Enemy of My Enemy
It always amazed her, the way magic felt. Like electricity on her skin, running up her arms and spine and making her tongue tingle. She'd been practicing the Art her entire life, since she realized it wasn't faulty wiring that made sparks in her room at night. Still, every time she started a spell, she felt that same thrill, the rush that using magic always brought.
Kneeling by the sigil, painstakingly drawn on the cellar floor, the young magus rubbed her hands together, feeling for the power that lay waiting in her workspace. This was it. The result of weeks of planning – way more than she'd ever wanted to do. But when this worked, it would absolutely be worth it. Staff in-hand, she moved into the circle, feeling the power within her swell as the spell started to take shape. She could hear the quiet scritch-scritch of a cockroach skittering across the back wall, the drip of a faucet two stories up. Then she spoke, and it all faded away, replaced by the words of the spell as if the universe had leaned in to listen.
The words were old, the syllables tasting of dust and old men in silly hats. The components dripped from her hand, dropping onto the sigil once, twice, five times, each drop making the light of her runes brighter and stronger. She grinned, and said the last of the incantation that would bring her a hero. A warrior. A partner who would fight at her side in the greatest tournament any mage could imagine.
She said the final word, and the power rushed out of her, and out of the sigil stepped ...
Nothing.
The redheaded mage frowned, cocking her head as she waited for ... well, something more interesting that dust trickling from the ceiling. She said the final words of the incantation again. Maybe she'd pronounced something wrong. It shouldn't matter too much, but this was an old ritual and a finicky one.
She said the final word, and ... still nothing. No one appeared in a flash of light, or stepped out of a fiery portal to bow or kneel at her feet. Hell, she'd settle for a high-five at this point.
It didn't make any sense. A spell always worked. Always. It might not work the way you wanted it to, or it might drain you more than you expected, but it always worked.
Thumping her staff with the weighted head down on her workbench, she reached for her spellbook. Flipping the leather-bound cover open, she flicked through the tome until she came to the enchanted page that held the most basic information on the Holy Grail War. It wasn't much. Just the general location for the conflict, the identity of the overseer, and a list of which servant classes had already been summoned. Not who had done the summoning or which servant had been called. No statistics or parameters, just the name of the class with a little space next to it saying if they'd been summoned or not.
It was a formality more than anything else. Most of the masters selected by the Grail knew from the start which servant and class they would be able to summon. They had to. Performing a summoning only to find that the class you wanted was already taken would be a severe handicap. It might not be the end of the world – if a mage was using a piece of the Round Table and Arthur had already been summoned as the Saber class, they might get Galahad as a Lancer, Gawain as Rider, or Merlin as a Caster if they were really lucky– but if their artifact only had one legend, and if that hero could only work well in one particular role ...
Still, when she'd checked a week ago, less than half of the servants had been summoned. Lancer and Saber were the first to go, with Caster a close third. With four servants remaining, the chances that anyone had taken her class were slim to none.
Scanning the page, she ran through the list of classes. Saber and Lancer were right at the top. Their masters had finished their summonings early. That probably meant they were one of the big houses: the Schnee family, the Arcs, or the Einzbern clan. Or maybe someone from the Association, desperate to get their hero as soon as possible.
In the end, it didn't really matter. Caster was the next one summoned, followed by Archer, then Rider, and then ...
No way.
There, sitting on the page, beneath Rider and above Berserker, sat the one Servant she hadn't expected to see.
Assassin. Her Assassin.
It was impossible. There were only seven masters. Only seven people chosen by the Grail. Seven people capable of summoning a servant. And all of them had the dormant Command Seals that named them as Masters for the Grail War. Hers were still there, on the back of her hand, faded and red against her skin. The Grail didn't pick extras – if a master died before they could summon a servant, then and only then did it select someone new.
It was impossible for her to still be a prospective master, still have the faded seals, and for all seven servants to already have been summoned. Slamming the book shut, Nora Valkyrie stared up at the ceiling. For the first time in her life, she was completely at a loss for words.
