Author note:
"6 thousand years? I thought Rama was only around for 2 thousand years give or take a few centuries"
Good point, but you are confusing the time when the Ramayana was written and the time when the action of this epic poem takes place.
The Ramayana was written by Vālmiki in the 3rd century A.D. But Rama is not a character invented by the poet. Rama's story was already told earlier. Vālmiki just adds many details... including the childhood of Rama (a whole book!)
The Ramayana does not take place in the third century... it's a mythological story. The name of the kingdoms, politics, etc... are more or less modeled on the Vedic period (2nd millennium BC to 6th century BC) but with the addition of purely fantastic elements... India (outside the Vedic kingdoms) is an evil forest filled with demons; the island of Lanka (Sri Lanka, nowadays) is a portal to the kingdom of demons; etc...
Finally, the story of Rama in Campione! is very different from the one told in the Ramayana, this justifies that I place Rama's birth even further in the past.
For those who are surprised that Gilgamesh is not dead, he shouted, "Impossible!" AFTER the destruction of his Vinama... his Chains of Heaven continued to imprison Sun Wukong... it was obvious that he had not been killed.
I never kill a character "outside the frame"... if you don't see a character die; assume he's still alive... Moreover, this also applies to another character... whom you believe to be dead and who will soon reappear.
Arrival in Italy
Rome airport (Aeroporto Internazionale Leonardo da Vinci di Roma) was located in the southeast of the Italian capital near the mouth of the Tiber, exactly in Casal Palocco, Fiumicino, in the Municipio XIII.
This large international airport (the 6th in Europe) had two perpendicular runways and was served by nearly 100 airlines, making it possible to reach more than 250 different destinations all around the world.
Terminal T3 was a classic arrival terminal with conveyor belts loaded with the passengers' baggage, billboards indicating aircraft arrivals, and seats for a comfortable wait.
An announcement had just been made in three languages on the speakers. The plane that had just landed arrived directly from Tokyo, a non-stop journey of almost 15 hours. From the transshipment corridor, a large crowd emerged: Italians returning home, Japanese tourists, and businessmen of different nationalities.
A forty-year-old man was waiting patiently in the arrival hall. Tall, muscular, and with strong hands, he looked like a character from a David painting. Surrounded by several wizards who had cast Hypnosis spells on the public to take away their curiosity, he watched people coming down from the Tokyo-Rome flight. He was looking for blonde hair like gold, a color easy to spot.
Finally, he recognized the one he was looking for among a group of young women surrounding a Japanese teenager.
"Erica!"
The beautiful teen turned her head hearing her name and smiled before throwing herself into the arms of her uncle.
"Paolo!"
Paolo Blandelli, Commander-in-chief of the Copper-Black Cross immobilized his niece by the shoulders before multiplying the questions: "How are you? Have you had a good trip?"
"I'm getting used to this journey," replied the Diavolo Rosso, trying to smile. Nevertheless, she was tired and it was obvious. "I had as good a trip as I could. But you know what it's like to sit for almost a day is particularly boring."
Paolo Blandelli had a brief laugh, and then he turned to Goudou Kusanagi and the rest of his harem.
"King Godou, welcome to Italy."
"Thank you. It is a joy to meet you again, Sir Blandelli." The Devil King had a sulky pout. "However, I regret coming to Italy only to fight or prepare for a fight."
"I'll make sure you don't come near a historic monument during your stay."
Paolo Blandelli had answered jokingly... but he had indeed crossed the visit of historical monuments from the program of their stays in Italy... By a strange curse, Godou was too often attacked by his enemies when he was near a historic monument. Each time, the damage amounted to millions of $.
A few meters away, in the baggage area, Ereshkigal and Hakuno were waiting for their bags to appear on the conveyor belt.
But the Sovereign of the Moon didn't really pay much attention to the luggage. She often turned her head towards Ishtar. The Mistress of Heaven had her arms crossed on her chest, visibly in a bad mood, watching with growing anger the Japanese Campione who was chatting with the leader of the Copper-Black Cross.
Hakuno turned to the Mesopotamian goddess of the Afterlife.
"Why is Ishtar mad?"
Ere smiled, she was amused in a rather petty way.
"She is not the center of attention. The Great Ishtar is not used to a mortal having priority over her."
