Dragon Ball: Faded Dawn

by TheCongo

Even as the Cell games came to a crashing end, his mind drifted toward another time, to a war that would end with his return, only to find himself in a new conflict with all of humanity on the line once more. From one dark future to another, Trunks must fight through legends across all walks of existence to return home and finish what he started.

7. Retribution

Welcome back to another chapter; good to be here; glad to have you!

We have no housekeeping to do for once, which is perfectly fine by me, I want to answer many of the questions asked in the comments, but they're the sort of things that would end up spoiling the narrative if I just came out and said it, I hope you understand.

I apologize for the distance between my uploads; life is chaotic, but it's more that I'm a proponent of quality over quantity; I'd prefer giving you a product that I'm proud of rather than something rushed, that and let's be honest here, I'm trying to write a coherent DBZ crossover about time travel, keeping things comprehensible takes precedence so I'll do my best to keep on pace, but you know how it is.

I won't waste any more time; let's get right into it!

...

"You'll laugh at your fears when you find out who you really are" - Piccolo.

...

"DODGE!"

The ground ruptured into pieces as a figure took off, flying at breakneck speeds as the wind bristled through their purple hairs; their left leg contracted as their body twisted downward. Their opponent remained hidden behind layers of metal, raising their shield to meet his charge; the attack seemed doomed to failure until the warrior dropped low at the last moment, cutting their flow of energy off as his body slid beneath the raised weapon, his blue eyes gleaming in anger as the defensive tool came down from above, all too slow, in an instant he lashed out, his boot cleaving through the tall grass like a sharpened blade, ignoring the Chaldeans plated armor, he went straight for her core, making a direct impact against the girl's exposed stomach, a layer of saliva blasted out of her mouth as the Servant went flying, tumbling back over beaten paths of torn up dirt and rock, slamming her phantasm down, she slowly dragged to a stop, clutching the growing bruise with a grimace on her pale face, flushed red with exhaustion as beads of sweat poured downward.

Trunks hovered for a moment before rotating, landing on his feet with a visible scowl on his face; he crossed his arms over his exposed chest, having thrown his jacket to the side some time ago, with not a scratch on him to speak of he stood in stark contrast to the barely functional Servant, "I said dodge."

Mash's winced expression only subsided as a plume of purple flames ignited along her abdomen, drowning out the pain in a sea of color before dissipating; she leaned her head against the cold metal, hoping for just a moment of rest as she faced the ground, regretting this decision more by the moment, "...I... I'm sorry Senpai...I-" the Servant let out a sharp exhale, closing her dry mouth hoping for some nonexistent moisture to appear, "I'm not fast...enough."

"Look."

The Chaldean could hardly raise her head as she watched the Saiyan let out a huff, shaking his head in disbelief; the fighter sent a pulse of energy into the ground as it reverberated across the surrounding area, kicking up a geyser of small rocks, his hands blurred, catching every single one in less than a second, his eyes only focused on her, "You saw that just fine." Slightly opening his hands, the halfling dumped the pile of rocks into one hand, leaving a singular pebble in the other, "it's like I said, your problem isn't weakness, Mash; you're a lot stronger than the average person, but you don't know how to handle it, I can see your body trying to react to what I'm doing, but your fear is getting the best of you, it's tainting your technique."

The Chaldean's gaze shifted to the side as a flush of embarrassment overcame her; she opened her mouth to speak only for it to close, her thoughts seemingly jumbled before she looked back at him with a sad look in her eyes, "Wouldn't you?...A few days ago I was...no-" she hesitated at the word 'normal,' "...not this...I wasn't a Servant; I was sick and scared... and now I'm worrying about everyone here and back home; I'm afraid that something awful will happen to them because I care; what's so wrong about that?"

The time traveler leveled the Servant with a stern look, reflecting a life of hardship and conflict since the day he was born, "Do you think I'm not scared, that I don't worry that my mother could be dead or worse at the hands of the androids every time I leave my house? I think about it every second of the day, but we don't have the privilege of living in fear; that's the burden of strength; you act, you don't cower."

Raising a finger, he pointed toward the treeline as the other Servants watched from the sidelines, having meandered over for one reason or another during their session, "There's nothing wrong with worrying about others; power is meaningless without responsibility; it's what lets us push further, but instead of letting it drive you, it dictates your actions. Your mind is wandering while your body suffers; you need to understand that sometimes, the best way to help someone is to keep yourself alive; empathy is a right you earn, not something you can give if you don't have the strength to back it."

Trunks turned toward an open section of the clearing, with a distant tree line looming almost out of sight; his blue eyes flickered toward the Servant, "Drop your shield."

A moment passed before the Chaldean let the object drop; he let out a sigh, turning back to his work; the warrior let his energy reserves shoot to the surface once more, engulfing him in its strengthened aura, and his left leg drifted back as his hand reached out, clenching the pebble as inhuman amounts of power funneled into his limbs, letting loose the rock broke through the sound barrier with a thunderous boom as white clouds shot outward, clearing the field in nanoseconds it collided with the forest with an explosive blast, tearing miles of trees apart in a straight line as their debris rocketed into the atmosphere.

The halfling observed his work before looking toward Mash, a grave look on his face; tossing another rock into his free hand, he raised the object for her to see, "When you're in a life or death situation, sometimes you can only react, you'll be unprepared, mentally or physically, and fear is a rational response, but you need to be better than that, right now, the only person at risk, is you." Seeing her perplexion, he continued, "I'm going to throw these just as hard as I did a second ago, and if they hit you, it's going to do a lot more than hurt."

A shiver racked through the defender as she instinctively looked down toward her shield, feeling more than tempted to grab the device and hide behind its sheltered confines, her mind racing as her heart pounded. It was beyond terrifying; he had just leveled entire acres with a flick of his wrist; how was that even possible?... Could she do th-

"DODGE!"

*FWOOSH

Mash could hardly look up as another sonic blast rocked the surrounding atmosphere, her eyes catching a blur of grey before a blinding pain dragged along her cheek as an explosion went off behind her; she reeled back, holding a hand to her face, pulling back her gloved digits, the Chaldean saw streaks of her own blood trailing down her fingers, but her Master didn't seem to pay it any mind.

"I said DODGE!"

The next one flew at just the same pace; this time, she saw the moment it launched, the way her Senpai's muscles tensed and released before the explosive launch; Mash instinctively wanted to look toward the other Servants to make sure none were in the line of fire, but stopped herself mid-motion, lurching to the side the rock tore across her armored shoulder, sending shrapnel in every direction, slightly better, but she still hadn't moved so much as an inch.

"DODGE!"

again

"DODGE!"

again

"DODGE!"

and again

What felt like hours had gone by, with Mash finally coming to a true understanding of her Master's dedication to their promise, Trunks was unrelenting, uncompromising, and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the kind soul she had met in Fuyuki; it was like he became a different person entirely whenever combat came up, his strange squared off eyes seeming that much more foreign to the Chaldean, as though they were gleaming in some unspoken emotion, it almost unsettled her.

Mash had learned to overcome her faults by necessity as the lesson dragged on; she couldn't even make eye contact with him at first, the very thought leaving an uncomfortable feeling in her chest, never having to interact with anyone, let alone a guy for this long was a completely alien concept to the Servant, but she soon realized that he wasn't going to spare her from being unfocused. Every mistake was met with pain, but what scared the Chaldean the most was that every blow he landed was never fatal; it would bruise, and it would hurt worse than any post-workout stiffness she had ever endured, but nothing in the hours of work seemed to cripple her for long, they were cold, calculated strikes, a reminder, and a punishment.

Another rock slashed against the Servant's exposed right thigh; she practically bit through her tongue in response but held her ground, no longer focusing on the injury or the hurling object as it whirled by, but on the Saiyan, earning a short, subtle nod from the hybrid.

The Servant always hated the training sessions in Chaldea, the way the proctors and the other candidates would look at her in disgust or contempt at her failures in the most basic things, running laps left her winded after a few minutes, her arms were too weak for any actual workouts which left her too fragile to last long in the limited defensive training the facility offered, they'd dismiss her to the sidelines with a stroke of a pen and send the girl on her way, it hurt, she loved the organization but never felt like she improved through their methods, but here felt different-

The Chaldean leaned to the side at the last second, the attack grazing against her gloved hand, tearing through the fabric yet only leaving a slightly lighter scratch than the others; the lack of pain drove the demihuman's muscles and mind to retain the information in tandem, she had improved.

Some people might buckle under the pressure of not being able to fail, but to the Servant, it felt like the most real thing she had ever done in her entire life; living under a scalpel and microscope, Mash could never make a choice for herself, every situation was fabricated and lackluster, her Master was different though. Trunks didn't know or care about any of their upbringings; he didn't treat Mash as though she were a test subject but an ally that needed to sharpen herself, she never had a motivation besides assisting Chaldea, but the thought of losing out to her own self-doubts and worries didn't sit well with the Servant, not while her second chance, her second Master was expecting more of her.

As the next object soared toward the Servant, her fingers twitched into a faint sign of motion, her mind instinctively comprehending its own reactions, allowing itself to adapt to its new parameters; she leaned back, watching as the rock simply grazed against the outer layer of metal against her chest, flying off into the distance, a smile threatened to break its way to the surface, only to a voice to send her careening back into battle, far closer than it had been before.

"DODGE!"

The Chaldean turned, only for her vision to be filled with an open palm, a dim glow becoming a surge of yellow energy before her very eyes; a bead of sweat trickled down Mash's face, her joy turning into confusion, then fear, "eh?"

*FWOOM

A yellow light engulfed the defender as she went flying back, clearing over the field and into a nearby pond, landing with a colossal splash, her entire body feeling a light burn yet showing no damage; she floated on the surface, trying to move her limbs to no avail, unable to even get a twitch Mash tried again and again. A pair of boots softly landed on the moist soil, a friendly tone ringing out, "So you can dodge?"

Fighting a sudden wave of stiffness running through her body, Mash craned her neck to the side just enough to see her Master standing on the water's edge, hands on his hips leaning overhead; she let out a sigh, her eyebrows twitching just enough to make a point, "...did you need to do that?"

Trunks cracked a light smile, thinking back to his early days of training with his best friend in the whole world, having asked that question as he lay practically comatose on what remained of the island Gohan had thrown him clean through, "You've gotten better, but you should never walk away from a training session feeling satisfied, you've cleared one hurdle, now move on to the next."

A flicker of energy returned to the Servant's lilac eyes, enough to raise her head to face him, a looming question on her mind, "So does that mean I pass?"

The Saiyan cocked his head to the side, "What are you talking about? There was never any grade."

Mash looked confused for a second, "...There isn't?"

Trunks let out a chuckle looking out over the waters as the winds made them flow to and from the not-so-distant shores, "What... is that how they do it back at base?" Getting a painfully slow nod, he let out a sigh, "Everyone learns at a different pace; you can't expect greatness when you're just getting started...not that you did bad-" he awkwardly rubbed the back of his head, looking back down with a slight, toothy smile, "You're pretty tough, so if I had to say, you definitely passed."

The Servant gave an exhausted smile back, leaning back into her watery bed; she let herself float while studying the cloud of light above, "You have no idea how bad I wanted to hear that..." A second passed, "... I'm really sore."

