First Encounters
"Shit!"
Weiss dived to the side, feeling the sword whip past her back long before the sound of steel slicing through air hit her ears. Catching herself on the flat of her arms, she rolled to her feet, putting as much distance between herself and her attacker as she could. Spinning, she turned to find the off-kilter figure slowly making its way towards her, the tip of their blade scratching deep grooves into the pavement.
Grimacing, Weiss backed a little further away, eyes scanning the darkness around her for any sign of passersby. She'd hoped to get further – ideally into the forest that ringed the town – but apparently, the enemy Servant hadn't been willing to wait any longer.
Not that it hadn't already shown plenty of patience. That entire day, Weiss had felt eyes on her, that inevitable prickling sensation on the back of her neck when you know someone is watching. But no matter how often she looked, or how many times she ordered Archer to double-check the school's perimeter, who or whatever was spying on her might as well have a ghost.
Not a ghost, she thought angrily, taking another step back as the menacing figure drew nearer. A Servant.
The damn thing had kept her on edge all day, looking over her shoulder, expecting an attack. Which was probably exactly what it wanted – to wear her out while it waited in relative comfort. It had worked too. She'd stayed until she had no choice but to leave the relative safety of the crowded school, well after all the other students had gone. The last thing she needed was someone else getting wrapped up in all this. Fortunately, it looked like the area was already deserted this late at night, the brick street cold and lonely, bordered by a dilapidated church long since abandoned by whatever congregation had once gathered there. Streetlamps of blackened iron dotted the path, leaving little puddles of warm light on the ground.
The attacker stepped into one of those yellow-orange pools, and Weiss was shocked to find herself looking at a tiny little woman, half her hair a brilliant pink, the other a deep, chocolate brown. Mismatched eyes lay beneath her different-colored bangs, her gaze wide and unsettling. Head cocked to one side, she stared at Weiss, her sword swinging loosely by her side, the sound of her tip gouging along the ground harsh and painful in her ears.
In a flash, the woman darted forward, giving Weiss barely enough time to say the last syllable of a spell she'd taken to leaving on standby. The thin blade stabbed out towards her neck, deflected neatly aside by the shield spell. The little force bubble shook, then held against the attack, but Weiss wasn't ready for the roundhouse kick the woman delivered into her side, beating the wind from her lungs and tossing her like a ragdoll back down the path. Her shoulder slammed heavily into the bricks, inertia carrying her several feet along the ground, bouncing and rolling until she slammed into the walled side of the path.
Adrenaline and panic working through the pain, Weiss pushed herself onto her hands and knees, raising her head just in time to see the odd-eyed woman smile, before driving the blade down towards her throat.
The blow never hit. In a blink of an eye, Archer was there, the blade parried aside with the bracers than ran down one arm. The dark-haired woman started forward, and Weiss' pursuer leapt back, flipping off the ground before coming down to land on the balls of her feet, a smirk crossing her lips.
Weiss managed to stand, leaning against one of the lampposts for support. Everything hurt. Numbness was slowly ebbing from her arm, replaced by a burning ache in her shoulder. The limb felt like it was on fire, and she had no doubt that the bruises from her fall would purple by morning.
"Archer, she's-"
"I know," the woman cut her off, right hand loose by her side as she stepped towards the attacker. "That agility, attacking without warning – there's really only one possible candidate."
A blade appeared on her left hip, wrapped in a massive sheath as thick as Weiss' leg, its color as black as night. It almost seemed more cylinder than sheath, short lines of color flashing from within its confines. Gripping the case with her left hand, Archer wrapped her right around the hilt. The chamber of the sheath spun, colors flicking rapidly, coming to a stop as Archer squeezed the grip of her sword. With one slow pull, she drew her weapon forwards, left hand sliding the sheath back along her hip, the blood-red blade glinting in the moonlight. It was long, four feet at least, curved with a single edge, and wickedly sharp. With a flick of her wrist, the blade flipped forward, the tip coming to a halt, pointed right at the shorter Servant's chest.
"Assassin," Archer hissed through her teeth.
The pink and brown-haired woman inclined her head, one foot ducking behind the other as she curtseyed, the tip of her thin sword making lazy loops in the air.
