Chapter 3

This was ridiculous, Alpharius decided. Her nature as a Servant made her attuned to prana that made finding Magi incredibly easy. Or was it that the souls of the Magi glowed brighter to her soul-sight. The difference between the warp and the magik of this world was an interesting one but Alpharius discarded the line of thought. What use was this hypothesising when she could not decide on a Master? The Magi were arrogant beyond her expectation and even her mind was sympathetic for the Heroes of Humanity to serve under such creatures.

Opening the vial, Alpharius drained it. The blood soothed the burning hunger for prana that dominated her psyche over the last day. Her operatives provided a steady supply of blood, but it was never sufficient. No, she needed a Master. Idly, the Primarch continued to swing her legs over the edge of the roof. It paid dividends to study human mannerism and copy it in her behaviour. Due to some base instinct, humans tended to react more positively females more than men. That was the reasoning for her current appearance. Of course, Alpharius had no such compulsion. Women were beautifully lethal operatives that could infiltrate areas denied to their gender counterparts, but Alpharius would slay them all without hesitation.

It had been an annoyance to deal with the ruthless murders and Alpharius fully intended to repay the Servants. Whilst Alpharius admitted that it was necessary to hide the Moonlit World from the general populace, why could they not do it in a more subtle method? At least, have the decency to hide the bodies. Instead, Alpharius was forced to use her operatives to prevent the mundane suspecting a shadow war was occurring in their city. Local policing units were simpletons compared to the Raven Guard, yet Alpharius would tread lightly. After all, she could not allow her mind to dull when she was evading the other Servants. That was without mentioning that she was currently delusional and suffering mood swing. Once she took her prana, she would be sane once more.

One Servant and Master combination was being a nuisance. Their dramatic habit of observing the city from the roof tops costed Alpharius time that she could not afford. Alpharius mentally recalled their appearance. Most likely a Caster or Archer class, for them to rely on height so much. Once, she had dared to point Hydra's Spite at the pair. One shot would eradicate their existence from the world with the fury of a star. It was a casual act that held no intent behind it yet the Servant immediately locked eyes with her. Their pursuit was sloppy but dogged enough for Alpharius to take it seriously and discard the "Norman" persona.

Two Master attended the local Schola along with another Magus. Ah, Shirou Emiya. Alpharius savoured the name. Even just a label, there was so much about the child. Idealistic to the extreme and a dream for world peace. Weak perhaps but willpower was higher than any other. He would die for his beliefs. A bargain could be reached. She would provide the prana in exchange for her might. She would be the dominant one in their partnership. After all, primarchs were truly born to dominate the galaxy.

Alpharius smirked. Emiya's generosity would kill him. In fact, it was going to be that way if Alpharius didn't act now. Her future Master had accidently stumbled into a skirmish between the annoying Servant and a spearman. Currently, he was fleeing with the speed of desperation, but he was no match for a being made of pure prana.

Thus, the Serpent emerged from the shadow, jealous of man's work. Samuel reared in all of it horrific might, its form pure yet tainted. Venomous lies drooled from its fangs as it bit Adam's heels.

A blast of plasma shot across the corridor, impacting the spearman. The shadows vomited its champion, who bore the veil of darkness so easily. Plasma was a state of matter, weaponised by hydrogen ions and generated in the electromagnetic field of the coils that glowed fluorescent green in the night. It was barely contained as a projectile before the hit ruined the precarious balance. Immediately, the unstable ion reacted with the matter in their surroundings in a fusion reaction that unleashed a wave of thermal heat and displaced air. Despite the science, it was unable to compete with physics-defying magic embedded in the spear. The spearman was careful to spread the shockwaves across the weapon with rapid twirls that no mere human could keep up with. Alpharius was not a human.

She was silently delighted that the spearman survived, it would have been boring otherwise.

"Impossible, no Hero uses firearms," The spearman growled, "Unless they are an Archer, but you cannot be an Archer. Who are you?"

"Names are mortal concept, yet they are imbued with magic. Why would I deign to impart with such useful information?"

Compared to the suppressed violence of the spearman, Alpharius was a master of control. Every step was a declaration of domination. Moon light glittered off the turquoise plates. The shadows moulded themselves into the form of a primarch. When they were finished, the small, diminutive girl was replaced a gene-forged post-human that the corridors struggled to contain. Hydra's Spite dissolved from the material realm in favour of a great sword too large to be practical but in Alpharius' hands it was petty.

"Assassin? Only they can change their appearance as easily as you."

"Cease this useless endeavour," Alpharius chided as he strode across the corridor, "I will not tell you about my class or my identity. We are foes. Now, fight me. Your existence is tiresome. Emiya, flee this place. I shall deal with you latter."

His opponent scowled as the human ran away yet did not act. Instead, he brought his spear level to Alpharius' chest. It was amusing yet Alpharius took the threat solemnly. Anything could happen.

"Lancer, is it? It would make sense after all."

"This is hardly fair," Lancer said, "Where is your honour code, at least grace me with something to remember you by."

"I am the Three-fold Serpent, the Hydra and the Bane of Mortal Man. What more do you want?"

