Their armor, even his that was shrouded in shadow, clinked and clacked as they moved forward under the cover of night.
The Knight trailed behind his once and future king. Steps hesitant, and eyes steady on her. The armor she wore, once shining a valiant silver–with a noble blue dress...was now a deep black. Bulkier, with what seemed like red veins that pulsated with the threat of vicious power.
Her skin is pale. Her hair, usually golden, was nearly white. And those eyes, his cousin didn't have the most approachable of gazes–she was king, even more than that–but those yellow eyes held no compassion. In its stead was a cold avariciousness in the vein of a dragon wanting more gold for its keep.
The way she looked, the way she had spoken to him, acted towards the innocent–she was like some unholy chimera of her sister's cold sinister exterior with the savage brutality of my abominable blood father.
She made his ethereal skin crawl just looking at her as she moved forthright towards her supposed master. If he could speak, he'd ask just about anything for how she got to this state. How had someone I had such reverence for…become this…callous?
Looking over her darkened shoulders, her golden eyes scrutinized him with nary an emotional curve to it. "If you have something to say…say it?" With a cold smirk, she promised–"If I dislike said thought, punishment will be in order"
"..." The shadowed knight shakes his head.
"Have it your way, but if you keep staring at me like an abomination– I'll make your consequence a dire one"
The knight clenches it fists, but does not go beyond this–he had promised to help her. And he was never one to break an oath, especially to her. He had no right to for all his king had allowed him to be. He was the fool of camelot with no talent but a lust for blood and loathing for said lust.
By all accounts, if the Magus of Flowers had never come for him with Artoria accepting him into her fold, he would have had no purpose but to eventually fall to his own inner malice without any form of conduit to guide him.
The king had given him a chance against everything that crept through his skull. The want to unleash hell with atrocious delight. It made it all the harder to leave Camelot, Leave Rosamund and my boys when the Magus Of Flowers called upon him to take on a task. This was as the King was preparing to leave Camelot to repel an oncoming assault on her borders, thus leaving that bastard, treacherous, speck of nothing–Mordred with a chance to usurp power and ruin what grand future Artoria had tried to reach.
Was it a mistake to leave his post at the behest of the Court Wizard? Not even questioning what the King would say? If not…what is this thought? I knew that beast of infernal metal was havoc on the horizon when I looked into its cold black eyes…Merlin had his reasons for hiding the truth–he always has.
And in the end, the world had gotten better…for others at least, not my bloodline. "..." Thoughts of the past left him to wayside as his eyes turned back to his altered king. He had no clue where they were going, by all accounts it seemed she was going nowhere fast. What was guiding her exactly?
He could not ask, so he could not know–his body was incomplete. He just had to have faith that his king was in some way as he remembered her. And that this horrid state was some form of trickery upon my gaze.
Maybe this was the final conclusion of her role as king. Hiding herself, losing her ability to age naturally, and having to deal with all of the constraints of someone in her post. From fair king to cold-blooded tyrant who didn't think twice of threatening innocents to get what she wanted. Perhaps she had the same curse as I, the same corruption of the mind…is this what the throne does? Does it unlatch our restraints that keep our will strong? Will I lose myself to the curse if I become whole?
He knew her role was never easy, losing some of the amenities of humanity. Love of another, grief of hardship. She buried herself in her kingdom's fate. Punishing those who deserved penance, keeping order without compromise of her own integrity–campaigns against warring factions that deemed her unworthy (or simply wanted her territory).
On further introspection, he never saw her smile, be angry or have any form of melancholy. That notwithstanding, despite his knowledge of her secret–he was never close to her. Which was fine, he was a lapdog, a pawn–and that suited him fine–he knew he wasn't the likes of Sir Kay or Merlin.
But besides that, a king shouldn't show weakness to a crowd, they were pillars to look up to. Perhaps in her more private moments she had some freedom…I never put thought into Sir Tristan's words…if anything, it was good she had such control…that her demons weren't always knocking at her threshold begging…her…to…
The blade in its scabbard became unencumbered by the smog for mere moments. He growled audibly, to which Artoria raised a brow–though never looking at him as she kept pace.
A deep shame ran over him. She was always better…the Knight reassured himself, but as before, the form before him left a rotten taste in his mouth…and I was always lesser, why could I have not been as pure as the other of my name?
Over the course of their path, they had come in contact with a sparse amount of opposing forces. They slayed the wyverns with efficiency, a cold foreboding disgust riding over him anytime the king fired up her own power to fight.
With her own black blade, he couldn't think this was what she would be if Merlin had given her his sword to use. Only those of pendragon blood were worthy, and with its might to take on gods–it poisoned your being (or more accurately, reveal who you really were)
But the blade in her hand was Excalibur, which made her current state all the more alarming. The sword of promised victory should never look as though it had been baptized in the entropy of the damned.
It should be gold, a gold that shines like the brightest white diamond. It should be a beacon of hope, for a better everlasting tomorrow. It shouldn't be the same ebony as my blade…
The lamenting was regular for him, even in death he could not escape the doubt that writhed within his essence. It was the curse of his particular side of the bloodline, every one of his descendents who took upon the black sword forged by Merlin, their own insecurities would be heightened and their disposition to violence ever growing. Call it the side effect of whom he drew blood from…
The unfortunate thing was, in his heart of hearts–I have no curse…I am who I am…and she was the same it seems. The one person he looked up to, who he thought better, was…he couldn't finish the thought.
He wished could speak to her, so these sordid thoughts could lapse the mania of his mind–but he did not have that luxury. And it shouldn't even be him here, it should be his descencent–the Sorcerer went to him for help, not the Knight whose hands had been stained with red time and time again. Dane still has a chance, he still has his crown straight…
A silent sigh slips from his shadowed mouth. Keeping his eyes straight as much as he could without cringing at the sight of his king. Even as blemished as she was, the king was awe inspiring all the same. He wished he could have helped more definitively in life, instead of being the one who stayed while she and others ventured forth. He was not a true Knight of the Round. And he knew if he was, that it would only scar the goodwill Artoria had brought to her kingdom. Not like Mordred hadn't done that enough
He clenched his gauntlets, letting the rage move through him as pictured his murderer–the selfish brat that brought down all of Mage of Flower's and King of Knight's hardwork. If the Knight had to condemn his cousin for anything, it would be allowing that bastard child into her court. She couldn't have known–she didn't know what 'it' was, what harm 'it' would bring–
The silence was deafening. The King of Knight's gave nothing to quell it. She was focused, much like she was in life.
He wondered who her so-called master was? And if she would really let him go once she found them. He honestly had no clue why she even wanted him to accompany her, she seemed to handle herself well enough–perhaps to hasten the killing of the wyverns when they came, he concluded. Even this was suspect,
He needed to find the Sorcerer's apprentice–he was the one treading danger if true what the Sorcerer told his descendent. Heading towards a future that takes him, swallows him and never allows him to return to normalcy, having him become a beacon of tragedy towards all he had ever known or loved–
But as he had given his word–he couldn't cut his ties with Artoria now. He wouldn't abandon her again, even as she was. He had a vow to the world, yes, but this vow was nothing, he was nothing without the facade The King of the Britons and the Mage of Flowers had allowed him to have.