Except that it was easily understood. The arrival of a Campione on the territory of one of its peers was always a tense moment for the local magical societies. Although Lord Salvatore Doni and Godou Kusanagi get along rather well, it was normal for Paolo Blandelli to devote all his attention to the Japanese Campione, in order to avoid offending the susceptibility of the visiting Devil King.
Obviously, Ishtar did not particularly appreciate this reminder of the hierarchy in this world where the avatars of the gods stand below the mortals who defended humanity against the Heretic Gods.
Erica Blandelli cleared her throat a bit theatrically before smiling at her uncle. She had noticed that the Goddess of Venus looked like a fairground balloon about to meet a needle. She had to avoid the explosion!
"Uncle, two great goddesses do us the honor of a visit. Allow me first to introduce Ishtar, the Queen of Heaven, one of the mother goddesses of Mesopotamia."
Ishtar smiled at Paolo Blandelli, one hand on her hip and pushing away one of her pigtails with the other hand.
"I don't think I need to dwell on my achievements, you know who I am. Despite millennia, my name has never been forgotten. I'm Ishtar, Goddess of Beauty and Governor of Venus. Fear me and do your best to satisfy me with tribute and reverence!"
The leader of the Copper-Black Cross bowed politely.
"But naturally, Great Goddess, welcome to Italy."
With a wave, he ordered a disciple of Hermes to approach. The latter opened a velvet purse and poured the contents into the palm of his hand... a dozen cut gems, blue, green, red, which sparkled in the light of the airport!
"I hope this humble gift pleases you, Sublime Goddess Ishtar."
Repressing with difficulty the impulse commanding her to grab the precious stones, Ishtar stood up to regain a more... divine attitude while coughing in her fist.
"The Goddess of Beauty who rules over victory welcomes your present and honors you with her protection in battle."
While Ishtar was talking, Ere waited her turn with a mixture of impatience and anxiety. She was dressed in an ordinary manner and had made the journey in a plane created by humans... Would mortals recognize her as a Great Goddess? Or would she once again make a fool of herself?
"Uncle, now allow me to introduce you to the Mistress of the Underworld, Ereshkigal, the Queen of Kur."
Ere shivered nervously when she realized that her presentation had just begun. The Goddess of the Netherworld remained frozen for a moment searching for words while blushing. Forcing herself to smile, she replied in a voice that was firm.
"Be thankful, I do you the honor of my presence. I rarely appear to the living."
The Disciples of Hermes glanced at each over, surprised by the shyness of the Mistress of the Underworld.
Once again, Paolo bowed deeply and waved to one of the accompanying Wizards. He offered a bouquet of flowers and an art book devoted to the most beautiful landscapes of Italy.
"I hope you enjoy this little gift, Powerful Lady of the Mountain!"
While the leader of the Copper-Black Cross welcomed the Campione and the goddesses, Shirou, Hakuno and the rest of Godu's Harem recovered the suitcases.
They boarded two minibusses waiting outside.
"We're going to the other airport in Rome to catch a plane to Milan. We have an appointment with Black Prince Alec and Lord Salvatore Doni at the Castello Cicogna-Mozzoni a Terdobbiate. Liliana Kranjcar's grandfather, the leader of the Bronze-Black Cross has already arrived."
It was dark for a long time when they reached Castello Cicogna-Mozzoni. This small castle with white walls was located in the southwest of Milan, in the village of Terdobbiate. It was an early Renaissance palace. Although it kept a medieval plan, with towers at the four corners of a square, it was a pleasure castle with large windows.
The two minibusses that had picked them up at Milan airport parked in an inner courtyard closed by a gate and defended by two red brick towers. Members of several Italian and English magical societies were waiting for them to pick up their luggage and took them to their rooms, before showing them around the castle. The pergola rose garden at the back of the main building left Ereshkigal speechless, both surprised and delighted.
Suddenly the wind rose, rushing under the pergola.
Laughing, she extended her hand forward, looking at the pink petal that had just landed on her palm. Then she turned to Hakuno:
"How beautiful... it rains rose petals!"
Shirou was the first to leave his room. After all, he did not have much luggage. Once his clothes were in the closet, he changed. Leaving his regular clothes (jeans pants, sneakers, and baseball sweatshirt) in the closet, the young redhead with a white lock put on the Kevlar-like black armor created by Ishtar. Once he put on his fingerless gloves and his reinforced combat boots, he really looked like a younger version of Archer.