Archer released her sheath, letting it hang from the swordbelt at her side, and wrapped her left hand around the base of her hilt. The point of the blade now solidly between the two, the raven-haired woman settled into her guard, feet shifting as she fixed her stance. The two stood still and silent for a moment, neither making the first move, both watching and waiting, judging each little movement their opponent made.
Without warning, Archer vanished, air rushing in with a bang into the space she had once occupied. Assassin's eyes went wide, her blade rising just in time to parry the crimson sword as Archer appeared beside her. Even blocked, the blood-red blade threw the shorter fighter back, feet skidding on the brick path as she slid to a halt. Archer didn't pause, stepping from cut to cut, driving her opponent back with every swing of her sword. Assassin spun away from the blows, lashing out with blade and feet, taking any opportunity to strike at the taller woman.
The thinner blade snuck out as Assassin ducked another swing, spearing straight through Archer's chest – only for the servant to vanish into thin air. Distracted by the afterimage, Assassin nearly missed the sword cleave down towards her pale, unprotected neck. She got her blade up in time, but the sheer force from Archer's swing slammed her into the ground, knees collapsing as the earth struggled and crumbled beneath her. Assassin resisted, held, and whirled away, the dust clearing to reveal a crater in the ground where she had stood. Archer's blade hadn't even touched the pavement, hovering over the shattered ground at exactly the height of Assassin's head.
Weiss watched as the two women dueled, clashing blades resounding through the autumn air. Her eyes flickered from thin steel to deep red curves, desperately trying to keep up with the speed of their attacks. Assassin was done playing, the pink-and-brown haired woman darting across the field, swinging like a madwoman, a blur of cuts and kicking feet. Archer remained impassive behind her mask, each blow parried with the flat of her blade, the hilt, or her bracers. The taller woman gave as good as she got, precise, powerful strokes cleaving the air while Assassin just barely bent out of the way. The blood-red blade always remained between the two, a slashing arc of death that kept Assassin at a distance, no motion wasted between her swings.
Finally, Assassin went for the sword itself, one kick crashing right into the side of the blade, the force of her attack shattering the crimson steel. Bloodlust glinting in her mismatched eyes, Assassin grinned her silent snarl, and struck.
"Archer!" Weiss cried, the last syllable for her shield already on her lips.
Blindingly fast, Archer slammed the hilt of her broken sword back into its sheath. In one smooth motion, she drew, her hand a line of light as it whipped out towards the enemy, a brand-new blade extending out from her scabbard. Weiss watched as Archer's wrist flicked forward, the long arc of her sword scything towards her opponent, index finger wrapped around what looked conspicuously like a trigger.
The clack of a rifle split the air, and the new-made blade shot forward, striking deep into Assassin's shoulder, blood dripping from the wound as the girl staggered back. The projectile blade held for a moment, then shattered, leaving only the bloodstains on the shorter woman's white jacket and a blade-shaped hole.
"Be honest, you were wondering why I counted as an Archer." The ghost of a smile flickered across her mouth as Archer raised the bladeless hilt, finger still on the trigger, and looked at Weiss with what the girl could have sworn was humor.
"It's also a gun."
Dirt shuffled beneath Assassin's feet, and both Weiss and Archer turned back to look at the injured Servant. Gone was the playfulness she'd shown in her attacks, as was the grin and the sadistic glint in the woman's eyes.
Weiss felt the pressure build in the air, shadows peeling from the ground, whipping about the thin sword in Assassin's hands. The streetlamps flickered, fought, and died, the sword leeching the very light from the field on which they stood. The silent woman drew back her blade until it sat in line with her mismatched eyes, her off-hand finally joining the other around the hilt of the demonic weapon.
Weiss swallowed. For a Servant to use their noble phantasm this early in the war ... well, she hadn't been expecting things to escalate this quickly. Assassin's sword gleamed with unholy shadow – rather, it drew in the light and devoured it, leaving the Servant a mere shade, hair made of darkness whipping about her shoulders. Archer's hilt had already returned to its sheath, the raven-haired woman's body still and relaxed, simply waiting for the chance to draw, to fire into that maelstrom of shadow.
Something moved, and both Servants snapped their eyes towards the source of the noise. Back behind the dilapidated church wall, past crumbling siding and rotting drywall, stood a hooded figure staring at the wreckage left by their battle. Staring at the broken lamppost cleaved in half by one of Archer's swings, the cracked bricks scattered around the path, at Weiss' and Assassin's blood dying the brick a deeper shade of red.