So they kept moving forward, though for mere moments the knight and Artoria stopped. The king's yellow eyes pierced the rolling hill, and beside a settlement that glowed like ashes was A heavy forest.
By the Lord almighty…I have get over there and see if there are any survivors–
And to say the smile the king gave sent a shiver down the knight's spine would be an understatement. "Hmm seems he has company–" she turns to her shadowed knight, who looks reluctant in his smokey form. "-best we make haste"
The Broken Saint smiles when she lays her flaxen eyes upon me.
"Oh this is too good"
My staff falls to the marble floor, I fall to my knees, clutching my skull as I feel her impart upon me, a curse.
"One of the mindless sheep who followed my Master's futile son." she laughs like a madwoman as I my mind drift towards a 'want' that made my stomach churn
"No…not this…" I implored as I felt myself become like the others she had summoned. Taking on this trait–the need–the addiction—
"You're a fighter–HAH! The woman who tamed the Child of Leviathan, has a violent streak it seems" She holds her pale chin in sinister contemplation. "Alright, let's have some fun with this"
I feel the urge intensify, I feel my lips moves as I pray for this to subside and for my own will to succeed over this–
For a moment, I feel as I once did–When I was but eldest, taking care of Mary and Lazarus–
It hits.
The urge to kill–slaughter–maim–rage–sentence those who damned Jeanne d'Arc to a fate that 'he' would have never wanted for any of this for his fellow man.
"Why? Would you do this…so many will di–"
"Exactly' She scoffs like it was so obvious "And you'll be aware of all of it, killing all of my good-for-nothing master's children, like the ungrateful wastes of space that they are…so keep fighting, keep feeling the pain of goodwill towards your fellow man, always trying to reach the gates of Heaven…and yet falling to sin like humanity always does–"
I would kill plenty before I laid my eyes upon the strange master that had startled the Dragon Witch. The Boy's actions had saved a younger girl and her infant sister, as I was about to bash their tiny skulls in, just after I had taken the life of their parents.
But he lacked what was needed. He could save as many of this country's people as he wanted–but if he choked like he did in his initial conflict with Jeanne d'Arc. He would fail more than he could ever imagine.
The other Jeanne shared this possible destiny, though she was more willing to do what needed to be done in fighting her other. Even then, she was so severely lost in her own drama. I pitied them both.
Under the guise of reconnaissance, under my master's nose–I would teach these lost lambs drowning in their tumultuous pain, that there was only one way forward
Even if it meant they'd die whence I reigned upon them, my wrath…
Spider-sense fritzed–ON-OFF-DANGER-SAFETY
Muscles tensed, Pete's body felt like a coil just about to spring loose from whatever impeded it. Holding himself firm, didn't really know how to take the situation he had found himself in. spider-sense made him feel like he was playing the world's most uncomfortable game of red light/green light.
This seemed to be the case for the holy woman. Her hands gripped her staff tight, a subtle tremble flowed through the cross-tipped instrument.
Her eyes were downtrodden, teetering between a fierce rage and a sorrowful regret. Though the smile she had, like that of a caring older sibling did not deter. It was oddly comforting, yet disconcerting all the same.
He remembered her, she was one of the servants Nega-Jeanne had summoned in La Charite. And unlike the other members of Jeannie's merry band of murderers–he remembered her asking a rather alarming question "...cripes…" He cursed under his breath.
Seconds had passed since she had made herself known, and she hadn't moved from her distance away from the brunette. "...you do realize that right?" she finished, the staff in her hand making a more noticeable tremble as her nostrils flare before they calm.
Playing to type, the teenage vigilante shrugs "Kind of being vague there, you know?" He begins slowly pacing around the fair indigo haired woman. "'What?'-only ends one way? If you mean you're boss and her overcooked genocide being dropped like its hot–I'd agree with you" Thwipping fast, he webs her boots to the ground though she seemed unperturbed. "If not, well–I'm not sure I know what you're talking about" he says with a smirk. That'll keep her until I can get a beat on what she's–
She shakes her head, and taps her staff on the ground–and aura comes over and the webbing is gone.
"Huh? Nice trick…" He braced himself for an attack that never came.
"Not a trick, a blessing, Master…"
He couldn't help but cringe at that.
"...though, what is happening currently is not one. But you know that already…which makes this situation harder, doesn't it?"
"Yeah…what's going here?" He kept his distance as danger kept twirling to and thro before his senses. "Because I'm getting some incredibly odd vibes here, lady"
She chuckles at his response, her tone is a bittersweet one "I'm here to end life at the behest of my master, you know this already" Her breath haggard.
"I figured…but why aren't you…I'm going to come out and say it–trying to kill me?"
She smirks, frowns and then cringes before she recomposes herself. "Believe me, master…the want is there–but, I can't in my right mind allow myself to hurt you without attempting to solve this dilemma you found yourself in"
The brunette almost felt offended at this, "What dilemma? Everything's just peachy…" he sucks in air through his teeth "...besides one of my servants giving me the heebie jeebies–but that isn't here nor there. From where I'm standing, the situation is tense…but I've been in rougher spots than some awkwardness"
The holy woman shakes her head, "I kept my eye on you since our meeting in La Charite. You and my master's reflection…"
Peter blinked, goosebumps being sent through his person "Wait–you've been following us? How did I no–how did Roman not–"
"I focused…prayed…but that strength is fading with each passing moment" Her body tensed once more, bloodlust sharpening her eyes focused on him. "To cut through the thick of it, you need to kill"
The word hit the teenage vigilante like a brick to skull, "Kill?
She nods in a reserved manner, "Yes…and I can tell, just as my master did…you haven't before…I am so sorry…" She lets out a haggard breath and wrings her neck before returning to normal.
"Yeah, no–sorry miss. But I'm not the type to take a life…luckily people like you aren't al–"
"Alive? Yes, that's the same point you gave to her…so, I'll ask the same thing she did–why did you hesitate?"
"What does it matter to you? I choked–it happens…eugh" He pinches his temples. His danger sense still flashing as the woman before him went from serene to extreme every few moments. It was…hair raising to say the least. "And, I don't have to explain myself to you–your boss is a literal genocidal maniac! And you accepted her sum–"
"I did no such thing" she snapped in a sharp manner, her hard tone slamming into the teen like a semi. "I had no choice in the matter of my summoning…and the Lord's gift is slowly inching away every moment we waste"
"So…you really just came here to talk and try to convince me to kill Nega-Jeanne?" He crosses his arms and pinches his temples. The grail probably has the ability to summon a servant who would usually be unwilling to cooperate "You're throwing me through a bit of a loop right now, honestly–so I take it your regular morals don't exactly align with her?" He snaps his fingers and motions to the holy woman "If that's the case, why don't you join up with us? Barring of course that you haven't–"
"Killed innocents–Yes…no matter the strength of my will, eventually it broke. I fought it, but lives were still taken by my own hand. Nevertheless–it wasn't of my own choice as if that is even an excuse for my crime…" she says defeatedly.
"The berserker trait? Figures"
"And you wouldn't want my help anyway–someone that'll stab you in the back without a moment's warning…you'd perish and fail this land that the other her defends" she admitted sorrowfully. "So what is your impediment?" she asked in a honed tone that made the teen nearly back away from her. "If you understand what a servant is, and what it isn't?"