There was some time left before the meal, Shirou decided to go to the First Floor. He'd seen a fencing room and... since childhood, he'd been training an hour a day. Because of the plane trip, the young man could not train today and he felt guilty for neglecting his exercises.
While he was in the corridor, he saw Ereshkigal busy drumming at Hakuno's door.
"Open it, it's an emergency! I can't find mini-Guga!"
From the inside, Kishinami's voice resounded... a bit annoyed.
"I'm busy changing, I can't open. I put mini-Guga in the left pocket..."
"But I couldn't find it," interrupted the Queen of Kur in a frantic tone.
"Ere..."
"Yes?"
"Your suitcase has only two outer pockets. If you haven't found mini-Guga in one pocket, try the other."
It was a long speech for Hakuno. Looking dejected, Ere nodded and turned around... to discover Shirou looking at her with amusement. The Mesopotamian goddess blushed quite violently, looked around her with a desperate stare, and then ran to her room hiding her face with her hands!
Smiling, Shirou wondered for a moment what all history doctors, specialists of mythology, and Assyriologists would think if they learned that the cold, merciless, and evil goddess of the Dreadful Deadlands slept at night hugging a... plush representing Gugalanna, the Bull of Heaven!
Wasn't that what one called Moe Gap?
"Trace On!"
In a shimmer of prana particles, Kashou and Bakuya materialized in Shirou's hands. Immediately, he put himself on guard.
Before his mental eye appeared... Archer.
The most important martial art lesson that Luo Hao gave to Shirou was that he had to consider the weapons he Traced like teachers.
When he Projected a sword, Shirou not only reproduced the appearance of the Noble Phantasm, but he also reconstructed its history. Gae Bolg, for example, remembered all the battles fought by Cù Chulainn with the famous spear cut from a red bone.
But Shirou wasn't Cù Chulainn. First, the Japanese teen was smaller with shorter arms, less agile, and less strong... but Shirou was ambidextrous (which was not the case with the Irish Child of Light).
To imitate the Dog of the Red Plains was to limit himself to a lower version of Cù Chulainn's fighting style... without using all his own assets.
A memory came back to him, an impromptu lesson with the Japanese Campione, between two training sessions (uh... that was the nice term for 'beating scéance'.)
"Shirou, do you know when a martial artist mastered a technique?"
"When he used it perfectly, I suppose."
Luo Hao shook her head.
"Martial arts are infinitely perfectible... You master a martial style when you no longer repeat the movements as taught to you by your teacher but integrate these movements into your own style. You master an art, when the style become natural to you, as natural as breathing, as automatic. If you just copy others, you don't control your own body... On the contrary, you let someone else control you. A martial artist must have enough personal pride and respect for others not to be a parrot."
The words of his teacher had made Shirou understand the reason for the contempt of the Heroes from whom he copied the Noble Phantasms... The Tracing Magecraft was an insult to their accomplishments. The Heroes called him "Faker," because he only clumsily copied the styles of fighting they had painfully learned by bleeding, sweating... sometimes crying. The fighting style of each Servant was the learning of a lifetime of effort. What he was doing was simply a theft...He stole the Heroes' triumphs and failures... the people they couldn't save, the ones they have killed. He stole what they had paid for with their sorrows and joys just to add a weapon to his arsenal.
Stealing their Noble Phantasms and clumsily copying their fighting styles, it was like spitting in their face.
Frozen, Shirou stared into space... or, more precisely, he was looking at a place that seemed empty to anyone but him, because he saw Archer, arms down, Kanshou in one hand, Bakuya in the other. The Servant was motionless, inviting him to attack...
The young redhead smiled mockingly. Well, the ball wasn't going to start without him.
He leaped forward, attacking immediately. The air whistled on the passage of the two Chinese swords but Archer strangely contorted himself blocking both Daos with his own versions of the Married Blades.
The Servant of the Bow counterattacked and Shirou crossed the Twin Blades in front of his face, retreating four steps... because in reality, the blow would have been powerful enough to catapult him back.