Giving the Chaldean a look of approval, the halfling reached out, clasping a hand over the floating girl's shoulder, passing over a burst of ki as a white aura enveloped her for just a moment before disappearing, "Better?" she looked down, wiggling her boots around before giving him a quick nod, he casually lifted the Servant like a ragdoll, setting her on her feet before turning back toward where they came from, "Then come on, we can't waste any time when Jeanne's doppelganger is running around."

Mash could only deadpan as he walked away, not even getting a second to rest; the defender leaned back, cracking away the remaining discomfort with an audible pop; letting out a defeated sigh, she awkwardly shuffled out of the water before running after her Master, realizing he had come to a stop at the edge of the clearing, she stopped by his side as he asked, "...Do you see that?"

The Chaldean followed his finger, putting her hands above her eyes as the sunlight beamed overhead, seeing faint black dots soaring through the skies in the distance, growing farther away by the second; it was hardly a surprise to see wyverns at this point; the creatures had been following them since last night, but this was different before it was a single one or maybe a handful, but the sheer number spoke of something else going on. She took a sharp breath, "... it's her, isn't it?"

Trunks nodded, his narrow eyes flickering in a different direction as he traced a further off, yet mobile energy signature in pursuit; the pressure around him seemed to grow, "Get the others; we'll beat her there if we go now; I won't let her attack another city," and with that, the pair took off.

...

Sometime later

Flashing across the countryside, the Saiyan cleared through field after field of abandoned crops, some burnt, others torn apart by wandering hordes of unchecked insects; his legs moved in a literal blur, running beyond human speeds. The halfling idly glanced from side to side, with Lancer on one and Jeanne on the other, the others weren't far behind, but these two were easily the fastest of the bunch; he watched as his allies managed to somewhat match his pace, leaving the time traveler impressed; even if this wasn't nearly his best, most humans couldn't hope to keep up with-

*POOF

A foot tapped against his side, with an energetic voice ringing out as a pale finger pointed overhead, "Onward my purple steed, Vive La France!-" A second later, the same voice whispered, "...are you sure you don't know who I am?"

Marie Antoinette, another Servant the group had encountered who decided to tag along for the ride; not wanting to get her shoes or clothes 'dirty,' the former Queen had requested the halfling carry her; Trunks had a hard time saying no when he already upset the supposed monarch within minutes of meeting her...well, upset wasn't the right word, she just looked sad and didn't say anything about it, making him feel all kinds of guilty, so here the Saiyan was, playing horse...how was this child ever in charge of anything?

Dodging and weaving between the treelines, the swordsman shook his head, "Before yesterday, I had never even heard of France or, honestly, any of you; there's not much reading in the future, so it's all hearsay."

Cú appeared beside the time traveler; his red eyes shifted to the side just enough to study his Master's expressions, "Oh come on, you haven't looked at a map? I refuse to believe you haven't heard of a handsome bastard like me."

Jeanne seemed to ignore the boasting, giving her usual Saintly smile as she leaped over a fallen log with an elegant step, "I, too, find it hard to believe, even now, as her kingdom lies in flames, the spirit of France lives on in her people, our love for our homeland exceeds all boundaries, the English couldn't stifle us, I believe we'd survive it all through God's grace."

From her perch, Marie seemed to shine with excitement; puffing her chest out, she spoke like a devoted mother, referring to her children, "Oui, our people bloom like the most beautiful flowers; they retract and explode out into the world again and again, such a flame could never die out~."

Trunks shrugged, "I don't know about your people, but your idea of a country hasn't existed for a very long time," having caught their attention, the halfling continued, "Earth has been united long before I was ever born, it's all one government, we even divided the planet into sectors listed by number, so people don't really call themselves any specific identity, we're all Earthlings."

Lancer dismissed the revelation with a casual whistle, "Times really do change, huh?... Makes me wonder who managed to pull that sort of war off... so what's it like?"

The Saiyan hummed in thought, looking up toward the sky only to see Marie's giant hat blocking his view, "...Well, I never saw it without the Androids, but my mom told me all about it; there's no war, but we've had our share of threats, the Red Ribbon Army, the Demon King Piccolo, all of them had their sights on conquering the planet, but men before me kept them at bay, making sure our king and people are safe, now it's my duty to protect the Earth, I'm the only one who can."

The Gael lightly scoffed, shaking his head, "Preaching to the choir...no offense Miss Saint-" he shrugged at her smile of dismissal, not appreciating his fantastic humor, "Servants can get summoned for more reasons than I care to list, but it's always about conflict no matter what era we're talking about, it's all about the mentality you approach it with, you can be like that broody red bastard and cry about it, or make the best of it-" he barked out a laugh, "I died over a thousand years ago, and I still love the same things I did back then, it's my mark of pride to say I'm satisfied but stick around for the fun of it, who else gets to do that?"

Trunks snorted, "You'd be surprised; remember that conversation we had back in Chaldea when I mentioned that saying about learning well?"

Lancer closed his eyes tight before slamming a fist onto an open palm, "Oh...right, that life advice bit, what about it?"

The Saiyan thought back to the strange mentor living on a submarine somewhere off the coast of West City alongside what remained of his mother's old group of friends but filled with more wisdom than the halfling could ever understand...hidden behind how he usually acted, "The man who coined it, Master Roshi, he's still alive, almost four hundred years and still going strong, he actually taught me when I was really young."

The Irishman scoffed, "You'll have to do better than four hundred to impress me, kid; my mentor was immortal last time I checked, so how's yours do it, he cursed?"

Trunks shook his head, "No, he just sticks around because he feels like it; I don't really know the specifics; my mom doesn't like me being around him, says he's a bad influence."

Lancer just stared at him before pinching between his eyes, holding an open palm out in disbelief, "You're a grown man, and you still listen to her? My God, what's the worst the old guy could do?"

The time traveler tilted his head, "My mom's the kind of person that makes you listen; if she tells me to stay away from his magazines, then I figure she has a reason; she won't even go near him, no idea why."

Marie chimed in, resting her arms against the Saiyan's head as she bobbed up and down, "A mother always knows best; you can only do right by listening to her~."

"Were it so easy..."

Jeanne wore a downcast look as she looked off in no direction in particular, "My mother wished nothing more than for me to put down my banner and come home; she tried so desperately to help me find a normal life, but who was I to ignore the word of God?... I can only pray she still lives, but my mere presence would pose a risk, though I wouldn't quite know what to say if we were to meet."

Trunks looked toward the martyr, knowing all too well what that was like, "...In my experience, she usually didn't need to hear anything; she was just happy I came home in one piece. She's the one person who will always worry no matter what; I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

The comment brought a slight smile out of the Servant, "... It's a pleasant thought; I just might try once all of this is over; as they say, a girl can dream, no?"

Marie whistled from her perch, leaning down toward the Saint with her ever-lasting smile, "For someone so adamant about their faith, you're sounding awfully normal right now, aren't you, my dear Saint?"

Jeanne blushed in embarrassment, looking down and away to the Queen's delight, "...You know how it is leading men as a woman? For them to listen, we have to retain our composure at all times; at least as a Servant, I am free to speak my mind."

The Austrian clicked her tongue in disapproval, "You always could, my love; I treated my people just the same as I would any other, with care and compassion; underneath that title of a Saint, you are just another girl, you know? There's no need to hide anything from the world; you should let it shine!"

Before Jeanne could babble another response at the prodding Servant, Lancer chimed in with a deadpan, pointing toward the Saiyan, "...Are we just going to ignore him not knowing what a nudie magazine is?"

Marie went deathly silent, refusing to acknowledge what the spearman had said, but her silence spoke of knowledge; all the while, the halfling, and his Saintly ally could only look at the man in bafflement, both speaking in unison, "A what?"

Lancer's eyes watered, realizing how truly alone he was in the world, "...I hate it here."

...

later

As the group traversed the battered countryside, the smell of ash and decay was slowly replaced by the lasting salty aroma of the nearby sea, following the traveled course of the creatures flying overhead, but as they drew near, the forest withdrew into the winding open fields of Northern France, the sounds of animal life dissipating into the violent clash of steel again and again, driving their rush through the last layers of foliage to go that much faster as a mighty roar broke out, followed only by the cries of a charging stead.

"HAHHHH!"

The treeline gave way, exposing a walled-off town of stone and wood, its barricades torn to shreds as its defenders flailed from their high defenses against an endless onslaught of attacking wyverns, each attack only delaying their inevitable demise at the hands of the winged beasts razor sharp claws as bundles of black smoke rose from within their outpost as those within struggled to extinguish the draconic flames.

From below, a lone figure charged out from the wall's protective confines, his immaculately white horse cloaked in a darkened cloth emblazoned with the bloody symbol of his faith; the beast charged, taking a running leap into the skies, avoiding the snapping jaws of one of the creatures as it swooped down from above. His orange-tinted armor glowed beneath the morning sun as his shimmering white blade swung up from below, cleaving straight through the enraged creature's torso and out its back, severing its head in one clean strike.

The monster's head hadn't even touched the ground before his mount made contact, continuing its relentless rush forward toward his unholy target, a familiar figure wrapped in a cage of metal, her revealing clothing a sign of her utter debauchery to the enraged man of faith, but as he prepared to strike her down, she raised a ghostly pale hand, snapping a finger before an unfathomable roar engulfed the battlefield, "ARRRRRTHUUUUUUUR!"

The ground shook as a blackened figure shrouded in ethereal smoke burned into existence, scorching the Earth with his mere materialization; he met the steed's mighty charge with his own, each step echoing the clinking of jagged metal plates for miles on end, their uneven nature a reflection of the sheer rage and torment held within his soul. Before the mount could slam into the armored Servant, his boots dug deep, leaping into the air as his darkened sword engulfed into swirling magenta flames, slashing up to meet the defender's overhead strike, it buzzed like a mechanical tool of war on impact only for a split second as the attacker's knees contracted the soles of his heels grazing the horse's head as they slammed out, impacting the orange protector's stomach, the knockback blasting him off his mount and into the stone laden walls.

The draconic Rider had no time to rest, his brown eyes widening as a hail of magical projectiles coated in purple flames blasted toward him; raising a gauntlet, he swiped across the air, deflecting each impact with ease; as soon as one onslaught ended; another began with a roar, he met it with his own, raising his sword high the Servant screamed to the heavens themselves, "You devils know only destruction, for you only follow the path of Cain!" The light seemed to engulf the holy swordsman as he bellowed, "I swear it, you will not step foot within these walls! For the Lord is my Refuge and my Fortress, he my shield, and I his spear!"

As the Saint took off over the landscape, he matched the roaring Berserker with a righteous cry; their blades sent sparks out with each collision, the embers igniting the lands around them in a battle between purity and taint, all the while Assassin mocked the man from a distance, "Oh, yes, the God that left your people to suffer under us, were he truly merciful he wouldn't have allowed our Ruler to take command, it must truly burden you to know a Saint like yourself fell to the pleasure of sin, you just might waver if you think on it too hard, Georgios!"