The Parker boy bit his lip, wrinkled his nose "..." with a deep sigh, acutely aware of her everchanging bout of bipolarity–against possibly his better judgment, he felt safe answering her. "...it's not that simple…you can't just–you can't ask someone to do something like that, even if you guys aren't alive" He raises right index finger to the sky as he explains "When you're given a problem, scientific or otherwise–you need to consider everything involved with said problem." Even he admits, he didn't exactly follow this to the letter–he had jumped head first into a lot of situations. Notwithstanding, "Extenuating factors for example, possible outcomes, the percentage of need to take that all into account when creating a theory or solution…when I look at you–I don't see some magic ghost that's expendable, I joke about it, sure. But when I actually take time to consider all of the data that can be gathered, I see a person, a flesh and blood person with their own thoughts and feelings…" Fuyuki was an easier pill to swallow, he thought it was a one-and-done adventure, he could afford to ignore the traits King Arthur and Fuyuki's Archer exuded–because they were already dead, it was like exorcizing a ghost from this earthly plane. It seemed so simple. "...and it throws me off my game"
One finger up, "You breath" Second finger up "Bleed" Third finger up "You have personalities that show you have sapience, which allow someone to solve problems and rein yourself in as you're doing now and…"
Imagining the Good Jeanne's distraught face, Marie lackadaisical personality and way of being, Amadeus's perversion, Amakusa's confusion towards the evil Jeanne and–the shock that Jeanne had he when grabbed her by the wrists, what seemed like betrayal, the fact that she even humored his attempt at conversation and got pissed at his snark "...all that, says to me–that you're people and I don't know if I can live myself if I cross that line, even if heroic spirits can broken down to what is basically a ghost or familiar that can be perceived as lifelike…" He puffs out a regretful breath "...I don't know what to trust, I just know that I need to get that grail and stop the jerk who caused this whole scenario to kick off" And try to keep what shred of my 'normal' I still have "Because I have to"
He locks eyes with her "There has to be another way, please" he begs his features uncertain, naked to the holy woman before him
The indigo haired beauty held his gaze, with a condoling look she said "That's very considerate of you, master. And selfish…though it isn't surprising that you feel like this" She smiles, she wants to offer her hand–come and sit with her, talk it out and help him win. She knew better than to trust herself "You don't hold yourself like what I imagine a magus to be like, you have a heart that's kind and willing to sacrifice yourself but not others…I'm glad you saved those people and hindered my master's wish" Her grip on her staff tightens, and she cringes as murderous intent overtakes her for a moment "But if you don't take that extra step, it will all be for not…how do you plan on stopping her if not kill her?"
He doesn't answer, admitting that he would just let someone like Nameless, Amakusa or Mash deal the finish blow–like Casty to King Arthur in Fuyuki. He…I don't have the guts for it, he thought, shamefaced "For one, I'm not a magus–and I mean, servants are supposed to fight each other, right? What's a guy like me, a powerless human, supposed to do against…someone like you?" he cringed as the sentence left his mouth.
She raises a brow at him, "Powerless? You seem a tad slim, but I can tell standing right here now and seeing your movements in that settlement, you're not powerless, you have muscle and honed reflexes…so, please don't lie to me like that, master" she says in contempted manner, like a stern older sister that had just caught their younger brother stealing from the cookie jar.
"What would I have to gain from lying to you? I'm normal, I'm not a wizard–I'm just some kid who was raised by his aunt after…" After you went and did the wrong thing right "...why would I lie?" His tone was shaken.
"A lie isn't always about trying to gain something, sometimes it's about trying to keep someone or something safe. Or perhaps ignorant of something dire…you have nothing to gain, but something you think you have to keep safe, am I right–Peter?"
The brunette's eyes shrunk in his skull, "How? What–"
"As I have said, I've been following you–I know of the present's dire straits, its mightiest, the woes of your Jeanne, the contempt of you and that Archer, the seeming sorrow of the priest and your skittish nature when you are asked about what you actually are"
"Creepy" he says, no humor in his tone as he realized that she had been there since La Charite.
"They were on to something weren't they? You don't have to answer…I was the eldest of my family, so I know when a young boy is embarrassed or is afraid of something right in front of them" She inhales, and looks to the skyline and sees the stars through where the branches parted. "There's nothing wrong with being reluctant about the hand of fate the Lord's plan has dealt you…but being unwilling to move forward and sow distrust with your flock. It is, grating" She coughs as she composed herself "You have to remember what's at stake, especially when you're the one holding the reins to humanity's future"
A terrible sense of deja vu rolled over him, "I understand what's at stake" I let the guy slip past me when I first met him–I got Olga killed—"everything's gone…and there's chance to bring it back…maybe" It still sounded too good to be true.
The holy woman sighs, "Why?" she asks simply, holding herself as if her will was adamantine.
"Because, if something like that happens and you're the odd man out who somehow survives…you just have to keep on going, knowing that day-in-and-day-out, you can't just reverse something like that as if it never happened–"
"There has to be consequences, that life is like marble and not sand" She finished succinctly.
"Yeah, pretty much" He shrugs, the story of his life. "Because that's how life always plays out…there are no second chances…not for good men, or good women…" God, if Ben could hear me now–hell, May would probably break down hearing me talk like this…
"That's rather defeatist" She says with critical glare.
"I'm not trying to be, but I can't help but have thoughts about my situation and how it could turn out…so what's so wrong with me…trying to save my normal?" If this turn out like Doc says, we save the world bring everyone back–what happens when 'Hogwarts' find out 'Spider-Man' was the person who helped do that "Mages don't like 'capes' as they call them…I don't know–I guess they see them as a threat to their status quo. And apparently, they do some messed up stuff to guys who stumble upon their cauldrons and broomsticks…so secrets can be good, they keep people safe"
"And what of the person holding that secret, when it's clearly eating them up inside or they're just keeping it poorly–isn't it better to just be honest, accept the hand dealt to them so they better face the untreated path in front of them" She looks downward with softer nostalgic eyes, "I had a friend who left nothing up to interpretation, was always honest, helpful, fed all he could, and accepted anyone despite their flaws if they were willing to change for the better. And though his end was terrible…" A pang of guilt flashes over her features "He didn't have an ounce of fear or hate in his heart…and that was because he didn't hide himself to his flock like you are–he was the best of us"
"Sounds like a real messiah-type" He joked, but judging by the sharp glare he received from the indigo haired woman–he was treading water"
Her eyes softened when she realized that he meant no harm, "You could say that…but he didn't go through the trials you are going through, and for that–you need to let go of your secrets and stop pulling your punches…because if you fail your servants, if you die." She pauses to calm a bubbling of rage "If it is all for naught, my master and whatever else is beyond her, will win"
"Lady, you don't know me I can't just do that–even if you are right, and I am keeping a secret and I am even able to take down a servant (human remember), it's easier said than done–and I rather not compromise who I am…" Because it's really all I have left, the girl from Chaldea came to him in recollection, her bonny appearance, the butterflies he got from just taking her in even for a moment. His junior's reserved and respectful nature that was, as far as he could tell, there to hide her own insecurity to a world she was sheltered from. She said I could talk to her…but I just think I'll keep coming up with excuses he thought glumly. And this struck a melancholic chord in the teen, you just keep letting her down, don't you Peter? Some partner you ar–
"Even in the face of Armageddon?" She asks coldly, her stance tensing telling Peter to ready himself and take himself out of his loathful cycle.