Lancer attacked, his weapon accelerating in a circular motion to deliver a blow to Alpharius' side. It tore through the 'crete that the school was made off yet found itself stopped by the flat of the sword. Not even a centimetre was yielded by the primarch before Alpharius walked towards Lancer.

Shards crumbled from, the wall. Lancer withdrew his spear before engaging once more. Metal rang shrilly as the two blades met again and again. Each contact forced Lancer to retreat again, even if he retaliated with a thrust under Alpharius' guard. Alpharius had planned this well or rather Alpharius was taking advantage of the unique circumstances. This was why the gladius was so widespread. In the tight confines of a military formation, there was no room for sweep arcs in the press. Only the thrust of short sword could be relied on. Three inches of point was better than three feet of edge considering their unique circumstances. Alas, spear thrusting was still a sufficiently effective method for Alpharius to block.

Alpharius watched as Lancer reached a logical conclusion in his mind. With a last spiteful attack, Lancer disengaged and slipped into Astral Form.

"I will kill the brat, mark my words."

Offering no reply, Alpharius watched the Servant escape his grasp with an emotion akin to anticipation. Lancer was smart enough to stop fighting at disadvantage yet that was nothing compared to the next time they would cross each other's paths. Alpharius had watched the duel between Archer and Lancer with keen interest. Each one fought with a combat system that used different key principles that were obeyed. Interestingly, their combat was incredibly dynamic. It was their way of coping with the immense power they wielded at the cost of little defence. In the race between offense and defence, offense had clearly won with great speed.

The skirmish had been done with care, not too much effort to burn away his prana but enough to keep Lancer invested enough not to doubt his might. Confidence and deception had been everything.

As Alpharius descended the stairs, Archer awaited him in the courtyard. Alpharius dipped his head in greeting and continued to walk his own way. Tohsaka was behind her Servant, watching him with a critical gaze.

"You aren't going to fight me?"

"No," Alpharius shook his head. "I am a Masterless Servant. I do not have the prana to duel someone to your capability."

Rin Tohsaka stepped forth.

"I will not join you, either."

Interestingly, she shook her head and asked a question that Alpharius hesitated to answer.

"What happened to your Master?"

Alpharius tilted his head, "My Master is dead. Slain by His favoured son. I will not tolerate any more questions. I have a Magus to contract with. May we meet again the field of battle."

Alpharius dropped silently into house. Lancer was already here; he could feel it instinctually. He could have arrived earlier but that would have costed more prana that Alpharius did not have. Opening the last of his blood supply, he swallowed the blood easily. Memories of other people began to rise but he crushed them mentally. Distractions could not be afforded. Lancer had the room to manoeuvre and use the ridiculous agility that put Aeldari to shame. The utilitarian methodology of Astartesian combat would be heavily disadvantaged when Alpharius had a few clues about the destructive power of the spear, it was certainly enough to pierce through the weak points of the Pythian Scales. It was time to be serious.

The enhanced senses gifted to him by the Emperor was more than enough to pinpoint the location of Emiya. Alpharius strolled through the property into the yard when the timing was perfect. Emiya was halfway, sprinting towards the shed as Lancer followed, predatory. Again, the crimson spear sparkled in the night as raw energy bleed off its form. Lancer was taking him sincerely.

"You."

"Yes, me." Alpharius mocked as he opened his arms. A power glaive formed itself in his hands. It normally required a Third Legion Phoenix Guardian to even wield such a weapon considering its immense size, but Alpharius beyond such limitations. Alpharius considered wielding a plasma pistol but considering the sheer speed that Lancer could reach, he rejected the idea. "Surprised?"

"No," Lancer grinned sardonically as he readied his own spear, "What kind of Servant has an armoury of such beautiful weapons? Caster?"

"I was never a magik user in my past life. I found it distasteful to call upon the powers of the warp. Do not be mistaken, I could yet I do not for the sheer respect." Alpharius didn't mention the daemons involved. As far as he could tell, the warp was calmer than it normally was. After all, the Dark Prince was not yet born from the debauchery of the Aeldari. However, he was not willing to gamble his life on the remaining Chaos Gods. The beauty of innocence.

Alpharius saluted his opponent before charging in. The blade swept outwards as Alpharius grounded himself, halting all momentum. Dust kicked up from the floor as Lancer leaned back before jabbing with his body fully extended to provide additional reach, not much power but the crimson spear appeared lethal. Alpharius had reached the end of his swing and there was no time to bring back the glaive for a block.

Glaives were doubled bladed, the split-second advantage it had over single edged weapons was life or death in the hands of a Legionnaire. The primarch used the butt of the spear to force back Lancer. He brought down the glaive in an overhead slash, followed by a thrust as Lancer weaved through the attack.

This was a gamble; Lancer would not attack on Alpharius' terms and there was plenty of room for him to evade. Alpharius was aware that he could be much faster than he was currently, but he had no experience as moving at such speeds unlike Lancer. If the primarch fought at his own pace, victory would be his.