In his mental eye, Archer continued to attack. Certainly, Shirou had blocked all the blows so far, even succeeding in retaliating... sometimes. But he was still slightly too slow... In reality, Shirou would already have his arms covered in blood because every single stroke barely stopped would have left a bloody slash on his wrists.
When EMIYA reattached, Shirou blocked again... but he had fallen into a trap. Archer abruptly dropped his arms, blocking the blades of his 'stupid version' between Kanshou and Bakuya, which he crossed, completely immobilizing the redhead's Daos. Simultaneously, EMIYA gave a powerful kick, hitting Shirou on the hip.
Docilely, the redhead followed the script of the confrontation and made a series of rolls to come to the right wall. If it had been a real fight, he would have been thrown to... no, he would have been embedded up to the shoulders in the wall, because of the violence of the attack and would be busy getting up, completely groggy. Of course, Archer would take advantage of this moment of weakness...
Shirou Emiya pivoted, lifting his Traced pair of blades...
Again, the Faker had been too slow, too rough, while EMIYA's combo was executed to perfection, without hesitation, without wasting a moment. Already he was there... above Shirou and Kanshou rushed over him with the force of a hammer. The redhead was so focused on recreating the fight that he almost felt the blade hitting the base of his neck, slicing his shoulder and sinking deep into his torso up to his spine. He felt like vomiting as he fell to his knees... his forehead covered in icy sweat.
He was dead...
Virtually dead, yes.
But if it had been a real fight, all he could have hoped for was a pretty flowery grave.
The confrontation lasted two minutes.
The young redhead had survived twenty seconds longer than last time... hurrah...
Using EMIYA's memory stored in Kanshou and Bakuya, Shirou had managed to imagine the techniques and movements of his older version. Except that victory was impossible. EMIYA had centuries of experience more than Shirou. Moreover, he was a Servant. Also, Archer was faster, stronger, tougher, and more agile than his younger version.
Applause greeted the end of the simulated fight.
Shirou held a sigh of annoyance. He had perceived the presence of the three spectators and had even recognized one of them... although he had never met him.
He turned and bowed one hand on his heart.
"I am delighted to see that my performance is greeted by Lord Salvatore Doni."
The young Italian with blond hair was easy to recognize. Except for him who could be dressed like a summer holidaymaker with a shirt unbuttoned and sunglass raised on the forehead... but with a sword in hand?
Finally, to be honest, Shirou knew the Campione was at the castle attending the meeting... and besides, Salvatore Doni had wanted to meet the Faker for a long time. The mere idea of being able to Trace swords makes the Italian Campione drool with envy!
"Ah, Shirou, let's practice a little bit together. There's still time before dinner."
"But, I just..."
Salvatore cut him off, shaking his head with a pained expression.
"You're really cold to me. Aren't we friends?"
Oh... that's new... Shirou didn't remember becoming friends with the Italian who spammed his phone with unwanted calls.
The redhead glanced at the two older people (a man and a woman) who were escorting the Campione. They nodded enthusiastically, obviously to ask him to accept... Shirou sighed, what a sore! A Campione was a king and the Japanese was on this king's territory... clearly, he could not refuse the invitation.
"Okay, but only if I set the rules for the confrontation."
Without taking a moment to think about the proposition or listen to the rules first, Doni readily agreed.
"Of course."
A little surprised by the Campione's quick decision, Emiya explained the conditions of their fight.
"We will use training weapons, no magic, and no Authorities."
Doni nodded again, smiling enthusiastically.
"Sure, Shirou... A training match."
The sixty-year-old woman who accompanied the Campione took a step forward.
"I propose to serve as referee."
There was a saying: being on time is the courtesy of kings...
It was obviously not the courtesy of the goddesses because Ishtar was rarely on time for appointments. She considered that arriving last, long after others, highlighted the importance of her own participation.
Nevertheless, for once, the Queen of Venus had decided to arrive early... because she couldn't stand Ereshkigal's whining. Their rooms were contiguous and even on the other side of the separation wall, Ishtar could hear her sister searching for her belongings, misplacing them, complaining, and worrying. As always, the more stressful Ere was, the more she lost her belongings forgetting where she put them... which made her even more stressed. In short, this was a downward spiral. Even if Hakuno had finally joined Ere in her room to help and calm her, Ishtar was tired of this ruckus and decided to go upstairs.