"(Bit extreme), but if you put it like that…that's sound a bit self-centered–*coughs* yeah-I guess you could say that, I made a vow and I don't see myself walking away from it if it would cost me the people I care for when this is all said and done…because there's has to be a third option, or a way to on through to the other side" Even if that means letting Amakusa, Mash and even…Nameless, letting them do the deed so you can have a clean conscience? What the hell is wrong with you, Pete? He wavers for a moment. Do you want Mash to be the one with that on her soul–after you failed to save her? What happened to responsibility?
Why have responsibility for any of those corpses? It was his voice, but it wasn't his thought 'Her' so-called 'guardian' would kill you the moment you go against her whims!
"You're swallowed by paranoia it seems–Peter" She sighs, saddened by the poor boy's resilience "Then–" Her muscle tense, "-I'll have to teach you the hard way" With a violent wave of her staff is enveloped by a holy light and a volley of energy, larger than the brunette's stature came for him from nowhere as it it were an act of God.
"CRIPES!" He dodges to the side, and whips himself up towards the treeline, out of sight.
The orb annihilated three or so trees that had been behind the teen vigilante, bringing them crashing down upon the forest floor. "You say you're a normal powerless human. And yet you dodged that–lying is a sin…not the worst, but it doesn't make you any friends"
"I'm not taking this from someone who tried to hit me with something straight out of DBZ!" Peter sniped as leapt from tree, then to another as the holy woman's motions for her staff was enveloped by a power, with another volley of energy coming for his hide.
The tree went timber, knocking into its brethren.
Landing on another tree branch, he took a brief second to think out a quick strategy. Alright, clearly–that staff is the source of her power. Get that out of her hand, web her up and walla–servant taken down! And then he would figure out what to do with her after that.
He leaps as another blast comes his way, zipping down to the ground for a moment before taking evasive maneuvers once more from the ground as he narrowly avoids another discharge.
Pinballing himself off the trunk of a tree, he shoots himself straight for the indigo haired woman.
Her reactions honed, she didn't even flinch at him flying head first into her–she readied another volley, the staff becoming enveloped "Forgive me" she asked wordlessly.
Spider-Sense flaring, Pete quickly thwipped his wrists to the ground and brought himself down with a thud as the blast nearly came down over him faster than before.
Intending to keep any form of momentum he quickly arose and barreled himself to the woman in no short then two seconds.
With a hefty right hook, he aimed for the woman's lower abdomen–staggering her somewhat. It was just enough for Pete to web her face and grasp her staff.
Alright, she should be off kilter enough that this'll be a quick stea–Her grip was firmer than he had expected considering the circumstances and the blinded woman just took her staff (with the brunette still attached) and casted it into the ground with Samsonian might.
The wind knocked out of him, a six inch deep human indentation formed into soil–Holy crap! He sputtered, gasping for air. spider-sense flared something fierce–snapping his arms parallel to his head, he shoots webs and pulls himself towards nearest tree trunk as the still blinded woman brought down thunder, this time intending to use the blunt force of staff itself in conjunction with whatever energy she was bringing forth like a bolt from the blue.
Even just avoiding the impact, the shockwave sent him flying faster than he wanted, into the base of the trees that helped him escape.
He hit, chest first and it hurt worse than a punch in the gut. Air still escaping him worse than before, he barely gets back up as he then promptly bends over backwards as the (now unblinded) holy woman almost clocks him with her staff.
He sends a fist into her side, pulls the trigger on his web shooters and at that instant with all the willpower he could muster with his lungs still compressed–swings her into the treeline.
Three to four trees went down as she hit them back to back making an ungodly boom as they were torn from they were rooted and fell to the ground they once had risen above.
He took in what barely could pass as a breath, "Tim–*cough*-ber" flinging himself into the treeline to oversee the state of the servant.
The indigo-haired servant was on her hands and knees, barely frazzled. Her attire, as elegant as it was ravishing, had been dirtied and at some points ripped. Her veil had fallen off during her crash but other than–she looked fine, she wasn't even bleeding or seriously injured in any critical way.
Oh thank god…He thought relieved, only facepalm at the fact that this meant she wasn't out of commission. But, she doesn't have her staff! Said armament laying twelve feet away from her on her right.
Being to draw, he leaps from tree to tree and has the holy woman stuck to the ground–expending both cartridges just to make sure she'd stay down.
Landing with his usual finesse at where her staff laid, he picked it up and turned to the Nega-Jeanne's servant with a cocksure demeanor as she labored herself ragged to get a piece of the brunette.
Spider-sense still told him to stay on his guard, probably she's literally right in front me and awake he figured. "What a rush? Literally knocked the wind out of me–I'm probably not gonna recommend this type of experience to my friends. Sorry, but I hope you understand" He quipped, holding the holy woman's staff between his arm and his side as he exchanged cartridges.
The empty ones fell to the ground as the teen paced over to the indigo haired woman, placing her a few feet away from her–he crouched to look her in the eye. He rested on her staff. "Now that I have you here–any tips on your boss?" keeping his tone light, his more cavalier person taking hold. He snaps his fingers "Any embarrassing secrets? Like was she a bedwetter? Have a shrine to her favorite boy band? Went through an edgy pha–actually nix that, she's still in her edgy phase!" he snarked with a devil may care grin.
The holy woman looked at him with an intensity that could melt ice, her body moving to and thro as she thrashed. "You're delaying the inevitable!" she said sternly, she bared her teeth at him with a rage Peter chalked to the berserker within her.
"That's one way to look at this–bit of downer way thou–"
The brunette was cut off "Kill me! Or I won't stop until you're dead by my own hands…" she said lowly. "..,please, you won't like what comes next"
He frowned at this "You're still on about that? That's not the way I do things" Okay how do I go about this? Call Mash and the others, see if Da Vinci or Doc have anyway I can maybe stop her from being all murder-happy…He thought to himself in somewhat of a loss. Or I could just have the others finish her off while she's constrained "Tch" No–that is so messed up, what am I Willy Fisk? Punisher? There has to be some other way He palmed his face, standing up and groaning.
Looking at her staff, his bare digits clasping it and feeling the hum of the mana that formed it flowing. His hairs stood on the back of his neck, it didn't feel natural. He sighs, "Doc? Do you read me?" No answer, maybe the signal was jammed or—spider-sense flared.
Tearing the webbing from soil and grass, she stood up hard, fast and went straight for the brunette. Her movements slowed (but not by much) as she began sending web/dirt cover fists at the boy. Each missed hit made the air pop from a force that would cave in Peter's skull.
Peter bobs and weaves, making sure the staff was out of her reach and then leaping to take evasive maneuvers from the holy woman and quickly plan his next move.
His heel was caught though and she sent him back to the ground he tried to escape.
"Ugh" His hands still clasped staff, eyes wide and he rolls to his left as the indigo haired woman punches a five foot hole straight into the ground with a single fist. Her pupils sharp she pulls her hand out and continues to go for the now standing Peter before he can even have a second to breath.