From their vantage point, the Servants and their new Master witnessed the entire crisis as it unfolded; the first to act was Lancer; the moment he laid eyes on the vampiric huntress, his gleaming red eyes narrowed as his hold over Gáe Bolg tightened, he looked to the Saiyan for confirmation, a wordless encounter only responded with a nod, the halfling understanding fully well what the man needed to do.

Trunks assessed the situation in an instant; he practically dropped Marie on her feet; glancing toward her and Jeanne, he pointed toward the struggle between faith and sin, "You two do what you can to help him; if someone doesn't help those soldiers this town will go up just like the last one!"

With that, the halfling took off in a sprint before blasting off the ground, taking flight into the skies above; reaching the settlement in seconds; he barreled down toward a guard post as one of the monsters stretched its head inside through a broken wall, snapping at a cornered group of men as they prodded it with their pikes, the Saiyan came crashing in, lashing out a vicious kick, the entity's neck snapped with a crunch as its corpse blew through the structure with an explosive blast, its remains sailing far out of sight.

From below, the vampiric countess continued to unleash barrage after barrage against the town's sole defender, uncaring for the collateral damage or even the wellbeing of her own thrall, so lost in her own mania, she heard the sound of approaching boots all too late, with an enraged voice reverberating across the open fields, "GRIT YOUR TEETH, HAG!"

As she turned, a whirlwind of blue tore through the Earth, appearing out of seemingly nowhere; Lancer's grip adjusted against his spear, gripping the lower half like a makeshift club; the Celt swung for the ages, its dull metal side smashing against her pale face, breaking her mask in two, shattering bone and cartilage with a thunderous crack, sending the woman flying as her blood splattered into the air.

The spearman swung his tool of war to the side, throwing every last droplet of the demonic killer's blood to the wind, his red eyes gleaming as they stared down at her sickly yellow orbs, "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a coward that flees at the first sign of danger, your ambitions are as fickle as your character, and I finally realize why you bother me so much."

The Blood Countess dragged a clawed hand along her shattered face as she stumbled, trying to stand upright, falling to a knee as the entire world spun, "Leave it to a dog to track my scent; I care not for what you say, you lack the beauty to even be worth my time, what is a pest to a maiden?"

A sudden stillness rang through the surrounding area, with a cloud cover rolling in overhead, and as lightning flashed and thunder roared so loud it sent shivers down the vampire's spine, Lancer stood tall against the endless flashes of light, as though nature itself had come to coincide with his beliefs, his rigid form unbound and hardened through strength of will alone, reflecting a true warrior, one which could not find defeat so long as his heart was set on what truly mattered most.

Cú let out a confident, knowing laugh, "You should care...Carmilla-" her eyes widened as he spoke her name, yet the Irishman refused to falter, "I am the hope of the maidens. I am the answer to all beautiful women that cry out my name. I am the protector of the quiet ones. I am the light for the fiery girls that refuse to admit the truth, ally to cute girls, nightmare to you!"

...

...

...

What?

The Child of Light roared; bursting into motion, he reappeared above the down Servant, his entire body rotating with untold precision; raising his spear high, the blade came crashing down, slamming straight into the woman's thigh as she tried to dive out of the way, tearing straight through and into the ground below, using the sudden support, Lancer lashed out a devastating sidelong kick into her temple, the sheer impact tearing her free of the weapon's jagged edge as she went tumbling back, with the vengeful warrior in pursuit.

Nearby the Saint clad in orange braced himself as his maddened nemesis lurched back and swung, breaking through the wind, swinging overhead before his blackened blade came rocketing down; the Catholic icon held his ground, holding his sword sideways in defiance above, the weapons collided with an audible boom, a crater forming around him from the sheer strength of the blow, but as the man struggled, his brown eyes could only flicker as a flash of motion blindsided him, with a hardened gauntlet flying between his outstretched arms, colliding with his chin, the blow knocking him back as his armor took the full impact of the Servant's jagged blade.

The Saint winced as tattered cloth fluttered away with the flowing wind, with bits of metal raining down to the ground; he had no time to collect himself before the enraged Servant all but threw itself at him with the primal fury of a rabid beast, knocking his holy blade to the side as he fell upon his back, it raised a fist, slamming down on his exposed face again and again, each time its voice growing more manic as blood splattered against its outer shell, the singular name becoming nothing more than nonsensical babbling.

*BOOM

"ARTHUR!

*BOOM

"-THUR!"

*BOOM-BOOM

"URRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

A moment passed before the beast slowly stood atop the broken defender; gripping its smog-coated sword with both hands, it aimed for the man's exposed neck as he struggled below its weighted boot atop his chest, but before the creature could strike the killing blow a shimmering silver blade impacted against its chest, cracking through its armored plating, ripping through flesh before it lept back on instinct, sliding back along its heels as a pair of unseen eyes glared at its new foe from behind their darkened visor, coming to an absolute pause upon realization, unbreathing, unmoving, the only sign of life being a shimmering purple orb.

As Jeanne landed, she retracted her flagstaff, planting it firmly in the ground as she stood off against the foreign enemy; unable to discern his identity, the martyr held firm in her defiance, yet a hacking cough from her side drew the Ruler's gaze as her saintly counterpart pushed himself into a sitting position, "Blessed is he who perseveres under trial, for that man shall receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised, though suffice to say my reward is your presence, Sister Jeanne."

The French icon granted her fellow Catholic a heartfelt smile, exhuming a radiance unlike any other person on this Earth; reaching out a hand, she spoke, "Brother Georgios, I'm sure you have questions, but-"

The man shook his head in denial, clasping her armored hand in his, allowing his fellow Saint to pull him up; the draconic defender spoke with the zealotry befitting his legend, "It isn't necessary, my faith in the almighty and his followers sustained me in my time of need, though I heard much of your sins I believed not a word could be traced back to one with a heart as devout as yours." He turned away, facing the motionless figure, "I can't say the same for this poor soul; the Lord only knows what thoughts pervade and corrupt their mind."

Jeanne leaned against her banner, taking the position she always held when observing her future foes on the fields of battle; though many would call it emotionless, she felt more pain in having to take a life than any could comprehend; her golden hairs flowed as her hands remained firm, her sea blue eyes hardening as she felt the waves of blackened smoke wash over her in whisps of faint color, "...Whomever you are fair knight, I'm truly sorry this madness has been cast upon you, I can only assume my other half is to blame." Driven by the harsh realities of war, the Servant plucked her staff from its hold, pointing its sharpened edge toward the masked Servasnt, "Your suffering will soon come to an end."

It stood there a moment, with all traces of energy vanishing in an instant, replaced by a deceiving quiet before the storm, but soon it took a pained breath, then another, raising a hand toward its visor, the figure's fingers slid along the metal as though a thought had surfaced..."..."

...

...

"Arthur?"

*CRRRRRR

The sound of creaking metal rang out as the entity's armored helm leaned forward inch by inch as though it wished to resist yet found itself unable, glaring directly at Jeanne, "...Arthur?..."

*WHOOSH

The Saints felt a surge of energy wash over them as they braced themselves, watching as a blackened mist erupted across the warrior once again, engulfing its entire hulking frame within its confines, its hands visibly twitching and writhing, digging against its helmet before reaching out from where it stood, "ARTHUR-ARTHUR-ARTHUR!"

Time seemed to slow for Jeanne as the Servant's right hand seemed to clench against an unseen object; raising its fingers high, they pointed directly at the Saint as she stood her ground, utterly lost until the armored figure burst into motion, reaching into what could only be called a void, it tore a lengthened weapon, shrouded in shadows from its confines, raising it toward the French icon, her eyes could barely register the all too unknown yet understood visage of a finger against a trigger, followed by the click of steel and the thunder of gunpowder igniting.

"ARTHURRRRRRRR!"

*BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM

Five separate shots rang out, their explosive release blasting out as clouds of mana-infused smog behind the enraged Servant, the sound ringing out for miles on end, each blast aimed at the French icon as she raised her banner high, deprived of her connection to the throne, only able to rely on her own senses, the Saint forced herself to act, driven on by a burst of energy, she slashed outward, careening her blade straight through the first as sparks rang out, its pieces broke in two shooting past the Saint, shaking the ground on impact as the young woman took off, matching the same speed again and again, she struck the attacks down, calling out to her fellow icon as she ran, "We'll entrust the countess to you, brother Georgios, may your blade be swift!"

The Cappedocian could only watch as his fellow Saint rushed into the fray, slamming her polearm down and using it to vault over the armored Berserker. She soared through the skies, landing behind the beast. She swung hard from below, her polearm slamming into the man's shoulder plates as she spun on her heels, kicking up a windstorm as the colossal fighter flew off, slamming back-first into the city's protective walls as rocks tumbled around him.

Saint George tried to raise out a hand, to offer cooperation instead of divergence, only for a gentle tap against his armor to drag his gaze downward; meeting Marie's motherly stare despite her short stature, she leaned up, whispering, "... That's Jeanne talk for, 'the vampire lady wants to drink me, and it's creeping me out.'" Her sage-like smile only grew as a fire ignited within the Greek as he turned away, marching with a thunderous step toward his target, set on defending the honor of a member of his church's flock.

The Queen only gave a satisfied nod, looking away from her handiwork; her angelic voice escaped with the flick of a wrist toward the Berserker as he pushed his way out of his tomb, only for pink energy to rocket into his armor, digging him further into the ground as the force knocked him back, unable to break through his armor, as though some unseen force were blocking their full effect, she continued to smile, swearing to shine that much brighter in the next volley.

Meanwhile, as Lancer approached his downed foe, the man's expression reflected an unsatisfied rage as he stared down at the prone countess; even as she lay face first in the mud, the Celt could only remember the damage she wrought for the sake of her beauty, knowing exactly what sort of curse immortality brought upon the unwanting, it left a sick taste in his mouth seeing how desperately this woman clung to her youth, "There's no fun in this, you know? You're just a sad creature unable to accept her place in the world. Do you know what makes someone truly beautiful?... Huh?!"

As he drew near, the Assassin's hands tore through the dirt, dragging visible marks as they clenched, and as the stench of man grew unbearable, she lunged, yellow eyes gleaming as her razor-sharp nails swung wide, tearing a slash across his stomach as blood sprayed out to her satisfaction, only for the Child of Light to not falter so much as a second, her smile faded as she slowly gazed up, getting cut off mid-motion as he thrust with a single hand, his spear dancing through a hole in her caged armor, digging deep into her chest, his voice speaking down to her as though the once Hungarian leader grew even paler, "Real beauty isn't fleeting, nor does it wither and decay like you think it does-"

*SQUELCH

Blood flowed as his arm started to rise, dragging the Servant upward against her will as she tried to pry herself loose from his spear's relentless hold, yet the Irishman's mind remained firmly on the teacher he lost, the woman he failed to kill, leaving her to a fate of eternity, "Real beauty is something that leaves onlookers in disbelief, something they'll think back on for the rest of their days, wanting nothing more than to see that spark of perfection one last time, something they'll strive to be like yet never come close...I doubt something like you can even feel pain, but you feel it slipping away, don't you? The thing you stole from all those young girls out of jealousy, it's over."

"...Indeed, it is."