For the occasion, Ishtar had put on her royal outfit... a very revealing outfit, with a white bra that was outlined with gold and exposed a bit of cleavage along with her lower back and stomach, a jeweled black-gold loincloth and a black stocking on her right leg that has golden ornaments, with a golden bracelet on her left ankle.
And of course, she didn't walk down the steps but gracefully hovering! After all, she was a goddess, and the Earth was unworthy of being trampled by the beautiful and powerful goddess Ishtar.
However, she was upset to discover that her arrival did not gather around her a crowd of mortals in ecstasy...
Searching the first floor she discovered that almost all the wizards, witches, and knights present at the Castello Cicogna-Mozzoni gathered in the corridor leading to the fencing room or around the windows... trying to see the fight that resonated in the nearby rooms.
She approached a young wizard in the last row of spectators. The Italian was small and even when he got tiptoe, he could not see over the heads of his colleagues.
Ishtar went down to his height, floating just above the ground.
"What's going on?"
Without even turning to her (which greatly offended Ishtar) the Italian answered with few words.
"Lord Salvatore Doni is training with some Japanese, a boy with a weird name..."
"Emiya Shirou?"
"Yes, that's that..."
"All right... Now, would you kindly get out of here?!"
The Italian turned around, opened his mouth to say that he had arrived before her and that she could stand in line like everyone else but... he suddenly realized who he was talking to... The young wizard suddenly became very pale, swallowed, and pushed himself aside without a word of protest.
Amused by his reaction, Ishtar gave him an absolutely adorable smile. It is true that the goddess loved to be venerated and to receive sumptuous gifts... But if not, she was content to terrorize mortals.
She pushed away, threatened, and seduced everyone in the corridor up to the front row until she could witness the fight between the Campione and... the Shirou that belonged only to her (1).
Floating above the ground, sitting in the air, her legs crossed and her chin resting on the palm of her hand, Ishtar watched the fight, eyes shining with pride.
Two months earlier, Shirou would have been unable to make a serious fight against Salvatore Doni.
How can I make you understand the absolutely amazing talent of the Italian Campione?
Some humans are born with extraordinary abilities in a field. There are painters, musicians, or mathematicians whose attitudes are far above mere mortals, and who remain unmatched centuries after their death.
A good example of sword genius is Miyamoto Musashi. At the age of nine, the future samurai cut a cat's whiskers with his katana without hurting the animal. Do you know the Frenchman Cyrano de Bergerac? During the battle at the Porte de Nesle, he single-handedly defeated 100 opponents and put them on the run.
As in any field, this kind of genius was very rare.
Lord Salvatore Doni was the ultimate fencing genius... since childhood, he had beaten the best masters and ridiculed the exploits of Cyrano and Musashi. Extraordinary, isn't it?
Except that Cyrano and Musashi were much more than swordsmen (2)... while Doni was... How can I explain? ... let's say that the Campione had only a talent for the sword. Actually, to be honest, Doni was pretty dumb.
Despite the lack of imagination of his opponent, Shirou was in difficulty against the King of Swords. Although he had Strengthened his body and their wooden swords... otherwise the swords (and his bones!) would have broken at the first impact, the redhead suffered every time his blade and Doni's one met.
It wasn't like facing Luo Hao. The strong point of the Chinese Campione was technique... she had literally spent centuries improving her mastery of the sword up to the perfect gesture, the most effective parade, and the most powerful attack.
On the contrary, Doni was an instinctive swordsman, hence his nickname of Heretical Genius. His attacks were repetitive, his parades uninspired... yet Shirou retreated several steps at each stroke. Even among the other Devil Kings, the Italian's strength was legendary.
The Redhead jumped aside, dodging Doni's attack, he whirled like a twister, becoming a storm of blades. He stroked a first time towards the face... a predictable attack that was only a feint, before changing position to attack the exposed belly.
But Salvatore leaped back and repelled Shirou's sword with a simple wrist movement.
"Not bad..."
While the Japanese was panting, his face red and sweating, the Campione was perfectly comfortable, without a drop of sweat on the face.
The redhead gnashed his teeth. Sure, he was up against the best swordsman on Earth... at least the best human swordsman... but he was upset that he couldn't take advantage. With what he had learned in recent months, Shirou was technically superior to the Campione... so why was Doni so easily dominating the fight?
