanted… all I wanted was to show you that being raised as a weapon didn't mean you had to be one. Why…," sobbed Assassin andthe tears streaming from behind the skull mask mixed with the blood dripping from her mouth. "Why were you so stubborn that you didn't even allow me to?"
Yet again the weakened Servant tried to reach out to her Master- whether to caress or slap him, Meissa couldn't know. Assassin's hand disappeared into nothingness along with her body, leaving behind just black embers, fire colder than even the eternal night filling these lonely caverns. Alexander's face was motionless.
"Well," eventually drawled out the mage, still staring cautiously at the tip of Lancer's spear. "I can tell when I've been beaten, as surprising as it sounds."
Before anyone could do anything, Portia's fist had collided with the nearby pillar, yet another wall of crystals erupting and cutting him off his enemies. Lancer shook his head, as if to clear any leftover doubts from the battle, and then walked up to his Master. Ashamed of her pitiful condition, Meissa refused to meet his eyes.
"What are you looking at? It's not like I wanted to- hey, what the-"
"Pipe down already," cut her off Lancer as he struggled to hold his struggling Master in his hands, bridal-style. "The wounded don't get a say when their allies decide they should be treated after battle."
An indignant 'hmph' was the only response the black knight received from the young magus.
The sun had already risen, marking the beginning of the new day, when Alexander Portia walked through the double gates of St Patroclus' cathedral. The lazy beams of the morning sun shined brightly through the stained glass windows, drowning the spacious church in their soft light. Even the stern statues of the seven archangels looming from above didn't look so grim anymore. The whole place seemed empty, the reverberating echo of his steps being Portia's sole companion.
A trail of blood followed the mage down the aisle between the benches as he made his way onwards.
"You are here to seek refuge," announced an unfamiliar voice, quiet enough that it could have gone unregistered despite the cathedral's impressive acoustics.
Alexander turned around in curiosity, his one good eye inspecting the newcomer that had appeared so suddenly behind him. A girl in her late teens, with long lustrous black hair which sparkled under the caress of the sun's beams. A pair of intense violet eyes, which seemed to drill right into the mage's soul, met Portia's gaze. Definitely not Father Luciano, concluded the Servant-less Master, not unless the old goon had aged backwards fifty years and got a gender change operation. But since Alexander Portia had witnessed stranger things in his life, he felt obliged to ask.
"And who, pray tell, are you?"
The girl in the nun's garment just kept on staring, her next sentence not even remotely related to his question.
"There are bigger predators than you prowling this jungle of concrete and glass. You won't live to see the War's end."
Eager to speed things up a bit and finally get some straight answers, Alexander's hand shot towards the girl's neck- only to freeze, along with his whole body, inches away from it. With great effort, the white-haired mage managed to turn his head and inspect the Black Key currently pinning his shadow to the ground.
"Figures," mumbled the mage in annoyance. "The armor can't protect my shadow. Come now, no one likes scrubs who abuse the loopholes in the system to best their betters!" shouted Alexander.
"What is it that has brought you here, Mr Portia?" asked the former Executor as he emerged from the shadows of some narrow back corridor. "And do tell why are you attempting to strangle my helper?" asked the Overseer and cast his stern gaze at the proverbially frozen mage.
"Ah, Father Luciano, good to see you!" greeted him energetically Portia. "Well, I was just about to educate this precious girl here that I'm the only one who can dictate my destiny. As to your other question, I guess it's the usual- my Servant got herself killed. I need a place to kick back for a few days, maybe a week. Depends on how things work out."
"You are quite calm for someone whose plans have ended in defeat, Mr Portia," shot back the priest. "I imagined a mage such as yourself would be having an existential crisis right now."
"Defeat?" echoed Alexander and let out a small laugh. "There are no defeats in my schedule for winning this War, Father. Only setbacks."
"Would you like me to bandage your wound?" suddenly asked the girl, reminding the mage of her existence.
"Bandage?" repeated Portia with confusion. "Oh, right for the eye. Well, I guess so. It's been nearly three decades since I've last been as much as scratched. A bandage for such a wound would be the proper treatment, right?"
The raven-haired girl merely nodded and disappeared off into some back room.
"The way to the rooms prepared for the defeated Masters is through the back courtyard," announced the priest and knocked the Black Key off the mage's shadow with his ornate cane. "I trust it you are capable enough to find them on your own. Good day."
"Just a one more minute, Father," said Alexander, prompting the fleeing priest to turn back and look at him expectantly.
"You are aware of my fame and status in this city, am I correct?"
"Yes," answered Luciano curtly, with thinly veiled annoyance evident in his voice.
"Of course, this status comes exclusively from my superior abilities and unique magecraft," elaborated Portia. "A status shared with few others in this city. Out of all of them, the Red Queen remains an enigma and no one can tell whether she is currently in Hartcroft or not. The one I know for sure that is here is the White Queen, safe and sound and still ruling VEXA from the shadows. A company which has fully adopted her belief that one should wait out for the storm to pass and then profit from the disaster. Furthermore, VEXA's newest creation- Charlotte- is off with the venerable Hanzo across the Atlantic, accompanying the city's delegation on the annual peace talks with the Association in London. Mr Norman Drake is somewhere in the Caribbean sea on a, let's say well-earned, vacation and his eternal arch-frenemy Sirius Scintillare is in some Tibetan monastery practicing fancy moves for their next scuffle. The Grimaldi brat is of no consequence, considering he can't even afford to use his magecraft. What's more interesting, for a time even I was supposedly meant to accompany our delegation to the peace talks."
"Is this rant going somewhere, Mr Portia?"
"What I'm trying to say is… out of the seven AESIR of Hartcroft, only three are still in the city. One of them hasn't even showed her face, hence we aren't even sure of her concrete existence. The second one is a noncombatant, usually hell-bent on acting after disaster had passed and seizing the opportunities of the ensuing chaos. And then there's me. The one who was originally supposed to be currently traipsing the halls of the Clock Tower."
"And?" insisted the priest, the fingers grasping his cane handle now seemingly white in annoyance.
"Well, you're the mediator here, Father," replied Alexander and shrugged. "I'd just like everyone involved to know that this is my city. Anyone intending to use this convenient War to raise a shitstorm here better make sure he has my permission first. Otherwise I'll be forced to show them the real meaning of the word 'pain'."