*SCHWING

Assassin's struggle came to a silent end as a silver blade slashed across her neck, the strike so clean even the hairs along her head fluttered away with the breeze. Lancer's eyes slightly widened, watching as Georgios resheathed his blade, the clink coinciding with the Servant's head dropping to the ground, his solemn voice soon following, "I know not of these women, but with the unwavering grace of the Virgin Mary as my shield, I purge your wretched existence from this sacred realm-" what remained of the tainted Servant soon caught ablaze, reflecting a purple hue in the man's brown orbs, "burn well, countess, a far greater punishment awaits you."

Lancer slashed his spear through the dwindling ash, spinning the weapon within his grasp until the last vestiges of the Servant faded away; he ignored the pain in his stomach as though it wasn't there, staring down where she once lay, "...Hmph, something tells me she'd be right at home down there."

The Saint shook his head, "The Devil's abyss cares not for one soul or another, for he tempts us through the lust of flesh, only to lure the weak-minded into a land of unquenchable flame, know this Lancer, whomever she may be, eternal damnation is all that awaits."

The Celt snorted, "You Catholics sure are an optimistic bunch, aren't you?" The spearman laughed at his own logic, turning toward the raging Berserker as it roared in the distance, taking off in its direction as his anger shifted into action, "It's starting to grow on me!"

Jeanne rushed at the fallen Servant as it bellowed from within its tomb, intent on putting the suffering warrior down, only for hardened metal to come crashing through solid stone, revealing the slickened steel of an enhanced submachine gun as the Berserker opened fire, a hailstorm of bullets raining down toward the Saint as she spun into action, intercepting each shot with a precision strike, but as a projectile slashed across her cheek, the martyr's eyes drifted for a split second, losing focus for just enough time as the armored figure came barreling out of the ground, its boots thundering across the battlefield, tanking each barrage from Marie even as the attacks left its armor scorched and smoking, reaching her in seconds as the Earth seemed to scorch around its very existence, time slowed as the French icon lunged out at the last moment, her armament aimed straight at the warrior's armored torso-

*CRUNCH

Metal bent and warped as the Servant rammed straight through the Saint's outstretched blade, its edge exploding out of their armored back, hands slamming down around the icon's neck, lifting her into the air as it continued to scream the same name again and again, each cry becoming more demented and desperate by the moment, "ARTHUR-ARTHUR-ARTHUR! ARTHURRRRRRR!"

Jeanne flailed for a moment, utterly dazed from the unexpected strike; soon raising her legs, she slammed her boots into the creature's chest, driving him back inch by inch along the blade of her polearm; she pressed forward, feeling its armor buckle and creak beneath the force, a distressed voice rang out, "Ruler!"

Emerging from the nearby forest, Mash rushed past Marie, her pale form a literal blur, driven only by a protective instinct buried deep within the Chaldean; she charged, gripping both hands along the handle of her shield; the defender's heels tore into the dirt a perfect distance from the attacking Berserker, guided by an instinctive skill not quite understood, she swung the colossal armament, one of its jutting arms came crashing against the beast's helmet leaving a visible dent as the sheer energy sent the enraged figure flying, tumbling along the battered ground before landing on all fours, its fingers digging deep to stop its momentum as it glared at its obsession.

Mash's lilac eyes flickered to the side, watching as the Saint gathered her bearings; rubbing a hand along her throat as the other readjusted her polearm, ever concerned the Servant felt compelled to ask, "Are you alright?"

Just the same, in her ever-supportive nature, Jeanne flashed the Chaldean with a blissful smile, with imaginary sparkles filling the defender's vision, "Thank you, I suppose I'm not quite up to pace without my connection to the throne..." clearing her throat she forced herself to stand upright, "Although a Servant doesn't need to breathe, I believe they're too far gone to even know this... it deluded itself into thinking I'm someone else... it's quite sad."

*RRRRRRRR

"ARTH-"

So lost in its own mania, the beast had hardly crawled onto its knees, reaching out with shaking hands as its rifle rematerialized within its grasp, shakily aiming at the Saint, then switching to the Chaldean as though it were uncertain, but that moment of hesitation came to an explosive end as a boot came crashing down on its back, slamming it down flat as a reddened spear tore through its armor, severing its spine in a single blow. Lancer stood above as it growled into the dirt, "Your time would be better spent worrying about those before you instead of a Saber that isn't here, monster."

Jeanne could only watch the thrashing Servant with a saddened look in her eye, holding nothing close to a grudge but a deep sense of pity; she shook her head, approaching with a slow, methodical march, crouching before it as its hands reached toward her to no avail, raising her polearm above its head, "I'm sorry, I'm not who you're looking for."

"Ar-"

*CRUNCH

As the Saint stood upright, Lancer placed a hand on her shoulder, "There's no use feeling pity for the mad; if they're so obsessed they can't perceive reality from fiction, you've done nothing more than a mercy."

She stood there a moment, her blue eyes remaining steadfast as they always had on the battlefield, "They were a person at one time, and I believe any can change their ways if given the help they need; the real tragedy is that this is not the time or place for it, but I won't make excuses for taking a life, that burden is mine to bear."

The Celt shrugged, withdrawing his spear from the ground; he allowed the weapon to dangle near his hip, "Suit yourself, but that guilt's gonna consume you if you let yourself cry for everyone you need to put down."

As purple flames rose to the sky, Jeanne gave the spearman a slight smile before glancing up at the swirling draconic dots high up in the clouds, "I hope it does; I never want to get used to doing this sort of thing; I'd like to think life is a precious thing for all, no?"

Lancer stifled a chuckle, pointing up over the town, "Tell him that, little Saint."

Meanwhile, Trunks blitzed across the skies, flickering in and out of existence, phasing in over the center of town as one of the beasts made a diving pass at one of the weak wooden structures below as he appeared in front of its path, the Saiyan slammed a fist through its chest ripping through scales, flesh, and bone, the beast's own motion carrying it forward against his arm, only to be thrown to the ground below with nothing more than a flick of a wrist.

The halfling gazed up at the descending horde above as one led the charge, his gaze hardened; deciding to end things rather than prolong a conflict, he raised his fists, taking off into the skies at breakneck speeds, rotating with the wind he rushed past as it tried to slash him with its claws, leaning just far enough away to flicker past. Before the beast could fly past, the swordsman's hands slammed down along its tail, dragging the wyvern along for the ride as he spun, leaving afterimages in their wake as a vortex of wind surrounded the pair; lurching up, he let the monster soar upward toward its comrades with a thunderclap of power.

Ki erupted across the hybrid's form, shifting from a protective layer to a raging aura of pure energy, raising a palm upward; a blinding light surged from the warrior, stretching the shadows of each observer as the wind howled around him, no longer having to hold back, facing nothing but the clear skies and the endless abyss of space above, the Saiyan could let loose with reckless abandon, his heart instinctively jumping in anticipation as a burning blue orb crackled to life within his grasp, its lashing waves scorching the surrounding atmosphere as he yelled, "Big Bang Attack!"

*FWOOM

The attack flew skyward, appearing as nothing more than a shooting star, racing toward the horde of monstrous creatures as they snarled down at him, unknowing of their imminent demise, unable to comprehend the sheer difference between themselves and a true apex on the universal scale. The halfling's allies could only shield their eyes as it collided with the first; expanding like a newborn sun, it engulfed the entire cluster, overtaking the sky in a flash of yellow, vaporizing the clouds themselves as the beasts incinerated on contact; the air itself seemed to shake in those brief moments, with waves of pressure washing over his allies.

As the billowing dust settled, Georgios lowered his gauntlet, staring up at the sky and into a void of blue, without so much as a trace of the creatures or anything for miles on end; he let out a bated breath, his focus only on the hovering time-traveler, "...My God, what sort of sorcery is this?"

Completely ignoring the man's disbelief, Lancer raised his hands to his mouth, shouting out to the teen above, "OY...you seriously need a better name for that!"

Trunks dropped down, stopping just above the wall as he stared down at the Celt, "It's my dad's; he's the one who named it."

The spearman clicked his tongue in disapproval, "Well, he sucks at naming things, like come on, I can see the big, and I hear the bang, but where's the innovation?-" he pointed a finger at the time traveler, "you're disappointing your teacher."

The Saiyan hovered there a moment, raising a hand, his mouth opening and closing like he didn't even know what was happening or if the Servant was even being serious, but before he could even speak, the sounds of creaking windows and the gentle taps of boots carefully stepping out of their respective doors, followed by silence, he turned to see crowds of emaciated citizens, impoverished from the war or worse poking out of their hiding holes, staring up at him with eyes wider than plates. A guard slowly stepped out into the open sun below, his dirtied and tired face scrunching up as he scanned the horizon for any signs of a threat; finding none, raising his pike high, he cried out in triumph, a thunderous cacophony of voices joining him as hordes of survivors followed suit.

The halfling found himself the target of their affections, with many below looking up at him with an excitement that he hadn't expected nor knew how to handle, leaving him feeling sheepish beyond belief, unable to even wave back at the crowds, the time traveler slowly shifted himself over the wall, dropping down toward his companions and away from the chaos, as he did, Cú rested an elbow on his shoulder, taking in the sounds with stride, giving the teen a toothy grin, "First time?"

Trunks stayed silent, even as an old wooden gate creaked open on rusted hinges; listening to such an unfamiliar sound, the cheers, the claps, all felt so strange. He had spent his entire life fighting for what remained of a desolate world; it was a different time, where the handful of people still alive stuck to their own, too terrified to interact or seek each other out; there were no thanks, not that he expected them anyways...he didn't know what to do.

Lost in his own thoughts, the Saiyan let the Celt drag him along through the threshold and into the settlement within, a hodgepodge of the same singed wooden buildings mingled with broken piles of stone here and there, this time populated by crowds of haggard citizens ranging from the elderly to the very young, the fighting aged men likely on the walls or long since gone, wearing whatever tattered cloths they could find, a familiar sight from his wartorn era, but unlike his, they seemed...happy.

Lancer guided him through the crowds with practiced ease, only to come to a stop at the former town center, once a place of gathering and commerce, now just a collection of tents and strung-up items as Georgios parted the masses as though they were a sea out of scripture, marching toward the centerstage, the cries going silent as their protector stood a the ready.

The Saint commanded an aura of both respect and authority, wordlessly swaying the people with his mere presence, his solemn nature a reflection of the higher power which he had served now and forever more, unyielding in his beliefs, fearless in the face of adversity, a paragon of righteousness with no concept of self-interest, the people found themselves brought to heel before his boundless faith.

Georgios raised a metallic fist, catching the wandering stares of the entire populace with the most simple of actions, waving it over the skies as ash continued to rise ever higher around them, "...For days, we have endured the trials and tribulations of those who wish to see nothing more than our destruction, to see the Lord's flock burn before their very eyes, driven by nothing more than their hatred for all that is good and just...but-"

He gazed out over the crowd; his brown eyes remained firm yet caring, as though he were a stern parent doing what was best for those under his protection, "We are all imperfect beings, each of us capable of falling to the wistful lullabies of temptation, to sway us from the proper path and toward a life of decadence and sin, not through attacks on our bodies, but our very hearts through deceit and ill-gotten promises, and through our isolation, we have become the devil's prey."