Panic rushed through Weiss. The Mage's Association was very clear about its policies concerning exposure to the 'normal' world. While she might be willing the take the risk, or at least go out of her way to keep anyone from noticing, most mages weren't as careful. Most weren't particularly concerned if one or two people 'disappeared' after seeing something they shouldn't. If Assassin's master decided that eliminating a witness was easier than covering it up ...
It seemed she was right. Assassin vanished, the Servant a multi-colored blur darting at the person in the hood, running low to the ground, her blade extended out to her side.
For a split second, Weiss considered just letting Assassin go. It would solve their immediate problems, at least. She and Archer could take the opportunity to retreat, to lick her wounds. They could regroup, get into a better position, somewhere more fortified. It was the easy way out.
... why can I never just take the easy way out?
Her arm was extended before she made up her mind, her palm pointed directly at the running spectre. A single word issued from her lips, launching the pre-assembled spell from her fingertips, globule of light hurtling across the field and slamming into Assassin's back.
The Servant staggered, more distracted by the attack than anything else, but that was all she needed. Archer was already rushing after her, blood-red blade whipping through the air as she hacked at the enemy Servant.
Weiss spared the onlooker a glance, at the hood over their face, their featureless black coat hiding any signs of gender or body shape.
"Go!" she cried, barely willing to waste even that much breath as she staggered towards the dueling Servants.
The hooded shadow didn't need to be told twice, scrabbling at the ground and bolting around the corner.
The girl beneath the hood panted for breath as she ran, legs burning as they pumped, propelling her down the street and into the relative safety of civilization. She rounded corner after corner, robotically performing the surveillance countermeasures that Adam had drilled into her bones, dodging between buildings, darting into darkened alleys, watching car mirrors and storefronts for any reflection of her pursuer. She did what she could to change her silhouette, hoping the minor shifts in body shape might be enough to lose them. The hood came down, the double-sided coat flipped from black canvas to deep blue, and the girl darted into the hollow of a doorway to catch her breath.
Heart pounding, she listened for footsteps, for further signs of battle, the sound of clashing blades. Nothing hit her ears, and she sighed, reaching up to fix the bow atop her head. Satisfied that she looked like any other young lady walking home, she stepped back out into the street, calmly but quickly doubling back towards her house and cursing her own foolishness all the way.
She'd left the summoning too late. Much too late. Granted, she'd hoped to muster more power for the ritual, planning to try for a more powerful servant if she just waited a little longer.
Apparently, it had nearly been too late, but for the white-haired mage deciding that the life of a random bystander was worth risking exposure.
The Mage's Association would not be happy about that. Well, if Blake actually was some unknowing bystander. At least she'd managed to gather some intel on the other masters, even if it had nearly gotten her killed. It seemed the Schnee girl had already summoned her Servant, an Archer who fancied itself a swordswoman. Then again, the red-and-black clad Servant had easily given Assassin a run for its money, so perhaps ...
Lost in thought, it wasn't long before the low roof of her house rose up before her, well on the outskirts of town, high-walled and out of sight. Her arm moving automatically, Blake pressed her key into the lock, as she had a hundred times before, and froze.
The hackles on the back of her neck stood on end, and Blake dived forward through the now-open door, just barely dodging the razor-thin blade slicing down at her. She rolled to her feet, the handgun that normally hid against the small of her back already pointed at her attacker's head. Not that it would do her any good. Magically-reinforced bullets might be enough to take down an unguarded mage, or even a summoned familiar, but a hero called from the age of legends, strengthened for the conflict over the Holy Grail? She might as well use a squirt gun for all the good it would do.
The swordswoman advanced silently towards her, head cocking to the side as she twirled her blade. The moonlight lit her face, just for a second, and Blake found herself staring into different-colored eyes. The left was a milky gray, the other a disturbing shade of bright bubblegum pink, matching half of her two-tone hair. Even her grin was lop-sided, one side of her mouth curled up in a vicious smirk that oozed sadistic pleasure.
It was fight or flight, and Blake had a feeling this was a fight she couldn't win. Taking the second option, she bolted for the hallway, firing behind her as she ran. Anything that might slow the Assassin down.