What the hell is going on?
Blake was halfway through unwrapping her lunch when the whispers started. At first, she just ignored them. She wasn't really into the mood to deal with whatever schoolyard drama was currently in the works. Not after last night, especially not with her stomach growling up a storm. By the time she did look up, half the class was trying to cram themselves in the corner of the room, staring out into the hallway. Following the direction of the others' stares, Blake looked out, and groaned.
There, barely ten feet from the rear door to the classroom, stood Weiss Schnee. Her hair was up, bound in her customary side-tail and trailing down her back. Her arms were folded, and the expression on her face was enough to send most people running. For a second, Blake considered just ignoring the whole thing. She'd been looking forward to lunch – she'd found the time to whip up a tuna melt sandwich that morning, and she had no intention of letting Weiss ruin it. Plus, if the Schnee princess really needed something, she could at least have the decency to come in and say it to her face.
She was just about to take a bite when the whispering picked up. Apparently people were starting to question why the white-haired girl from class 2-C hanging around outside their room. Blake sighed and set her lunch aside. Standing, she pushed past her classmates, walked down the empty section of the hall, and tapped the white-haired girl on the shoulder.
"You're bothering the other students."
Weiss whirled on the spot, eyes wide as she stared up at the dark-haired girl. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed, ashen hair flicking over her shoulder.
"At the moment? Missing lunch."
Weiss' eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be wandering around in the open during the Grail War?"
"I'd hardly call this wandering," Blake quipped, waving aimlessly at the hallway. "And it's not like you're any more in hiding than I am."
"The difference is, I have Archer watching over the entire school in case another Master shows up," Weiss growled under her breath. "While Berserker is loitering outside the school, still in material form, much too far away in case anything happened."
"She's near enough," Blake said, grimacing. It was another side effect of whatever was wrong with Berserker. Not only couldn't she remember her name, dematerializing into her spiritual form was apparently out of the question. Which was getting to be a problem – for a Servant with such low parameters, she drew a lot of mana. And since she couldn't switch to her spiritual form, it meant Blake had to supply that mana twenty-four-seven.
All of which added up to an empty stomach and an increasing lack of patience. "Worse case, I can always use a command seal to summon her."
"What if another Master attacked? What if I attacked?"
"I can handle myself, Schnee," Blake snapped. "More importantly, why do you care? We're not allies and we're not friends. We'd barely spoken ten words to each other before last night."
Weiss' mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Fine," she said, jaw snapping shut. "We're finishing this tonight."
"Should I meet you by the bike racks after school?" Blake drawled, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Or would you prefer something a little less juvenile?"
"Don't get cute. The field behind the school is far enough out of the way that we can fight without worrying about any bystanders."
"You're not at all afraid I might just booby trap the place and leave you to die?"
"Archer would warn me."
"Still."
Crossing her arms a little tighter across her chest, Weiss glared up at the dark-haired girl. "I'd rather not have to spend my time looking over my shoulder, waiting to get stabbed in the back. So, let's get this out of the way and agree that whoever loses is free to seek shelter with the Church for the remainder of the war."
"Those are pretty generous terms," Blake said, choosing her words carefully. "Especially considering most magi would kill each other outright, and avoid the risk of a servantless master allying with a masterless servant."
"I'm not going to kill anyone unless I have to," Weiss growled, glancing over Blake's shoulder at the students still trying to stare out of the classroom door. "Are you coming, or not?"
"... I'll see you tonight."
Jaune.
The blond boy jerked upright at the sound of his name. For a second, he thought about looking around, trying to figure out who had called him ... until he realized he'd heard the voice in his own head. Right. Servants can pull this kind of thing. Never gonna get used to that.
What is it? he thought, reminding himself not to move his lips as he trained his eyes on the blackboard. It was harder than he'd expected. He wasn't used to telepathy. Before this, he'd never had a familiar to give silent commands to. But it was a necessity, at least if he wanted to keep Rider hidden. As long as a Servant wasn't materialized, they were capable of communicating mentally with their Master. Over short distances, at least. It just wasn't a common skill – few mages were trusting enough to open their minds to potential rivals or enemies.