A murmur of confusion broke out amongst the crowd as even the guards stationed on the walls above leaned against their flimsy railings in interest, and yet the Saint persevered, "We were told tales of destruction, the fall of all that you know as the Kingdom of France, once a land of plenty, a glorious bastion of true Catholic religion, now desecrated and bare...we did not believe their fictions, for lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, but those who act faithfully are his delight...we did not know of the truth, and sat in ignorance of the burning flames until they reached these walls, threatened our very lives, standing before us as a tidal wave of calamity...and only then did we know what truly was, for we are flawed and truth is ever-changing...for who were we to believe your beloved Jeanne d'Arc would rise anew, tainted by the whispers of damnation, not as a Saint, but a witch."

Raising a hand, he cut off a slew of slurs and murmurs from starting at all, "Although some have tried to convince me of the error of my beliefs, many of you know me as a man who refused to believe such slander, that a fellow believer would be capable of such wicked acts, for a Saint acts on behalf of the Lord, through honor and dishonor, through slander and praise. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true. Who are we to assume it was truly our Jeanne d'Arc and not a pretender aiming to destroy such a glorious symbol of your defiance?!"

Scanning over the crowd, the Servant stared down at the Saiyan for a brief moment, inquisitively observing him before reaching out to the masses once more, "Though many have risen to the challenge, our trials are great, and were it not for my fellow travelers, our lives would have ended on this day were it not for their intervention. As I fought against a maddened knight, a blessing came upon me, a revelation brought about through our endurance and strength of will; hear me, your Saint has returned!"

As if a switch flipped, all eyes turned toward the gate as Jeanne marched through; undeterred by the disbelieving gasps and glares directed toward her, the icon planted her banner into the ground, allowing the banner to drape overhead as she spoke, "Although I wish we had the time to set things right, there's a new threat bearing down upon us, the Dragon Witch is coming-" turning toward Trunks the maiden asked, "Master, could you guess how long we have?"

The hybrid crossed his eyes after hearing English for the first time since he got to this town, allowing his senses to spread across the horizon, his brow furrowing as he sensed the sinner's toxic ki...with something else traveling alongside her, there were multiple signatures, most around her level, but also...something far stronger, neither good nor bad, just...powerful. Reopening his eyes, he glanced off toward the west, "We have an hour at best; it would be better if we met her halfway; this town can't take her kind of firepower."

Ever the tactician, Jeanne shook her head in denial, "No if we were to do that, it would leave these people open to ambush. Her forces are mobile, and our best counter is to stand firm on solid groun- oof!"

Marie jumped on the Saint's back mid-sentence, propping her chin against the farm girl's head, "Waiting for something to happen while our enemies are on the move won't do us any good-" her ever-present smile dwindled just a bit as she silently mumbled, "...I would know."

Taking control once more, Georgios nodded in silent agreement, "Hmph, in that case-" waving a hand out to the soldiers stationed along the walls, "Men! Fortify your positions and dig in for a siege, for our foes are numerous, and we are few. They have not and will not take this settlement!... Commanders to me for your assignments; the rest of you prepare!"

The crowd dispersed, with each person going about their assigned tasks, leaving Trunks in complete confusion; not having understood a word of that speech, he wanted to say something, but Lancer cut him off, leaning an elbow over his shoulder as he lazily rolled his eyes. "Man, you'd think those speeches would change, but they're always the same song and dance..." he raised his fingers one by one as he started to list off, "for King and country...blah blah, religion blah blah, be brave, all that... gets old, you know?"

Never having heard any line like that his entire life, the Saiyan chose the high road of not asking a million questions, settling on one as he glanced toward the Celt, "You speak their language?"

Cú bit his cheek, "Nah, nothing like that. Servants just don't have language barriers... it's not like I speak it but-" he leaned back, giving off a shrug, "Ah...Servants just sort of get what we're saying to each other. Either way, I'm gonna go find myself a stiff drink. See ya when there's something to fight, bossman."

"Um, Senpai?"

As the halfling turned, Mash bobbed back and forth on her heels, looking around with stars in her lilac eyes, "If it's okay...I think I want to explore what a medieval town was like...before...you know."

Trunks tilted his head, turning to look over the surrounding area and all its...rocks...and wood. It was certainly... something. He glanced back to the Chaldean with an incredulous look on his face, "You're into this stuff?"

Mash was already gone.

The Saiyan let out a sigh, about to march off and see what he could do to help build the place up, maybe lift a few thousand pounds of materials, get a warmup going, but as he took a few steps, he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve.

*Ruffle *Ruffle

The time traveler spun on his heels, seeing a group of wide-eyed kids staring up at him, a mix of boys and girls, each wearing what he could only call rags and tattered cloths as clothes; the leader, shorter than the rest, stared at him through overgrown brown hair, saying...something, but he didn't understand.

The kid tried a few more times, repeating the same line again and again with an energy-filled smile only the youth seemed to have before giving off a hum of thought; soon raising a hand, the kid made a swishing sound followed by a "Boom-Boom!" mixed with fake explosion noises.

It took Trunks a second to realize the boy was trying to mimic what he did earlier with his own version of a Big Bang Attack, aiming it up at the sky; it was kind of cute. He thought for a moment, wondering if he was a bad influence, but decided to keep the kids in good spirits, knowing they had probably been through a lot these past few days; he knew this better than probably anyone else.

Raising a palm a burning yellow light flickered into existence within his grasp, and with a gentle throw, the sphere flew into the skies above, bursting apart like a firework as the kids cheered. Figuring his job was done, Trunks tried to turn and walk off, only for the same kid to tug his sleeve, pointing toward a...leather ball? on the ground, saying words he still didn't know in that bizarre language of theirs.

The Saiyan looked around, hoping for someone to explain whatever they wanted from him, his gaze settling on Jeanne through the crowds. The Saint, having lost Marie in the confusion, tried in vain to join any discussion with the troops to formulate a plan, only for them to either ignore her or walk off in discomfort, leaving the Servant in a slump after her fifth failed attempt until he called out to her, "Hey Jeanne, come here for a sec, I need a translator!"

Jeanne sighed in defeat, realizing that the soldiers were never going to talk to her. Trunks caught on as she slowly walked through the crowd as they did everything in their power to avoid her, "Something wrong?"

She shook her head, allowing her long braid to bounce about, forcing a smile, "It's nothing. I'm just...trying to accept what they think of me-" her blue eyes softened as she spotted the kids hiding behind the Saiyan, crouching down to their level, "And what can I do for you, little ones?"

Trunks could only watch as the martyr conversed with the kids, the conversation seeming to shift between him and the ball a few times before Jeanne gave a gentle giggle, looking up at him, "You're something of a celebrity to them. They want to play you in La Soule, Master...I believe you English speakers call it football?"

The Saiyan thought long and hard for a moment, playing word salad in his head, trying to figure out what on Earth the Saint was talking about until it clicked as he dropped a fist onto an open palm, "Oh, battle ball! My mom showed me videos of that!"

Jeanne cocked her head, "eh?"

He sputtered for a second, waving a hand as he tried to describe his random idea of a sport he never actually played, "You know...you throw a ball around...you try to tackle whoever has it?... With...with shoulder pads and all that?"

The Saint sweatdropped as she shook her head, placing a finger under her chin, "Not quite, hmm, how would I describe it?" A second ticked by before the icon kicked the ball upward with the front of her boot, allowing it to arc and drop straight down, boyishly bouncing it off her knees as it went up and down without even looking, "When I was a girl we'd split into teams and try to kick the ball to each other's church-" she sweetly smiled, "my mother would put up such a fuss seeing me covered in mud after mass."

Trunks' eyes widened a bit in surprise, not seeing the Saint as the competitive type; he nodded along, "Your goals were churches? How far were you guys running?"

Bouncing the ball into the air, it landed in the martyr's gloved hands as she dismissed the comment, "That's the beauty of France!" she cocked her head to the side, pointing out two churches directly opposite of one another, "there's always another church down the street!"

Clenching a fist, a pang of excitement ran through the Saiyan's heart, instinctively ready for a challenge at any time, "Alright, I'm in! How about you be one captain, and I be the other?"

Jeanne sputtered for a second, giving him a skeptical look, "But...surely there's something more productive we can-" only to be cut off by a horde of impatient kids tugging at her sleeves. She sighed, her expression becoming more somber as she stared at the halfling with downtrodden eyes, "Their parents won't even look at me. What would they say if they spotted the dragon witch playing games with their children? We'd be better suited preparing for the attack."

Looking over the crowd, the time traveler noticed more than a few staring in their direction; he huffed, "Well, they won't talk to you, and I can't talk to them. Besides, there's more than one way to help than being on the frontline."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion, "...by playing with a ball?"

Trunks gave a slight nod, "Look, I know it's not glamorous, but kids have it the worst in times like this." He looked over the crowd of pencil-thin bodies stuck between him and Jeanne as they spoke a language they didn't understand, a sad sight he could never tolerate in his world, "Most of them probably don't even have parents or a roof to sleep under. If we can take their minds off it for just a little while, then I'd say that's doing good. Their situation might seem bad, but it's only really over when you've given up the hope that things can change."

Jeanne seemed to go quiet for a bit, looking down at the ball as if it was some foreign concept to her, but eventually dropped her shoulders in reluctant acceptance, passing off the hay-filled ball to one of the kids as they ran off toward their starting point. Before Trunks could follow suit, she asked him something, her ocean-blue eyes reflecting both curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place, "And just what gives you hope?"

Trunks didn't need to think or ponder on it for long. It had been ingrained in him since the moment they had met all those years ago. Their fathers might have been rivals, but the two halflings would always consider each other family; their bond was unbreakable all these years later. He gave a slight smile, "Someone really important believed in me, always told me that I'd be the one to bring peace. I can't let him down, no matter what, but you probably know all about that, huh?"

With that, he walked past the Saint, leaving her as she pondered her own life and all the responsibilities that came with her calling, through the moments of triumph and feelings of utter despair, not truly knowing what all of that meant now that she was back...what was Jeanne d'Arc without the people of France behind her? Even in the end, she never felt alone, believing that the Lord was with her, and now?

A group of strange new friends accompanied her, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she was asking questions, not knowing for certain what lay ahead, her bizarre Master leaving her curious, wanting to learn more about what made a person function in such a way, more powerful than anyone she had ever met, yet kind enough to care for those less fortunate. Instead of formulating plans for combat, going through backlogs of supply orders, or even giving a morale-boosting speech to the men, Jeanne found herself in a light jog to catch up and match his pace, ready to try something different.

Minutes Later

Perched atop the walls, Georgios looked over the small piece of normality he and his men had managed to protect through blood and iron, it wasn't much, but he could stand proud knowing that a little bit of what was once France still remained. He may have come from the far-flung reaches of Anatolia, but he could always understand the plight of losing one's homeland, but he found himself observing a strange sight below.

As soldiers rushed back and forth, a ball came flying between their ranks, followed by the mass of children in hot pursuit; at the helm, his fellow Saint, Jeanne d'Arc, raced by, the plated metal along her battle dress discarded in a simple pile as she dug her heels into the ground, slamming the side of her boot against the object, sending it flying just as her foreign Master barreled through, skidding to a stop as he ran off in hot pursuit back the way he came, both letting their allotted teams take turns, yet clearly remaining at the helm of some unspoken contest.