Thinking on his feet as she barrels for him, he tosses the staff upwards with a webshot in toe. It clings to a tree, and Peter begins attaching web stands from any surface to the berserk-servant. But she just kept coming, pulling branches, dirt and trees themselves to keep coming for him.
She was slowed, yes, nearly covered head to toe in webbing–but by sheer force of will, the holy woman kept forward momentum.
*click* *click*
He was out yet again, Wonderful he thought dryly–inhaling through his nose he came up to her "Say goodnight!" He sends a fist right to the jaw, before subsequently landing another knuckle on her once serene-now-mad features. With a flurry of punches into her gut, chest and face Peter found himself breaking a heavy sweat as she kept standing. "Just. Go. DOWN ALREADY!" he snarled, his left fist going into her left cheek.
With a determined ferocity, her own skull batted the fist away. "Stop." And all at, the weblines break violently "Pulling." with a resounding and tumultuous boom.
Peter gasps as he finds himself in her embrace, both arms around him. The world goes topsy turvy fast as the brunette is suplexed by the indigo-haired servant. "Your punches!"
The impact leaves a six foot deep hole, that dazes the teenage vigilante and makes him hurt like hell "That's…gonna leave a mark…" he quips weakly, his vision blurry but nevertheless seeing the hazy form hanging over him.
The holy woman, her more dangling attire torn into rags that still held enough integrity to keep her chastity, flexed. The webbing still attached to her came off her and any of it that didn't was taken off swiftly by her own hand.
Ahead of any possible evasive move he could, she down upon him, straddling his hips and both her hands to his neck and beginning to choke him "...yeah, not into this kind of stuff if I'm being honest…" he gagged, using his own strength to try and get her off him by grabbing her wrists.
The woman went from feral to just disappointed as she regained control. "Will those be your last words, Peter?"
"No clue…night's still young" he responded, face beginning to turn a shade, cringing as he grip was lessened by his struggle (just barely), air flowed into his lungs "...also not fair that you're using my name when I don't know yours—kinda rude" he snipes as he tries to push the woman off him, but she was sturdier than she seemed. She is going to kill me for that isn't she? I need to think–
"My name is Martha…I apologize for not telling you earlier" she says sincerely as she increases pressure upon him, the work Peter had done was nullified in that instant.
"You have a weird way of saying you're sorry!" he yelped, putting his own will at full blast to counteract her strength. His muscles tense, his heels kick up dirt as he tries to moor himself.
"Because I am…" Her grip strength fades for a moment and as the brunette tries to take initiative to free himself from her grasp–he feels a droplet hit his face, cheek to be more exact and slide off his features. Another, and then another. "...I have no right to have been in his presence" No rage and no serenity on her sublime features–her azure eyes filled with nothing but despair at the lot she had found herself in.
This gave Peter pause. What the hell?
"...if I'm this close to falling to sin. Even if it is because of her tampering…" She moved to him quickly, burying her face in his shoulder.
The Parker Boy didn't know how to take this. And he could get the words out of his mouth fast enough "Are…are you okay?" he said unsuredly. The answer was obvious, but formalities existed for a reason.
She didn't answer at first, "I want to kill you badly–batter you until your corpse is but a puddle" she answered mournfully, not raising her features from his shoulder.
"That's not you talking–right?" he asked cautiously.
"It's what I've become, and what I've done…" The Dragon Witch took some extra joy when she set her eyes on the Rider that she had summoned. Someone who knew and followed her good-for-nothing master in life. And Jeanne had made sure the madness in Martha wasn't one to gawk at–that'd she'd be aware–be able to stave off–but inevitably, the holy woman would have to indulge herself with what bubble underneath. "...I have blood on my hands…sons and daughters that will never prosper, and parents that will never see them grow…I prayed to keep her influence at bay–that the Lord's angel of justice would hear my call" She remembered seeing the Rider days after the Messiah's death, though justice had been corrupted into vengeance by that point. Skin burned to reveal a crimson skull amidst a cobalt flame—seeking anything as recumpence for being damned "I need penance…"
His shoulder had become drenched with tears. He sighed and he cringed, embracing the holy woman in a full embosom. "I can't say that I know what you're going through…but whatever she's done to you—it's not right" No duh, Pete He rolled his eyes at his own inner sarcasm. "But why does it have to end with me…ending you?" Because she already has a master, and the madness enhancement probably won't go away even if I somehow contract or convince her! The answer was right in front of him, and he didn't like it.
"I'll kill you…don't make me kill you…not after you and your flock gave some hope back to this land…" she raised her eyes, then pushed herself upwards to look down upon the boy in shame. Her blues met his hazel and Peter couldn't help but look away in shame.
There has to be another way–why? She's a murderer and dead already. You don't need to make a fuss about this...just because she regrets it—it doesn't make up for those lost lives! Boy, what'd he do to face King Arthur again…at least she didn't make feel like he was being led like he was putting a rabid dog out of its misery.
He couldn't ignore the details of the problem before him and he didn't know how to go about it. Peter Parker didn't know what would happen if nudge himself over this line–even with the knowledge of what his opponent was–would he still be himself? Was it so foolish to question his morality with phenomena that were just data materialized into a physical form, data that was copied from the Throne (the word irked him) probably time and time again.
If he was to be objective about this–if was even able to kill a servant–wouldn't it just be like deleting a corrupted copy of the main file? He had done that plenty of times without incident. He could just apply that same logic here. Servants were just copies, not individuals, not people…none of them were people…but they are though "Martha…I–" whatever he was going to say never came out as the full blunt force of familiar escutcheon banged into the holy woman and sent her tumbling away from him.
His hazel eyes met the worried but relieved lilacs of his junior, "Senpai!" By her side was the Saint of the Flag, who seemed glad to see the Master of Chaldea alive, if not bewildered. "Are you injured? How many fingers am I holding up?" She asked worriedly, holding three of them in front of the boy who was beginning to regain color in his face.
Peter stands himself back up, as he answers "three…" he says sourly, feeling sore.
Mash was puzzled, but realized he was more focused on the task at hand "Right" she nodded in a serious yet cute manner as her head bobbed.
This bewilderment of Jeanne went to the wayside as the ruler raised aloft her banner in defiance to her master's attacker. I'm glad we weren't too late, the blonde thought to herself while attempting to read the enemy servant before her. A rider with berserker traits as expected, but there was something more, something familiar about the holy woman to Jeanne.
Said servant picked herself up with a hollow sigh–"My master's unbroken reflection…" she cracks her knuckles and her neck before squaring herself. "...if I failed with him, you were my final hope" her stance became more conservative as the Master of Chaldea put himself beside the ruler.
The boy's attire was in rough shape, tears in the pants and dirt scattered about his person. He looked tired and Martha knew the boy hadn't exactly had a true moment's rest since La Charite.
The ruler as well noticed the brunette's state "perhaps it'd be best if you let us take on this rider, Peter–use your command seal and send word to others that…" she drew off as Peter gave her a staunch look.
He opened his mouth to say something, but words never materialized–what am I going to do? He mulled, there has to be a way through this. He looked to the indigo haired holy woman who waited for his response–and then eyed Jeanne.
"If your master is lost, it is up to those who understand the inherent nature of this plight to guide him…but you're lost as well."