There are other servants nearby, Pyrrha's said, his sense of her mind tinged with bronze and ... some scent he couldn't name.
It's probably Weiss. The Schnees have always fought in the Grail Wars. If Winter was able to summon you, it's an easy bet Weiss found a way to pull it off.
Winter's sister? Achilles asked, her voice tinted with what Jaune thought was concern. Is that going to be a problem?
Maybe, he grimaced, struggling to let Rider hear his answer and nothing else. That was the problem with any kind of telepathy – you always ran the risk of telling the other person more than you really wanted them to know.
Do you know the name of the other Master as well? she asked. Her mind gave off a sense of height, of being a decent ways off the ground, staring down over the school grounds.
The other one? She had to be on the roof. It was a good idea, even sitting in his chair and feeling her hanging off the roof gave him vertigo.
I sense two servants in the area – one on the outskirts of school grounds, and one patrolling around near the second floor.
Jaune nodded slowly. Weiss' classroom was on the second floor. It wasn't hard to guess that her servant was the one nearby. But the one outside school grounds ...
They were either hunting for Weiss, or hunting for him. Either way, it was a problem. He'd hoped they wouldn't attract any other Masters for at least a few days. Enough time for him to make a real plan for dealing with the others.
Okay, he thought. We wait after school lets out. I'll pretend to leave and double back, while you watch the rest of the students when they leave. With any luck, we might get some idea of who the other Master is.
It was dark by the time all the other students had gone home. No one wanted to stay late with the weekend coming up, and by the time the clock struck seven, the place was abandoned.
The field behind the school was the one exception. Four women waited on the short grass, facing each other through the gloom. Little spirals of mist came from their mouths when they breathed, the cold air already biting into the two magi. Weiss stood by the baseball diamond, her foot tapping impatiently as she pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders. Blake didn't seem to mind it as much, and the two Servants didn't barely noticed it at all. The street clothes Blake had loaned Berserker were already replaced by her gold-washed scale mail, and Archer already held her nodachi by her side.
"If we're making this an honorable duel," the blonde said, stretching her arms over her head. "I suppose I should tell you my name."
Archer's mask dipped for a second. "Can't tell you mine."
"Too well-known?" Berserker asked, her voice light. "Afraid I'll figure out your weaknesses too easily?"
"Can't remember it. I took a bump on the head mid-summon."
Berserker's mouth split in a wide, genuine grin as she laughed. "You've got no name, and I have so many, I can't remember which one is right." Pulling the shield from her back, Berserker strapped it to her arm, tossing her golden curls back behind her shoulders. "Guess we're a matched set."
"I suppose so," Archer said, her voice quiet.
"Well, for lack of anything better, you can call me Kara."
Archer nodded slowly, the voice behind her mask sounding a little tighter. "It was nice seeing you, Kara."
"Same to you."
Both servants moved without warning, darting towards the other, weapons at the ready. The red-bladed sword struck the blonde's shield in a scatter of sparks, glancing off to the side as Berserker pressed forward. Archer ducked low as the banded shield swung through the space where her head had been seconds before, stepping to the side before slashing in a flurry of blows that put the blonde Viking on the defensive.
Blake stood by, eyes trained not on the battle in front of her, but the smaller girl standing on the other side of the field. There was little she could to help Berserker directly, short of healing any wound she received. But Weiss ... she could do something about Weiss.
While most of the Servants summoned for the Grail War were interested in a fair fight – most were heroes, after all – the same could rarely be said for their masters. Blake had read the accounts of previous Grail Wars, poured over Adam's notes from the last one, and there were always mages who chose to eliminate the competition in a more ... direct way. That was even the Assassin class' specialty, eliminating the enemy Masters instead of their Servants. There was nothing stopping other mages from doing the same. Many even felt it was necessary – to make sure an opponent was truly out of the Grail War for good. According to Adam's instructions, it was also her best chance to win the Grail War outright.