Letting out a curious hum, the Capedocian observed the purple-haired teen with rapt interest, pulling on his repertoire of peoples and identities from a life well traveled, unable to discern what the boy was had deeply bothered him, especially after observing the nearly impossible levels of power wielded by someone so young. Yet there the boy was, facing off against his fellow Saint in a friendly competition. It left him perplexed. "...What sort of being is your Master?... I've never seen anyone quite like him in all my life."

Perched along a broken chunk of rock, Lancer leaned back, generously gulping out of a wooden beer mug he had acquired somehow, pulling back as the foam left a mustache along his face with a nonchalant shrug, "Who knows and who cares?"

The dragon slayer turned, giving the man a look of mild disbelief, "That boy is more powerful than any mage I've bore witness to, and you're content to know nothing?"

Swiping a thumb over his lip, the Celt shook his head, "Nah, I know enough; there's a difference. Sure, that Master of mine might be one of the strongest people I've ever met, but he's a good kid, and his heart's in the right place. I can't ask for much else if I tried, but what's your issue? Never thought I'd see a Saint so riled up."

The Catholic clicked his tongue in dismissal, "Nothing of the sort. I believe all men are capable of good, though with power often comes moral sacrifices I would dare not make myself. I simply wish to know where he stands."

Lancer let out a content sigh as the beverage settled down, stretching back just enough to get comfortable without losing focus, "I've met all kinds of people in my life, and strength might decide who wins a battle, but it doesn't make you act a certain way, only if you let it get to you, it's how you grew up that makes you the man you are...All that kid does is talk about other people, making so and so proud, doing right by the people he's lost...makes me wonder what kind of ringer you need to go through to be that way."

He let out a slow breath, letting the sun wash over him as the ocean waves crashed against the shore in the distance, "Every Master I've ever had wanted something. It's the first thing they always talk about, me me me...but not him. The kid hasn't asked us for anything since we met, like it's not even on his radar. He takes care of his own problems and doesn't drag others into them; I respect it."

Georgios' ever-neutral gaze remained firm as he watched the halfling take off at even greater speeds, overtaking Jeanne's flank in a sliding kick as he dragged along the ground, her boot missing his skull by mere inches as he snatched the ball right out from under her to the icon's shock, half stumbling over herself thinking she had cracked her Master's skull open before realizing it was just a rock to her embarrassment.

His face remained static, glancing toward Lancer from the corner of his eye, "Then tell me this, how do you think he'll fair against the true Dragon Witch?... Her forces have decimated this country beyond repair-" he looked over the horizon to the distant ocean covered in fog, "even the English have long since fled back to their island, can a magus like him truly make that much of a difference?"

"He's not a mage."

Such a short yet blunt retort had garnered the Saint's full attention, "What?!" turning to face the Celt with renewed interest, "Not even reinforcement magic? Then-" he watched as the Saiyan easily kept pace with Jeanne, even outrunning the martyr with ease, kept back by her superior skill, dodging and weaving as she stole the ball back with ease- "...how?"

Lancer lazily picked at his teeth with a nail, closing his eyes in disinterest, "Times are changing. From what the brass in charge of their organization told me, he's from some far-flung future where magic isn't even talked about anymore. Everything he does is some kinda martial arts, apparently-"

The spearman continued, mumbling in a nonchalant tone, "But if the world is still churning out people like him, it can't be all that different from what we have now. The tougher the times, the stronger the warriors it produces to fight off whatever evil is trying to cause trouble."

The Saint huffed in disagreement, crossing his arms over his armored chest, "There's no such thing as true evil, though I'm inclined to agree, the Lord works in strange ways, giving his children the strongest of his flock in their hour of need, just as he sent you to us."

The Gael let out a laugh, "The only one who sent us was Trunks. The kid could sense those things flying in your direction and chose to help you a lot because that's the kind of person he is, never sits still for a second, always working on something or trying to help someone... I've hardly known him for more than a few days, and that's just the feeling I get. He's different like that."

The Saint slowly nodded as he took in the information, turning back to study his flock below once more, muttering, "Perhaps, for the Lord does not look at the things people look at, as we observe outward appearance, the Lord looks at the heart, if only we could truly see what's within for ourselves."

Cú didn't move, deciding to spend what little time remained taking a nap, talking with closed eyes as he yawned, "People only show what they really are when everything's on the line; if the moment comes, then use it all you want, but don't expect answers if it's not meant to happen."

With that, the Celt fell into a blissful rest propped against a pile of cluttered rocks, finding a way to relax even in the most hostile environment.

Down below, the game went back and forth, with neither Saint nor Saiyan willing to give ground, neither having scored a single point off the other, each attempt met with precision, skill, or sheer grit. The kids had given up minutes prior, most slumping over exhausted while the two didn't so much as break a sweat; the ball was in Jeanne's possession, her boot atop its surface as she tried to bait the halfling into a dive as it rolled back and forth.

She glanced from side to side, observing the people and guards as they stared at her foreign Master as if he were an absolute oddity; despite her competitive glare, she managed to smile through gritted teeth, "Looks like you've drawn quite the crowd, are you this popular in your time?"

Trunks' eye was stuck on the prize, watching for the slightest sign of motion from his opponent, but matched her energy, instinct driving him to push ahead, only held back by his human mentality, "You care a lot about what they think of you, huh?"

The answer surprised the Saint, not even close to what she had expected. Boys were boys, and in the back of her head, she thought she'd at least get a bit of boasting to take advantage of...it worked when she was a kid...That aside, it left her curious, "Of course I do! No matter how big or small, there's a plan for all of us, and if my calling is to protect them, then I have to understand the people if I'm to truly love them...if you fight for peace, you agree, no?"

Trunks shrugged his shoulders, bouncing from left to right as the Saint tried to juke around him, only to fall back at the last second, his blue eyes gleaming with sheer focus, "Sure, but most people don't even know I'm the one protecting them, they just think I'm Bulma's son and nothing else."

Jeanne's eyes widened a bit, but she didn't let the surprise halt her pace. Feigning a kick, she rushed past the time traveler as he tried to body block the shot, racing toward his goal only for the halfling to rush straight behind the Servant, his boot catching the ball before she could kick, sliding it back with a lazy pull, Jeanne impacted the ground, tumbling into the dirt.

Trunks cringed, wondering if he had gone too far, but the Saint soon sprung to her feet, wiping a hand over her mud-coated face, sending a wave of debris downward without a care in the world, totally in the zone, "...You keep it secret?"

The Saiyan grinned, genuinely impressed with the girl's fighting spirit. Humans in this time were a different breed entirely, but Jeanne had a unique fire to her that kept her motivated. As she charged, he ran backward, bouncing the ball of his heel, keeping it just out of her reach as he expertly dodged through piles of whatever nonsense lay on the street, talking as he went, "I might try to keep the planet safe, but I still want to live a normal life, you know?... If everyone knew about my powers, then that'd be the end of it, but I figure if they're safe, people don't really need to know who's protecting them."

The Saint seemed to pause at that, looking toward the ground with a half wince, then back at him, "I hate to think like this, but...I'd be a fool to say we aren't different from the rest of the world. Do you really think people like us can...walk away...as they say?"

The Saiyan noticed that the icon was slowing down, with both coming to a stop. Jeanne awkwardly rubbed her arm, "...I'm sorry if that was a strange question; it's just-"

She raised a hand, letting it slap against her side, pointing out the city they needed to defend, the people unable to fight on par with the new world around them. It couldn't be denied the Master and Servants were a level above regular human beings, although, for far different reasons, the principle remained. "This...This is what I've done for the last year of my life, and again, now that I'm back, I don't know if such a thing as returning to normality is even possible. I keep thinking back to my mother and how...different things are from when I was a girl and now. The people know who I am. I don't have the blessing of anonymity. What am I to do with all of these hate-filled stares once it's over?"

Trunks bristled at the statement, not expecting such a mountain of emotional baggage to be dumped on him all at once, but still, he understood where the Saint was coming from, their lives might seem incredible from an outsider's perspective, but they don't understand the weight of that responsibility. Picking up the ball, he held it as he responded, "...You're overthinking this."

The halfling rolled the object between his fingers in idle thought; soon, he continued, meeting her stare with one of his own, "I told you a little about my time in the past. I was there less than a year, and in that period, Earth faced not one, not two, not three, but four threats that could destroy the entire world and more. I was in over my head, thinking nothing could get worse, and it kept going further, and as the stakes kept getting higher and higher with each passing second, something dawned on me."

He took a short breath, something deep within him not wanting to discuss the horrors of what happened at the Cell Games, even in minor details, but pushed through it. "One of my friends...his name was Son Goku, winner of the 23rd World Martial Arts Tournament, the man who destroyed more people and movements set on world domination than I can count. History remembers him as one of the most extraordinary people to ever live. He could have had it all, wealth, fame, everything, but he chose not to. It wasn't his way. Instead, he got married and lived out in the country away from it all, and that's where his story ended. The world didn't know what happened to him after that because he didn't let it affect him."

Looking up at the band of colorful light between them and the sun above, he let his thoughts wander a bit with a saddened smile, "Decades later, and he was still protecting everyone even at the end, with only a few people knowing what he was up to. He inspired everyone around him to do better; he was just like that. One of the lessons he taught that I'll never forget was doing things because they're right, even if no one thanks you... or if you're my father, even if they hate you, what matters is that you stick true to what you believe and keep Earth safe."

Holding out the ball, the Saiyan wordlessly challenged the Servant to one final duel, winner takes all, giving her a slight grin, having reminded himself of the legends that came before him and the promises he couldn't let go to waste. "We aren't meant to only fight, that responsibility is part of who we are, but you decide what to do with the life you're given. Just because you're famous doesn't mean you don't have a choice."

Jeanne flushed red, looking away bashfully, pouting as she mumbled through her scrunched-up face, "I'm not that famous!"

Trunks cocked his head to the side, "Marie and Mozart seem to think otherwise. You're practically all they talk about."

The Saint crossed her arms over her chest, her sulk persisting, "...so you heard that conversation?..." seeing him nod, she let out a slight huff, "Honestly, I didn't know what to make of that Amadeus; all he seems to care about is his own fame, and Marie is..."

He interjected, "Your biggest fan?"

Her embarrassed blush darkened, "...I hate that word. Our actions were for the restoration of France, not for someone's entertainment...She's sweet, but I don't know how to handle her. Have you dealt with the same?"

The Saiyan barked out a laugh, drawing the icon's attention, "Hah! No way, if anything, I was the one following him around...thinking he was the coolest person I ever met-" he then silently mouthed, "...I still do."

"Your dad?"

Trunks shook his head, ignoring his swaying purple locks of hair, "No, someone else...Goku's son."

With a sense of normalcy returning to their conversation, Jeanne raised a brow, reaching out to scoop up the ball as the pair walked to the center of town for their final showdown, asking as she went, "I still don't understand your dad's issue with him. Your friend sounds so sweet. How could anyone hate someone like that?"