Jeanne frowned at this statement, thought less hostile than the front she wanted to put on "I make no illusions to what I feel for the path before me" even if I don't know what I should feel now
Martha, with a heavy sigh, shakes her head in consternated manner "Do you truly believe there's something wrong with you? That what you're doing is in vain?"
"No–never! If I had the chance to live my life again, knowing the fate the Lord had for me…I'd still walk it" The blonde said with a heavy valiance. "Because I had the ability before me to change my country for the better, and as a right given to me by my maker–I had the utmost province to use it"
"But do you think you're worthy, even after seeing my master's wrath–you're supposed wrath?" The holy woman asked critically.
With a downtrodden look–Jeanne didn't answer, but kept her flag standing anyhow.
Martha smiles, "Neither of you will best her if you're so burdened by these doubts…I am, was, Saint Martha"
Mash gasped, "Saint Martha?! As in the saint who calmed the giant armored dragon, Tarrasque?"
Jeanne's features became disheartened, "No…"
Peter just frowned, "of course Nega-Jeanne summoned you…making one of Jesus's friends into a cold blooded killer…" he shakes his head, eyes clenched "Guess she does have a sense of humor" he clenched his fists in frustration, said fists sparking "I'm so sorry…" he says hollowly under his breath as the electricity dissipates.
"I tasked myself to follow you, to see if either you truly had the strength to cast judgment upon my master for what she had done…though I have sympathies for you plights, a rolling stone collects no moss…you need to be firm in what you want and face the oncoming damnation before you!" She places her hands together, and tilts her hand down to pray, eyes closed "O', Tragic Drake Who Knew Naught of love…" a shift in the atmosphere, an increase in pressure. A blinding light came from nowhere and in its place came toppling timber and a resounding BOOM that shook the ground.
"...like a star–"
Behind Martha, stood a beast titanic size–bigger than Fafnir with the shape similar to that of a savage tortoise. Six legs, horns and what looked like a beared.
"Tarrasque!" Martha sounded off while looking sorry, and embarrassed-but ready to begin the fight anew. "I said you wouldn't like what happens next, Peter but you leave me no choice"
The dragon roars, spewing fire into the air to show his dominance–when finished, smoke puffs from his nose as he begins his onslaught.
Minutes before, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had sat in quiet engrossment—
"Lady, you don't know me I can't just do that–even if you are right, and I am keeping a secret and I am even able to take down a servant (human remember), it's easier said than done–and I rather not compromise who I am…"
"Even in the face of Armageddon?"
"(Bit extreme), but if you put it like that…that's sound a bit self-centered–*coughs* yeah-I guess you could say that, I made a vow and I don't see myself walking away from it if it would cost me the people I care for when this is all said and done…because there's has to be a third option, or a way to on through to the other side"
The exchange between the evil Jeanne's servant and the strange master was quite the revealing one. That boy sure has his priorities skewed…thinking we're still people, that it matters if we live or die Marie laid on his side, resting, eyes closed, cute as button and making the musician so glad that the Lord had granted humanity–despicable as it was–as fondness for the touch of each other. Considerate, even it is rather dumb he smiles. He's no mage–what sort of twist did you give him, God, to befoul him with a front row seat to this utterly disgusting side of the world? He asked, though not expecting to receive an answer.
He was a follower of the savior's father–but he knew enough of himself that the Good Lord didn't answer trash like him. Didn't stop him from producing songs that could grace him and his children–but the composer was only good for that.
He stifled a laugh, poor boy–such confidence held behind a shamble of a persona…he frowns, he's one those self-sacrificing types…no wonder Marie took an instant liking to him. She's always been a fan of those kinds. He wasn't, lord no, they always seemed to drown in their own turmoil or the environment they helped create—their big talk never truly changing the world. He frowned, guess I'm a hypocrite he thinks to himself when his mind draws to one individual–if he were ever to manifest.
"Utter crap, that's what this is? Isn't it?" he asked himself under his breath. Reunited with Marie, but in a time where humanity's true face was making yet another performance–just as it did when they took her away from him. An unblemished flower that meant no harm–killed by a jack booted man of so-called 'justice'.
Yes, admittedly, they had grown apart. She had wedded, became a queen as well a mother. Meanwhile, he had traveled Europe, failed courting another before finding Constanze. He had children with her and still kept in contact with Nannerl, his beloved sister. And while he had found pure joy–he still longed for that pure, yet avaricious girl he had met so long ago.
Marie was always such a distant flower in a garden he could dream to walk through. He was refuse, talented refuse but refuse all the same that's why accepted the world before him as what it was. Through the trials and tribulations of courting Constanze and raising his two boys after suffering many losses of his other children. As well as writing to his heart's content, melodies for all to hear. This, with some small hope that Marie would think of him fondly as she did when they were still young.
He held no anger for her sake, because she was worth it.
His eyes became sharp as the first signs of violence rang in his ear "Of course…" he said with a sigh. Though he remained seated, listening and gauging what would happen. That young man needed a lesson, and he couldn't agree more. Considerance for your fellow man, even if we aren't anymore, is all well and good. But life can't always go how you want. If things got too dire, he would alert Marie, the holy man and that grumpy archer–he wasn't heartless. But the boy needed to face reality. Because if not, he would fail Marie, break her illusion of what heroes were. And he could not live with himself if she fell into despair. He didn't necessarily care what the boy could be, superhero or non–I honestly enjoyed his squirming when his quite obvious lies came out in the open–though why would he honestly care if we knew or not. Who could we tell? We are nothing but memories, not like we can affect the future…He bit his lip, remembering how this all was happening. I can always be wrong–but it's not like there will be anyone to reveal his secret too if the Dragon Witch is victorious.
He was drawn out of his thoughts as he felt a shift in the air, an increase of mana and sudden boom that awoke Marie and drew the tanned red clad servant from their spirit forms.
Amadeus saw as ruler and archer's eye met, the holy man's expression was one of concern while the archer's was that of a dry frustration. "Fucking cape…" the composer heard the red bowman swear under his breath.
The night sky became bright for an instant as a pillar of flame thrusted itself into the air a few miles away from them.
Without an exchange of words between them, the red clad servants broke into a sprint leaving the composer and the queen in the dust.
Being one to never be in the dumps, Marie quickly arose from her seat with Amadeus in toe, though with a huff and a glum frown. She flicked his head, and he gave her a playful scowl. "Nobody likes a grump, Amadeus–come on! Let us do what servants must!"
"If we have to, Marie" he says in a lazy manner befitting the character he gave himself. Though, he was saddened that the brief moment he was beside Marie had been snuffed like a candle's flame. "Though I'm sure I won't be much he–"
"Pish posh, trash is good for many things" she extends her hand in a poised manner, with a delicate smile inviting him to be better than he was. He couldn't help himself, she was Marie Antoinette, and he'd never dare to do anything to extinguish her light.
"Like rubbernecking–I've always been good at that" he says with a mischievous grin that makes the Queen of Lilies roll her eyes.
From tree to tree, ground to the air with barely a moment to orientate himself as Tarrasque shook the ground he treaded and whipped his tale through the overgrowth.
Initial first moments of the beast provocation had been a maelstrom of noise, movement and his servants doing their best to land attacks on the leviathan of a beast. And all Peter could do was feel frustrated at how powerless he truly felt in this entire scenario.