The Faker stood on guard, lowering his blades in an obvious invitation.
Salvatore smiled and jumped forward, he was predictable... and too stupid to detect a feint.
Strained, his mouth dry, the redhead waited for the right moment... when the Devil King attacked, his sword passed briefly before his eyes. During this brief moment, the Italian did not see his opponent... and this brief moment was all Shirou needed... because he can use a very brief opening. He jumped to the side and attacked, passing under the guard of the Campione. (3)
Lord Salvatore Doni had the Mind Eye Skill, he was quick and agile... his reflexes allowed him to jump aside and raise his sword to block the attack... But it was too late. Shirou's sword struck him in the hip.
The referee raised her hand.
"One point for Shirou Emiya!"
There were surprised whispers in the audience... Apart from another Campione or a Heretic God, no one had ever hit Lord Doni in a sword fight! Only Ishtar smiled and nodded... as if the result was obvious to her.
When the bell rang for supper, the battle ended.
Oh, Shirou lost... but by a score of 8 to 11, that was very honorable. And Doni showed remarkable honesty in pointing out the fact that he had only won because of the constitution of the Campiones. Shirou had finished the fight completely exhausted and his throat as dry as a papyrus from the time of Ramses II. While the King of Swords seemed as fit as at the beginning of his morning run.
It was almost impossible for an ordinary mortal to bridge such a difference both in strength and endurance.
The referee walked up to Shirou to congratulate him.
"I am impressed by your talents, but not really surprised. Two of my students have sent me several reports pointing out that you're a talented swordsman."
"Two of your students, ma'am?"
"Oh... I beg your pardon. I just realized I didn't introduce myself." The old woman put her hand on her chest. "My name is Saint Raffaello, I am a former Paladin of the Capital of Lilies. I was the master-at-arms of Erica Blandelli, Liliana Kranjčar, and your very adversary, the Campione Lord Salvatore Doni. I haven't fought in years, but I'm glad my students continue to protect the world for me."
She remained a moment contemplating then smiled at Shirou.
"I have long been the keeper of great treasures, like the swords Cuore di Leone and Il Master. And I would like to give you a gift."
She clapped her hands and one of the wizards approached, ceremonially carrying a reliquary. The object decorated with gold was oblong and a crystal window showed a piece of red fabric.
"It is the shroud of Saint Sebastian of Padua. It has this red color because of the blood (never tarnished) shed by the saint during his beheading. It is a miraculous relic that allows the wizard who touches it to better control his magic."
Surprised, Shirou hesitated.
"I thank you but... "
he was interrupted by Ishtar who descended to the ground, floating just in front of the reliquary. Without concern for mere mortals, she examined the relic from various angles while rubbing her chin. Then she turned to Shirou.
"Say... you think what I think?"
The redhead preferred to remain cautious.
"It depends on what you think."
"Archer's coat, you moronic idiot!"
Bug-eyed, Emiya looked at her without daring to believe that she had this very idea in mind... but it was Ishtar... of course, she was going to act! Then he turned toward Saint Raffaello.
"Um... If the Vatican learns that the goddess Ishtar cut the shroud of a Christian saint to make a coat for a Shintoist, I am sure there will be a diplomatic incident!"
The swordwoman didn't seem really enthusiastic about the idea but she sighed... it would be much worse if Rama annihilated the Catholic Church. And then the Church did not lack relics... including sometimes several skulls for the same saint!
"I would be silent", she assured.
Author's note: a very difficult chapter to write... I suffered a lot from the heat.
You may have noticed that Shirou is taking a new step in his development in this episode.
(1) What do you mean, Ishtar would be possessive? You can say that again, friends. She is the ultimate goddess of possessiveness. In fact, she invented the whole concept! And in addition, she is capricious, selfish, spoiled-rotten, and she is a daddy's girl known for her terrible anger...
(2) Cyrano was a theatre writer, a poet, who had also studied science. Musashi is the author of a treatise on strategy and tactics (The Book of 5 Wheels), he was a master of Japanese woodblock art, and he held an orphanage and created a meditation garden in Tokyo which - sadly- was destroyed during the bombing of World War II.
(3) This technique really exists and is called 'Optical Shield'. Only a swordsman with an unparalleled sense of timing is able to use it.