The time traveler bristled at the thought of having to explain any of his father's attitudes but pushed through it, rubbing a hand along the back of his head, "Well, at one time, my dad... wasn't much of a good person and Goku stopped him from going too far, even if it all worked out in the end. My father still hasn't forgiven him for that; his pride won't let him."

She glanced over her shoulder at him with those colorful aqua eyes that made the halfling pause without thinking, "With pride comes disgrace. You're only asking for trouble if you can't let go of silly things like that."

Trunks hummed in agreement, "Maybe, but if it wasn't for Goku intervening, my dad never would have become a better person. Even if he never says thanks, I think his actions do more than enough to show he's different now...Some people can't be redeemed, but it's only because they don't want help...anyone that really wants it can change if they get the right push."

Jeanne fully stopped, turning as she stood at her side of their imaginary line through town, holding the ball gently within her dirt-coated hands, her expression somber, "...Even the other Jeanne? We've tried talking to her, and it's gone nowhere. Do you honestly think there's a chance for some other path besides killing each other?"

Trunks didn't nod nor shake his head, remaining neutral as he asked, "...Do you want there to be another way?"

With a pained grimace, Jeanne nodded, placing a hand over her heart as she clenched, looking down, "Of course I do, but I don't know how!" She took a sharp breath, pushing her long braid to the side, "Even if the Lord ordered it and I followed, I never wanted to kill another living being, ever. It isn't because she looks just the same as I do, and this is just some-...some selfish wish of mine."

The Saint collected herself, facing him once more, "I just want this bloodshed to end, no more on either side, but from what she's done...is there even a way back from that?"

Before the Saiyan could respond, she answered herself with a new understanding, "...But the only one who can make that choice is her, right?... And all I can do is hope to be there to catch her if it does."

She gave a sad laugh at herself, looking at him with a forlorn gaze, "I'm sorry for doing this when you invited me to have fun...I guess I'm not that good of a Saint if I can't help but ask these questions."

In a moment of empathy, the halfling reached out, clasping a hand over her shoulder, giving her a knowing look as he spoke, "I couldn't say much about your faith, but I do know you're a good person, Jeanne. You've shown that more than enough with how much you care about her. Despite all she's done, you're still trying." Taking a short breath, he continued, "When we first met, I was wrong about you; I was hostile when you were going through that much already, and I'm sorry...guess I'm not much of a good Master either."

The Saint gave him her iconic smile, this time not reflecting a distant holiness but of a simple country girl, before shoving the ball into his chest, "Can we settle on good friends instead...Trunks?"

The halfling took a step back, letting the ball drop between them, matching her pace as both took a ready stance, prepared to finish their contest and get back to the matter at hand, yet in that moment, neither seemed to think of anything but what was directly in front of them as he answered, "Sure...Jeanne."

The Saiyan tensed as his opponent did the same, both eyeing the ball that would define their contest, a competition unlike any other between a long-dead Saint and an alien hybrid. There was no reward at the end of this, yet both wanted the title for the sake of it, neither willing to give ground.

Jeanne took off running, with Trunks watching her every move on the defensive, and although he was rarely overconfident, the halfling knew his own strength. He would wait for the last second and steal the ball right out from under her. Even if he was holding back to match what she could do, he couldn't deny putting in a little extra here or there for the sake of winning.

But as Jeanne ran, a sense of foreboding overtook his person as if a predator were watching him from the shadows. His eyes flickered, not knowing where it was coming from...until her braided blonde locks bounced overhead for just a moment, and riding along its surface stood a fierce predator, its gleaming blue eyes staring right into his soul, charging up an attack as its aura burst to life. "Fouuuuuuu-"

Trunks couldn't put up a defense. It was too fast, catching him completely off guard. The raging ball of fluff launched off the unknowing Saint's hair, rushing straight through his outstretched hands and crashing right into his face with a flurry of blows, and as he fell back, the Catholic icon dove into a sliding kick, passing right beneath his back, clearing the way as he came slamming down, and with a triumphant humph, Jeanne stood victorious at the footsteps of one of the many small churches of France, only then realizing what had happened.

As the halfling struggled to get the xenomorphic beast to get off his face, Fou suddenly let go as a pair of hands clenched around its waist, pulling it into the sky as Jeanne smiled at it, "You were such a great help!" She radiated a heavenly glow as her demeanor brightened, "Thank you, my little Fou!"

He placed a paw on her forehead, all the while glaring at the dazed halfling down below, before letting out a pleased "Fou!"

Trunks just layed there, accepting his defeat as he stared up at the clouds, wondering if the Saint had planned that from the beginning...all that time she was playing him? He snorted, wondering how he fell for something that simple, finding himself even more impressed with that country girl, but as he tried to get up, her shadow blocked out the light as she reached out a hand, "Don't feel bad, you did great for your first match of La Soule, I've just had more practice is all!"

Unable to understand how the Saint managed to be so upbeat all the time, he just nodded, letting her pull him to his feet, "Oh well, didn't realize I was facing a pro. I'll just have to practice until I beat you next time."

The martyr paused, "next time?"

Ever the Saiyan, Trunks gave a nod as if it was the most basic thing to him, "You think I'll let you hold one over on me? Not a chance miss Saint."

Instead of being taken aback or even questioning if the two would meet again, Jeanne, in a moment reflective of her energetic childhood, just smiled at her friend's competitiveness, "I'll hold you to it, but don't think I'll let you without a fight!"

With that, the halfling slipped a hand into his jacket, pulling out one of the many capsules he had at all times, and before the Saint could ask him about it, he gave it a click, tossing it to the side as it exploded into smoke as she squeaked in surprise. As it cleared, he saw the Servant had somehow gotten her armor back on in that split second and was pointing her polearm at where the device had landed. He looked between her and the fridge, lazily popping it open with a hand while looking at her, absolutely confused, "What are you doing?"

Jeanne seemed to realize there wasn't any danger; turning red, she lowered her weapon, looking anywhere but there, "...nothing."

Within minutes the time traveler was propped against the machine, amused as he watched the gang of medieval kids experience soda for the first and probably the only time in their lives. He shrugged, popping a finger under a metallic tab, cracking a drink open for himself. He spotted Jeanne glancing between the random assortment of drinks inside as if she was uncertain about something before grabbing one.

Soon she sat next to him, staring down at the drink held between her hands, going quiet for a moment before saying, "...I mean it; thank you for listening to my problems...I don't normally throw them at others, but...it felt nice to let them be heard."

Trunks couldn't help but agree, "It's like you said, you wanted to try being nobody; that means talking to people besides your God about those issues."

Jeanne just looked down for a moment as if in the realization that her new path was going to be complicated, having to find a way to blend her role as a Saint and a human being...living as the former seemed so much easier, but some part of her wanted to try new things, to be herself again... she somehow knew that would take a very long time to uncover, but for now- "...I've spoken a lot about what's bothering me, you can trust me to do the same for you...if there's anything you need to talk about."

The Saiyan stiffened, opening his mouth as if to say something before shaking his head, "Thanks, but...I think I'm good."

Jeanne gave a knowing nod; not wanting to prod, she clicked open her drink, "If that's what you want-"...she took a sip.

PFTOOOOOOOOOOO

Jeanne spat her drink out in a mist the second it hit her tongue, looking back at the Saiyan with a distraught look on her face, "That's disgusting!"

Trunks titled his head, grabbing the can from her hand and giving it a spin to inspect it. He soon gave her what could only be called the dumbest look the poor girl had ever seen, "...You know you grabbed a beer, right?"

Jeanne flushed red, the embarrassment almost too much to handle as Trunks stood up, giving her his drink as he threw the alcoholic beverage to the side, going back around to get another one for himself, "If you wanted a HETAP you should have just taken one."

Completely mortified, Jeanne silently sipped her soda, not even paying attention to the sweet flavor overwhelming her senses, wanting nothing else than for this moment to be forgotten forever.

...

Later

Having gathered together outside the protective confines of the city gates, the Saiyan and his allies awaited the sinner's inevitable arrival; the only sounds accompanying them were the words of Georgios as he reminded his men what they fought for atop the walls, standing overhead as the people's protector, it was his duty to be seen by all.

Trunks had no understanding of the language, but he grew to appreciate it over his brief time in this strange place. Needing Jeanne to translate practically everything for him gave the fighter time to listen. French had a melody to it, as if there was a sort of musical nature to it despite the severity of each conversation. Well, it sounded nice to him, at least.

Trunks didn't need to understand the distant shout of soldiers stationed atop battered and scorched watchtowers to know what they were saying. He could sense the awful aura that witch gave off from miles away. With that, he pushed off the stone wall the warrior had been leaning against, cutting the Saint's speech off with a simple, "She's coming!"

Georgios paused, turning to see a distant group of shadows blocking out the late evening sun, appearing like black dots against its orange glow. The protector raised his sword, placing its point against the wooden floor below as he stared out over the horizon, "So she is."

The man watched as Trunks raised a hand, the same fiery ball of ki appearing within his palm, ready to fly toward the terrible soul and her destructive entourage and annihilate them before a battle could even break out. The Saint's gaze narrowed; raising a hand, he ordered, "Wait-" As the halfling glanced over his shoulder to meet his glare, the man continued, "You may have no sentiments toward sparing your foes, but I cannot live in good conscience without first trying to convince her to lay down her arms."

Trunks' eyes narrowed, speaking in disbelief at what he had just heard, "You'd risk your own people for something like that?" fully turning the halfling pointed out toward the ever-growing blips as their size seemed to increase with each passing moment, "I don't know if you tell from here, but the dragon she's riding is big enough to wipe this town off the map, she's done it across the entire country, what makes you think she'll stop here?!"

The Cappedocian remained neutral, observing the wicked beast as it sailed through the skies, each flap of its wings echoing like thunder across the land, "Faith is uncompromising. To throw my morality aside just once would open the passageway to yet more sin. I have no doubt what she intends to do to my people. And yes, there may be risks to our very lives, yet as a child of God, it is my duty to grant even the worst of his flock a chance at redemption, but I believe in your power to keep them safe, my young friend."

Trunks' eyes widened a bit at that, silently swearing to himself that he'd stay vigilant, ready to react in case the witch tried something. Lowering his arm, the orb of energy vanished into wisps of power as he waited for her arrival, muttering, "...I hope you know what you're doing."

The Saint could only agree, "As do I."

Within minutes those not hiding within the town's hovels could feel the gusts of wind blasting off the sinner's mount as it sailed toward them. The creature was massive, covered in layers of black and grey scales, it chest glowed with an energized green aura, vicious yet submissive toward what could only be a far greater force.

It abruptly stopped as it hovered just over the walls, with both the people and guards shouting out in shock as dozens of smaller wyverns circled their settlement. A figure stood atop the creature; her arms crossed over her chest as her yellow eyes gleamed down toward the Saiyan below, wordlessly staring at him, giving off an entirely different demeanor from their last encounter.

Riding by her sides were two Servants the Saiyan had never encountered before, but his focus stayed entirely on the fallen Jeanne. There was something about her the time traveler couldn't place. The sinner had practically bled venom last time, but now, she wasn't saying a word; her rage-filled eyes seemed...subdued; it was hard to place, but what he did sense was an immense power source above, not from her, nor the giant beast she rode, it was out of sight. Still, he could feel the sheer energy coming off of it; he would have to stay on his guard.