Between landings and dodgings of fire, he had reloaded his web shooters for the third time in the last thirty minutes. He hastily noted only having four or so cartridges left. Dammit was the word that kept being repeated in his headspace as he attempted to web the beast's gigantic feet to the forest's floor.
The beast simply moved as if the webbing was barely a hindrance. Because it wasn't.
Dammit how could he let it get this bad. He landed, spider-sense flared and the dragon's tail was head down for him like it was a hammer and he was a mole.
He tumbleweeded to the side and came shoulder to shoulder with the lavender head. "Any luck?" He asked half heartedly, cringing at the sight of her as she was another reminder of how screwed this was.
Mash shook her head, "No, unfortunately–we'd need an anti-fortress or anti-dragon noble phantasm, senpai" She frowned, "But I don't have an exact answer if that would defeat him permanently" she admitted
Tarrasque, getting the teens in his sights, spewed flame that barreled its wait to them through knocked down trees and any of the ground that had remained intact since he was summoned.
"GET BEHIND ME!" Mash slammed her shield into the ground and braced against it. Peter got close, holding the shield with her, his hand around her waist, his chest to her back. Both of them dug their heels into the ground as the torrent fire intensified.
"HNNNGH!" They both cringed in unison, as the force of blast kept pushing, and its heat made it feel like they were boiling.
It stopped, the ground right behind the escutcheon was still green—beyond that, a massive trail of destruction like an asteroid had fallen to earth taking everything it could with it before it stopped.
They took evasive maneuvers as Tarrasque began to stomp his way towards them–Peter taking the initiative, grabbed Mash by the waste with one hand and slung his way to one of the few trees left standing in the near vicinity as the child of Leviathan barreled into their initial direction.
The tree began to tip when Peter and Mash made impact, getting her into a bridal carry–the teenage vigilante leapt to Earth "Dammit…" he said in a quiet and haggard manner, "Romani!? Da Vinci!? Do you read us!?" he asked in desperation.
Mash answered as Peter let her go, "Chaldea's connection became unstable just after the Doctor alerted Jeanne and I of the enemy servant"
Peter arms sparked, "Of course it did–" This is all your fault, because of your freaking shit getting in the way of what needs to be done! His eyes became sharp, and his head swiveled.
Jeanne had taken the liberty of facing Martha, and their bout seemed to be going as better than it did when Peter had taken her on. Saint who calmed the rampaging dragon now has a few noticeable cuts and bruises from Jeanne's flagstaff.
You're useless here, Pete and that's been kind of a theme hasn't it? Spider-sense flares, he looks over his shoulder to see the armored chelonian-esque beast turning towards them. It roars deep from its throat. And I haven't done much to make anything better have I? He growls, Mash eyes widen in worry as her master's entire body language becomes frighteningly frigid.
"We need to start moving, use your…" she trails off as she gets a better look at him.
He feels her on his shoulder, he moves and gets away from her. Not meeting her gaze. After failing her time after time, he didn't deserve to even look her in the eye "Peter–" her question is cut off as a resounding roar of an annoyed drake alerts her to the coming of her master's other servants.
Landing on his feet, Nameless slides just a few feet from the teens. He had just fired fifty or so projectiles into the beast's scalp but they had done nothing but piss it off. And before it could retaliate, Amadeus, Marie and Amakusa added their two cents to the raging beast. Not denting him in any way, but distracting him as well as sincerely pissing him off.
This gave a moment of relief to the teens, "You're just one to attract trouble, aren't you, master?" The archer asked snidely, receiving no response from the brunette–though his entire forearm had become enveloped in electricity.
If we don't have anything that can really take that overgrown turtle down. All logic, and everything Da Vinci has taught me, dictates that it'll go away if I can take out whoever summoned it…
And without any words, Peter just threw himself straight in the middle of Jeanne and Martha's brawl leaving both the archer and shielder in the dust.
Moments before–
Jeanne digs the tip of her staff into the ground, pushes herself into the air and decks her fellow saint in the face with her heels–staggering her for mere moments as the Saint of the Flag lands, orients her staffs parallel, clasps it with both hands sends it forward to Marth's stomach.
Penetration is made, but only by a few inches–the indigo haired woman stopping the end of the staff from going all the way through with gloved hands.
With Tarrasque's Tamer posthastally, driving the blonde back with just her own strength–letting go of the flagstaff.
Jeanne's heels skid, almost losing her balance. She digs her staff's blunt bottom into the ground to stay standing. Am I worthy? She asked herself, as looked towards one who had followed the messiah in life. Is this all supposed to happen? She readied herself to begin the bout anew, as did Martha.
They come to blows.
If she is indeed following my other, then maybe I do truly want this
She keeps her distance, using her staff as a way to bound away from the dragon rider's deadly blows and executing jabs when she finds the chance.
Someone who followed the righteous on the side of the me who wants vengeance–it's so obvious, yet…
Jeanne misses a moment and receives a fist to her gut. She cringes. It doesn't feel right– She coughs and tastes some blood in her mouth. The blonde forces herself to stay upwards and not keel over. "Before this goes any further…Saint Martha, what do you think of her wish for this country?" she asked with a pained tone.
The rider answers as she heals some of her wounds that the ruler had inflicted. "She's a broken saint raging against those who were not there at her death, blaming everyone as if they're guilty when only a few shared the sin she wants rectified" she says with a sigh "But I barely have any choice in the matter. All I want is for those who are willing to face her to do so without hesitation. And after what she's made me do, I deserve…" She frowns, and looks away from ashamedly she whispers something that Jeanne could not hear but she did hear the tail end of it "-nance"
"I see" The Saint of Flag nods "Please forgive me" she says sincerely, readying her flagstaff as though it were a spear. "I never wanted anyone to suffer because of my own selfishness"
Tarrasque's Tamer with a deep sigh, "You're close, but you're still not there–you're too considerate…same as that master" she folds both hands into knuckles and barrels her straight for Jeanne.
Jeanne sprints forth, the tip of the staff aimed straight for the Berserk-Rider's chest. Martha notices this and bats away the staff's end with her gauntlet and comes in close for the blonde to take her out.
The Holy Maiden Savior, braces herself—
ZZTTBOOM
The crackling of electricity rings through Jeanne's ear and Martha is sent sideways after a suckerpunch to the face.
The blonde's amethyst eyes trace the swift movement of Chaldea's master as moves in to bring more in the way of fisticuffs. And seeing how furious the master was in his attacks, Jeanne changed her attention to helping the others face Tarrasque, though keeping an eye on the proceeding battle. Please, Lord, if you are still with me-let this be the right choice…
This is all my fault
He didn't give Martha an inch. His entire being running on rage and instinct, he was on autopilot. Both arms sparking from his fingertips to his shoulder, eviscerating his mystic code's stability, tearing it and leaving burns.
I let Lev get away
A fist to her stomach, her face, thigh, shoulder
I let Mash get hurt! She wouldn't have been turned if I just stayed with her!
Martha is sent flying, both come back as Peter forces her too–using a webline to drag her back through the air to the heavy and electrifying hand of the teenage vigilante.
I let Olga die when I said I would protect her!
He growls, delivering a haymaker to the saint–no punches being pulled at this point and just letting every bit of tension he had built up to this point be let out.
Everyone's dead and will stay dead because of my own crap. Because I won't just take what fate's given to me. Mary Jane won't come back if I don't start playing for keeps he feels a knot in his stomach.