One hand absently stroked the side of her book bag, feeling the barrel of the heavily modified nine millimeter hidden inside the inner lining. It would take her thirteen seconds to rip into the bag, two to pull the weapon out, and less than one to aim and pull the trigger. Sixteen seconds in total. Thirty, if she wanted to make Adam's sword materialize instead. In under half a minute, Weiss Schnee could be out of the Grail War for good.
Assuming the white-haired girl didn't already expect an attack. Assuming Archer didn't see the shots coming and stop her. Adam's training had prepared her specifically to take on other mages, but those strategies worked best when the mage didn't see you coming. Unsurprisingly, most mages expected threats against them to come from magic, from rivals and enemies they saw as their equals. Or at least not the pathetic, mundane weapons they looked down upon.
Weiss hadn't really seen her fight. She wouldn't expect the attack to come from a pistol, rather than a quick evocation. Any defenses she had probably wouldn't be designed for conventional arms fire.
Blake bit her lip as one of Archer's cuts landed, slicing into Berserker's arm, only for the blonde to slam the shield into the red-clad servant's chest hard enough to send her flying. It was better to wait. Without their noble phantasms, the two servants looked like they were fairly evenly matched. In the end, Blake might not even need to use her guns. Better to hold off on using them until she did.
Even if the Schnee girl tried the same tactics, Blake was no slouch when it came to her power. She wasn't an academy-trained mage, but she wouldn't need her weapons to hold Weiss off if she decided to make this personal. They'd just make it go a lot faster.
"Rider!"
Blake whirled to look at whoever had shouted, eyes wide as a red-haired woman in bronze armor appeared out of thin air, charging for the two Servants currently dueling on the field. A young man stood by the equipment shed, a messy mop of blond hair falling into his eyes as he ran towards Weiss, his mouth already forming the words for some sort of incantation.
Archer was mid-swing when the bronze Servant slammed into Berserker's side. Blindsided, the blonde staggered backwards, getting her shield up just in time to block a downward swing from Rider's sword. Berserker tried to knock the blade aside, only to step back as Rider attacked with her shield as well, whirling as one attack after another slammed against Berserker's defenses.
"Weiss, I've got this!" he cried, finishing the spell and tossing a ball of flame in Blake's direction.
Blake swore under her breath and dodged to the side, letting the little blast of flame fizzle out on the grass. She should have seen this coming. No Schnee would walk into a fight without some sort of ace in the hole, some way to balance the odds in their favor. She should have known Weiss would bring some stooge to back her up.
Her most general shield spell took ten words to say. Lips already moving, she slipped a hand inside her bag. Even if it didn't work, even if it just served as a distraction, attacking the boy might give Berserker enough time to turn the tables on this new Servant, maybe enough time to get them both out of there. It took thirteen seconds to rip the bag's lining open, two to pull the weapon out, and less than one to aim and pull the trigger.
The blond boy's eyes went wide as Blake fired, the semi-automatic sending round after round at the Weiss' assistant. He managed to raise a shield of his own in time, flinching back as the first round shattered against it. It held, barely, flickering out as the last round slammed into it. Blake grit her teeth and darted to the side, free hand reaching back into the bag's false lining, grabbing for a new magazine ...
Only to watch as a blast of ice slammed into the boy from the side, blasting him off his feet.
Whirling to find the source of the blast, Blake turned, mouth open slightly as Weiss Schnee stepped towards the fallen boy. With a snap of her fingers, a long, thin rapier materialized in her hand, the polished metal glinting in the moonlight. Glowing runes ran along the blade, leaving trails in the darkness as she whipping it up in front of her.
"Archer!" Weiss called, the point of her rapier aimed directly for Jaune's heart. "Change of plans. Forget Berserker. Take out the redhead first."
Writer's Note: Well, that was a fast update.
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