Georgios stood firm from his perch, staring up toward the ferocious Ruler without any trace of fear, his nerves steeled through faith alone, "We are told from a young age to beware false prophets, for they are ravenous wolves in sheep's clothing, just the same, you may wear the facade of Jeanne d'Arc, but you are anything but."

The air seemed to heat as the alter marched along the dragon's back, taking her stance, stopping her mount from striking down with a single bash of her boot against its skull. "Did Christ not come to his kind? Did his people accept him for what he was, or did they despise him for his beliefs?... Don't feel too bad for your mistakes, my fellow Saint, a new day of reckoning is upon us."

The slightest grin grew along the woman's features as the sun glinted off her ghostly pale visage, "Just as you claim I'm not real, I couldn't disagree more. I'm everything Jeanne d'Arc could have been were she to act like a person for once in her life! You're only afraid because where she accepts whatever bullshit the world throws down at her, I strike back!"

The man's grimace grew as his expression hardened, "You're no Saint. The Lord abhors violence of any kind, yet the sick and twisted manipulate his words to commit the foulest acts imaginable, just as you have, heretic."

She snorted at that, "Ah yes, the God who destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah for not doing what he wanted, the Lord who annihilated ANY who got in the way of his divine vision. You Bible throwers only care when we take matters into our own hands and forgive the man in the clouds for everything he's done, but I am no heretic. I've become something far beyond that."

She raised a hand over the horizon, passing by distant plumes of smoke and ash rising from settlements long since destroyed, "You see, when I stood on top of that burning pile of wood, I thought, I prayed, I begged God to save me. I had never questioned a thing he asked of me before then; everything was for my faith and my people, but things change when your skin is melting off of your bones, and only then does he go quiet; it's just what he does, but the kicker?"

She pointed toward the city, forcing the man to ready himself for anything, gripping his sword as it drifted to his side, "They laughed at me. I had to stand there and take their abuse, their insults, every slur hurled in my direction from the people I was told to care for above all else, and you're shocked I want revenge?...I'll tell you something, Georgios, there's no salvation past the suffering, just more fire, and it was only then that I realized that God had been using us! He couldn't care less!

That primal anger the witch always held seemed to return with every word spoken, "He made us in his flawed image. He doesn't even know what perfection is but tells us to strive for it. What horseshit is that!? So I will strive for MY perfection, which ends with uplifting everything he's created."

The Saint below sighed, shaking his head in disgust, "You're a foolish child, speaking of things you don't understand. The Lord chooses not to intervene out of love for us; were he to do so, it would destroy the blessing of free will, the gift to determine the direction our lives take. Just as you chose to accept his call, you now choose to go against his will, and it's only through his will that you can do so."

Placing a boot on the walls' edge, the devout slayer steeled himself, defiantly staring against the fallen icon. "All the same, I've chosen to protect these people; where we stand, you have little chance of survival. Leave now and never return. This will be your first and final warning, witch."

The sinner smirked at the challenge, snapping a finger as her mount sailed to the skies above, its gaping jaws opening as the surrounding atmosphere began to audibly his as energy built up within its frame, the demonic glow giving the woman an awful aura, "Then let's see whose beliefs are stronger, hm?"

Georgios expressed no fear but deep remorse, never one to take a life. The man swore to only fight for the sake of the innocent and only when necessary. Putting pressure on his raised leg, the material beneath cracked as the protector declared, "...So be it."

He jumped, letting himself fall to the ground below, to the dragon witch's surprise as he bellowed, "Young Master, throw me!"

If Trunks were any other person, he would have stood there in shock, never once hearing this plan from the Saint, but instead, he sprung into action, bracing himself as his hands came together, not even budging an inch when the Servant's armored form came slamming down onto his palms with a thunderous boom. The Saiyan wasted no time, launching the Cappedocian into the skies above with a burst of energy, sending him careening upward as the dragon readied its destructive flames.

As the Saint sailed ever higher, his voice echoed across the countryside, an embodied prayer for all those who were lost to this fallen icon, wishing for their salvation and his own for the sin of having to take a life. His sword shimmered as he spoke those fateful words that defined his existence, "Let me show you! This is the truth of Ascalon, thou dragon with sin!

His blade flew, cleaving through hardened scales and flesh, with two practically unseen strikes, a flaming cross carved its way through the dragon's hide as the fire burning within it exploded out of the wound, it screeched as it began to give way. All the while, the Saint's momentum refused to falter; as he cleared past the beast's monstrous head, he raised his sword high, swinging over his right shoulder with so much force the blast breached the sound barrier with ease, crashing straight toward the wicked witch's slender frame, but she didn't respond with fear, nor terror, but a deep rage.

Sparks flickered within the sinner's palm as she lunged, her speed far outpacing the heavily armored Saint as a blast of flame erupted straight into his armored torso, engulfing the entire warrior in a fiery explosion fueled by her wrath. His allies could only watch as the protector flew back, crashing straight through solid stone walls, rocketing into the town as what was once a town hall came crashing down on top of the man.

The alter had no time to celebrate; her mount came crashing to the ground with a terrible thud as its body crumpled. All she could do was leap off at the last moment, landing in a crouch; she slowly stood, her gaze settling on the Saiyan hybrid, and the moment she did, her wicked smirk seemed to disperse into an angry grimace, as if she had realized the severity of her circumstances yet refused to admit it.

Trunks gripped a fist as he stared back at the collapsing city wall, soon looking toward the Ruler with renewed vigor; wasting no time, he flared his ki, marching straight toward her, "Enough of this."

At that moment, the wyverns surrounding the city launched their assault alongside the witch's remaining Servants. On his right, Lancer and Mash faced off against an elegantly dressed Servant wielding a gold-laden scabbard. On the other, he heard Jeanne voice her shock at seeing someone named Martha; he didn't even look. To him, the only thing that mattered was his enemy, the wicked girl who started all this chaos.

She recoiled as the halfling took a step forward, her hands igniting in vibrant flames as they harmlessly engulfed her arms; the sinner's body shook with fury as she watched him approach, knowing exactly what the teen was capable of. She threw everything she had at once, launching a fiery blast that could melt the strongest fortress into slag, and leave the nation in ruins, fueled by nothing more than her grudges against the world and people that made her existence nothing but suffering. She screamed, "You can burn without me!"

*FWOOOOOOSH

The wave of energy engulfed the halfling in a split second, roaring far behind where he stood, the sheer intensity forcing the surrounding Servants to leap away to safer ground as the Earth around them turned into ash, the city walls shaking as their foundation melted, falling away, exposing even more of the destroyed settlement within.

As the blast subsided, the tainted Ruler could only watch in shock as the Saiyan emerged from the cloud of smoke, untouched, emitting that same white aura as before, his pace not having stopped whatsoever during her attack. As Trunks came to a stop mere feet in front of her, the witch's yellow eyes widened as she looked down at her outstretched hands. Realizing that she was trembling, the altered Jeanne spat, screaming all of her frustrations at him as flames danced along the tips of her fingers, "You think this means anything!? Even if you kill me, it won't bring any of them back. I've already gotten what I wanted; the King, the clergy, the very people of France are gone! See if I URK-"

*BOOM

Trunks' knee slammed into the Servant's stomach with so much force that it cracked through her armor, with pieces chipping off to the ground below. She stumbled back as spittle blenched from her mouth, letting the pain fuel her; the false prophet forced herself to stay upright even as her body wanted nothing more than to give way; she wouldn't allow it.

The dragon witch unsheathed her blackened sword, lunging at the halfling she wildly struck from her right, then back around, even clenching both hands around its grip as she tried to cut him down, and every single time, the time traveler would lean out of the way, allowing it to miss by just enough to show she stood no chance. But as the spirit lurched back, digging her boots into the ground, she dove, aiming to pierce the time traveler's stomach; she threw every bit of power, every fiber of hate for those above her into the attack-

*CRUNCH

Her momentum stopped in an instant; she looked up to see the Saiyan; having caught her blade between his outstretched fingers, he clenched his fist tight in a deadlock over the weapon, and without a word, he pulled. She didn't fly long; in a split-second, his fist collided with her pale face, her hold slackening as she blasted back, feeling her bones splinter on contact as she hit with her draconic mount's corpse back-first, sliding to the ground before falling to her knees, a trickle of blood flowing down to her horror. It was the same feeling all over again, the helplessness before an impossible force, but this time, as Trunks approached, he spoke.

The halfling was blunt, but his tone expressed a fit of righteous anger, "Until a few days ago, I had never heard the story of Jeanne d'Arc, but now that I have... I'll admit, you were given an awful hand in life, and the way you died...I wouldn't wish that on anybody, but your anger is misplaced."

The warrior didn't look away for a second, the fighting around them seeming to come to a standstill, "You think you're the only one that's suffering, that you have something to prove against the other you, but I'll tell you something. Out there, there's a younger me in a timeline I helped fix. He'll grow up with everything...friends, family, a planet that isn't destroyed, and I'm jealous. I'm more jealous than words can even hope to describe, but you know what? I'd do it all again, go through all the hardship and pain because it gave me another chance. I finally have the strength to right the wrongs in my time and make things better, and you could have done the same."

He scoffed at the wasted potential lying before him, "You had a second chance here. You could have gone anywhere, done whatever you wanted with this new life, and instead, you took your anger out on people that had nothing to do with your death, but the people that did? They called you a witch, a sinner that cared for no one but herself, someone that does the worst things for no reason. Congratulations, you proved them right."

Trunks raised a hand, a burning ball of energy appearing within his grasp as he stood over her, "Don't think of coming back again."

As the attack charged, a shiver seemed to run through the woman, knocking something loose as it came rolling out of her armor and onto the ground below. He saw it, a red orb with spikes along its surface, giving off an insane signature far higher than anything he had seen so far. Trunks' senses went wild, feeling the sheer amount of energy; no...that was ki, but how!?

He glared down at the witch, "Where did you get tha-

From the side, he could Mash cry out, and only then did a new signature make itself known, "Senpai!"

The time traveler could hardly turn as a fist collided with his skull, the sheer force sending him flying as a hand slammed against his face, dragging him through the mud on a collision course for the walls; he acted on instinct, raising a knee he lashed out with an upward kick, connecting with his assailant's chest they launched back. Trunks wasted no time; flipping backward off his hands, the warrior landed on his feet, a trickle of blood flowing down his face, trying to orient himself as an unknown voice echoed out.

"All this bravado, all this talk of destiny and the workings of higher powers, willfully submitting yourself to the plans of others, what a waste. Your existential quandaries are nothing more than a projection of your own inferiority, not knowing just how weak you really are, but if you're looking for your new God...I can fill the part."

As Trunks' vision cleared, he could see a new figure crouched atop the dragon's skull, but as the fighter stared, he was met with a distinctive set of spiked black hair spread out in every direction, his eyes meeting a coal black pair with one hidden behind a bright red device, all overlaid with a vicious smile on all too familiar face, one the hybrid never thought he'd see again.

"...Goku?"

...

And that's a wrap; next chapter, we'll get the finale of Orleans and move on with this ever-changing narrative. Take it easy, and I'll see you in the next one; cheers!