Something caught her side, but Blake grit her teeth against the pain and kept on running. It happened again, and again, sharp lines of agony that left shallow gouges and bloodstains in their wake. None of the cuts were fatal, and from the too-white grin that Blake saw glinting over her shoulder, she guessed that Assassin wasn't missing.
She's toying with me, the Faunus realized, managing to duck one of the psychopath's swings as she juked around a corner. Putting on her last burst of speed, Blake bolted for the study, ignoring the sheathed blade mounted on the wall, the mask resting atop the desk. She slammed the door shut behind her, the outline of the wooden panel flickering as the protection enchantments activated.
She allowed herself a moment to breathe, listening as the Servant battered against the magically reinforced door. Adam had spent weeks layering enchantments over the room – even Assassin would have trouble simply breaking in.
A long thin blade stabbing through the door made her reconsider, and Blake staggered over to the spell-circle etched meticulously into the hardwood floor. Ignoring the constant pounding and hacking against the wood, Blake ran over the runes one last time, double and triple-checking the script. The ritual was already nearly complete, the sigil gleaming with held-back power, the mana Blake poured into it for weeks flaring even brighter as she knelt atop it.
Maybe not the brightest idea, but at this point ...
Smearing her hand along one of the shallow cuts, Blake growled against the pain, and pressed her bloody palm to the sigil. Light blazed around her just as the pink-haired woman broke through the reinforced door, wood splinters scattering into the room as she took the heavy oak apart. Her grey and brown eyes flashed with joy, then went wide as she saw the light of magic surrounding the blood-soaked girl.
The incantation already spoken, Blake slammed her other hand into the magic, gripping the spell structure and giving it everything she could, the ancient shield resting in the center of the diagram now gleaming with light.
Get out here!
Light exploded across the room, and the swordswoman darted forward, her blade poised for a killing stroke.
She never got the chance. Something gold slammed into her from the side, knocking the sadist off her feet and sending her careening through the wall. Slowly, ever so slowly, the light faded away, taking the circle and Blake's dried blood with it, the floor now marked only by the slow drip falling from her clothes.
"Are you alright?"
Blake looked up to find a woman as bright as the sun standing over her, scale mail washed with gold shining beneath her tattered brown cloak. Metal-capped vambraces covered her forearms, the leather straps straining to contain the mass of muscle beneath them, tanned skin hard and gleaming. She was tall – the tallest woman Blake had ever seen – and on her back was the same shield used to summon her, this one no longer dulled and cracked with age. Hair the color of the noonday sun streamed behind her, softly curling and tumbling into lilac eyes.
She was the most beautiful thing Blake had ever seen – and the fact that the Servant's arrival had just saved her life didn't hurt one bit.
"Under attack ... Assassin," she managed, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. Her legs burned from running, the stitch in her side dueling with the slashes to see which could hurt more. Clasping her hand over one of the deeper gashes in her side, she winced, then looked down as it came away bloody.
"Damn," the blonde said, ripping her cloak off in one quick jerk. "You really don't mess around, do you?"
"Don't worry about me, just go-"
"Calm down. When I hit people, they tend to stay down. We got about a minute before she pulls herself out of the rubble." The golden woman worked fast, shredding the tattered cloth into long strips and winding them around the worst of Blake's wounds. "You got a name, gorgeous?"
Blake ignored the blatant flirt, her eyes locked on the human-shaped hole in the wall of her study. "Not really the best time for an introduction."
"Would you prefer fanfare and doves, followed by pledges of undying loyalty? I'd like to know the name of the woman I'm risking my life for."
"... point taken," the Faunus hissed, jaw clenching as the Servant put pressure on the deepest cut. "It's Blake ... you can call me Blake."
"Nice to meet you, Blake. I'm-"
The woman paused, grinning just a little wider, as if at a joke only she knew. Violet eyes flashed with mischief, and were it not for the pain, Blake would have suspected she was dreaming. No one should look that fearless, that happy while still under attack by a mismatched murderess.
... no mere human should, anyway.
If anything, that grin just got bigger as the woman swept golden locks out of her face and tied the makeshift bandage against Blake's side.
"Well Blake, you can call me Berserker."
Writer's Note: So, we now have Blake as Berserker/Yang's master, as well as Assassin/Neo. If you can, please take a second to leave a comment or review – they really help me figure out what people liked/disliked. Also, anyone have any guesses as to who the heroic spirits actually are?