He grasps the Dragon Rider by what was left of her cloak and just keeps on hitting her, no moment to take a breath, electricity still sparking and sorrow still running deep.
I let Jeanne get away because I couldn't just cross that line. They're not even alive; they are just corpses; a more primeval tone ran through his mind.
ZZTTBOOM
I can't even be honest with anyone, because I have protect everything that I have
ZZTTBOOM
Everything. I. Had.
ZZTTBOOM
I don't know where to go–
ZZTTBOOM
I have to keep lying, I have just keep up the facade–
ZZTTBOOM
Even if it means working with someone who tried to kill me! Who makes make me scared for no reason at all–
ZZTTBOOM
What the hell?! I…I just want to do the right thing
ZZTTBOOM
Ben, what do I do?
His gaze up to that point had been put through a tunnel and as his rage became less intense, he focused on his enemies features
Her face, even bruised, bloodied from his knuckles, was still beautiful. But he wasn't focused on that.
Her breathing was shallow "...please…finish it…" tears streaming, she wept and begged for release "...I don't want to be this…do it…" she felt like someone who was very much alive "do it"
He was shaken to his core, his pupils shrunk and terrified. His stance began to become less sure of what he was doing, he dropped her and the world around him became soundless as he looked at his hands and inturn, himself. "I'm sorry…" he let her go and backed away. What was I about to do? He asked, but he knew the answer.
He didn't get time to ponder this, as Martha, battered, picked herself up "I know…and I am as well…but that doesn't solve the world's incineration…" she came at him, throwing hard fists that Peter dodged and caught.
In a deadlock, Dragon Rider batted her skull into Peter's. Kneed him in the chest. But Peter still stood, trying to break contact but the Saint's grip was something fierce.
They pushed against each other, getting attacks when they could but neither going down.
"You have to save everyone that still lives and breathes in this country…why are you making this so DIFFICULT?!" she asked through a strained tone.
"I know–"Peter didn't know what else to do but keep pushing. "-I guess I'm just too stupid to take a hint!" he says with a hollow laugh. There was nothing funny about this.
"Then I suppose I'll just kill you and be done with this!" she pulled and brought Peter to her, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him to the ground. Peter tries to pick himself up, but feels the heavy boot of the Saint who tamed a child of Leviathan "You've failed, I'm sorry, but you're finis–HAGH!" she coughs blood, and looks at her chest.
A blade shrouded by darkness had penetrated her back and gone straight through her heart, its tip protruding from her bosom. She looked over her shoulder in shock, but there was a hint of relief as she looked at her killer who was encumbered by shadow. "Thank you…" she mouths to him.
The shadowed knight nods, swiftly pulling the blade out of her form and letting her fall to the ground beside the brunette.
And at that exact same time, a torrent of dark power sailed forth and hit Tarrasque knocking him sideways but not killing him.
The six other servants had just barely survived the maelstrom–Mash on a dime, threw down LORD CHALDEAS to protect her allies from an attack that was frighteningly familiar.
The child of Leviathan picked itself back up, but had become haggard. His features became confused then saddened as it realized what had happened. But knowing his summoner well, this was fine.
He sighed and allowed himself to be broken down into the mana that had been used to summon him.
Peter slowly got himself back up and came to Martha's side, clutching her as her body began to dematerialize.
The shadowed knight kept his distance. The Sorcerer's Apprentice…then does this mean my liege's master is…This thought was put to the wayside as the Hound of Merlin overlooked the brunette with pity. Just as the Sorcerer said…he's so out of his element–-
Peter felt himself on the brink, I knew she was suffering and someone else had to do the job to finish her off… he wraps, his tears falling on to her features. What am I going to do when it's Jeanne's turn? Or any of the others? Will I just let everyone do it for me…He was a master, that's how it worked. But being who he was, it felt wrong, but even being the one to possibly end them himself–it felt like he was going against everything he held dear I'm such a fucking mess "I'm sorry I couldn't help you…"
"It's fine, this is how it's supposed to be" Martha weekly looks up to him and smiles, "heh…perhaps I went too far with my lesson…but don't weep for someone who tried to kill you. Please learn from this and grow stronger…"
And what if I can't? What if I can't do this? What if I just keep being a failure? He asks himself, the Dragon Rider reading him like a book.
"Stop…being so walled-off…uncertainty shouldn't be what hinders you…" The six other servants came up behind Peter and couldn't bear to look at them, he couldn't only imagine their expressions.
Sensing his despair, the Girl from Chaldea lowered herself down to her master.
He felt Mash against him, taking him in a hug. I don't deserve this…I've done nothing but hurt you, Mash…
Martha's vision blurs but she still sees the Holy Maiden Savior, "Stay true to what you were in life, don't give into the Dragon Witch's claims…" Her body was almost completely gone. Knowing well that this Saint was on the right track, she decided to impart little tip to the Master of Chaldea's flock "My master's dragon, like my dear Tarrasque, is not so easily defeated…you must a find a dragon slayer as no other sort of hero can best Fafnir. Seek the city of Lyon, there perhaps, you'll be lead to that hero which will take her drake down…permanently"
Peter feels her less and less, and he curses himself for everything that's happened up to this point.
And Martha chides him. "...I'll find you again, Peter. In my correct faculties this time…you walk a good path and though you may fumble you can still learn. And I'd like to see you grow…"
I'd only make you disappointed, he admitted to himself.
And like that she is gone.
Peter raises his head, defeated, tired and ashamed. As his eyes adjust to focus on the world around him–they go wide, as does Mash and Nameless's "No…" he says in alarmed manner "Nonono–" This was definitely the last thing he needed.
"How is she here?" Mash asked, her voice quivering.
Nameless could only stare. His features at first equal parts regretful and disgusted, before returning to something more stoic.
Coming beside the shadowed knight was a familiar and haunting face. Clad in blackened armor, with platinum blonde hair, yellow eyes and pale skin. She wielded the corrupted blade of Everlasting Victory and smiled confidently at the poor boy from Queens.
She crosses her arms smugly, before granting her hand to him to raise him up "Salutations…" King Arthur greeted him with a cool grin that made the boy absolutely petrified "...my master"
Author's Note:
HELLO! I'm back for the moment. Apologies for the hiatus, my job took a lot of my attention the last few months-not too mention a few bouts of writer's block. Once again, apologies. Anyway, shout outs to Evowizard25 for the help here and there when it came to writing this chapter-I really do appreciate your help!
And just to get this out of the way-this chapter was partially inspired by Seanathan331's Fate Grand Order: Slayer Chronicles take on the Martha fight. Though where Doomguy is cold blooded killer who would mercy kill a suffering Martha just to put her out of her misery, even if it gave him crossed thoughts-I wanted to go 'left', where that story went 'right' with what could happen if the person fighting everyone's favorite punch saint was someone with a guilt complex who wasn't so used to idea of taking a life and how that would play out for both parties involved. Though it's up to you guys if I was even successful in trying to explore that.
And I just made one small edit to Chapter 2. So, if any of you received an odd update but everything pretty much looks the same-double check that chapter.
Other than that, that's all I have for you folks at the moment. So have good morning/afternoon/evening and I'll see you all at some point in the future-Peace!