Alas, Lancer was not willing to play with him. Using the unnatural speed given to him by the Grail, he fell back before darting at speeds that no mere human could reach. So, this was how a human would feel against an Aeldari, Alpharius mused darkly, as he blocked the attack. Lancer was exceptional, normally jumping would be a terrible mistake. Unable to change trajectory or speed, it would leave the user vulnerable to being outflanked or predicted. The spear prevented that; Lancer relied on Alpharius to block as a springboard for the next attack. If Alpharius refused, he would use the spear to push himself away from Alpharius.

It took more than a few clashes to figure out something to disrupt the onslaught.

Alpharius grounded his heels and leaned back as Lancer flew above him, mere inches away from striking his chest. Lancer was prepared and used the same trick of grounding his spear to push himself away before Alpharius could use the glaive. Four, six, eight metres. Hydra's Spite fired twice, once to disrupt the apex of the Lancer's, the second to distract. His shots were as flawless as a primarch. But it was nothing to next projectiles. Thunder hammers, peerless in the Legion's arsenal, individually weak but with the activation of their power fields, they stuck with the weight of Land Raiders.

Lancer carved few of them apart, but each titanic impact forced him to remain airborne a moment longer. His eye widened at what awaited him. Alpharius held a seemly oversized archaic weapon that thrummed with power. Behind the lascannon, Alpharius smiled.

"Gae Bolg!"

The crimson spear was wreathed in eldritch lightening that crackled as it stoked itself into a rage. Flames spluttered from the tip. Lancer drew back his arm. Alpharius snarled. So, this was a Noble Phantasm. This could kill a primarch. The lascannon was replaced by a power glaive once more. It would be an easy task to stab-

His eyes widened.

One of his hearts had been pieced.

The biological gene-crafted organ that supplied his body with oxygen exploded inside of his body. Agony. Alpharius had no warning before he cried out.

Shred of the bloody mess littered inside his torso.

The primarch kneeled as the spear followed. It seemed evitable. Primarchs were incredible beings that could endure anything. Yet the spear was no mundane tool. It obeyed a different set of rules.

Rage.

Anger towards against the dying light.

Emotions tore thorough the primarch as did the heat. He would not die kneeling. Alpharius had an oath to keep. He would not fail his Creator.

"Pale Spear!"

The Pale Spear emerged into real space. Alpharius grasped the haft. It was different, it felt alive. Alpharius would have felt distain to use such a word, yet it was. It quivered under his grip. The geometrical etching glowed emerald as it called upon powers long forgotten by the galaxy.

When two paragons of a class of weapons clash, one must yield. It could not be any other way. It was simple logic that something better would beat something inferior when applied in the same use. The Pale Spear was older than anything alive.

A single blow from either weapon could lay down either wielder, neither was willing to die. Alpharius raised the spear in defiance.

Bae Golg was casted aside by the Pale Spear, but its unique magical properties drove it ever onwards into Alpharius' ruined heart. The primary heart poured out Alpharius' life out as the red spear pieced Alpharius' warplate. Lancer's body followed. Alpharius gripped the offending Servant and painted a bleeding grin. Blood spluttered from the wound, filling the air with the spicy scent of a primarch's alchemy. Red gloss sheen over indigo-blue, strength defied the ruin of his body that would have slain a mortal.

"Good attempt," Alpharius rasped, "But that is all you get."

Alpharius stabbed the Pale Spear into Lancer's torso before using it as a lever to throw his body over the property. Even as Lancer flew away in the sky, the Pale Spear's unique abilities was taking effect, the Servant's body partially dissolving into inky nothingness. Though, if Alpharius was right, Lancer would survive, considering that he was a being made of pure prana, frozen in material form. The next time they met, Alpharius would be ready.

Perhaps Alpharius should have beheaded the Servant. No, he had no idea what other Noble Phantasms Lancer had and he was already wounded. Lancer would remember with encounter as a humbling. What is the point of fear if no one was there to feel it?

Alpharius pulled out the offending spear with a squelch. His hyper-steel muscles were reluctant to let go and one of his lungs flooded with the ruby vitae that was crucial for his continued existence. The primarch coughed, temporarily clear his throat at the cost of a splattered HUD.

Kneeling, Alpharius took off his helmet and indulged himself in the taste of the crisp air. Terra was beautiful. Moonlit and untainted by war. The exact chemical composition made itself known. For once, Alpharius didn't care and filed the information in the recesses of his memory. The red ruin of his secondary heart ached. It would take weeks for him to recover with his superlative abilities. Now, as a Servant, he could only wait.

Fuyuki City. A suitable name for blissful city. People could walk with the luxury of freedom and democracy. The populus had influence in the workings of the government yet was controlled by businesses. Ironic, that the people in power were the scoundrels that cheated the commoners and twisted them with sweet lies. Hardship was derided as a sign of weakness. Soft. Flaws suppressed from general knowledge. Happiness bought by ignorance and doubt. Yet, something in their nature caused the Emperor to love them. Alpharius believed that it was perseverance. Sheer determination to fight against their odds. But was this instinct being crushed by wallowing in weakness? Alpharius couldn't tell from the sight of the City.

Peace was an alien concept to Alpharius. Or perhaps was unsuited for. What use was infiltration and lies in the ideal civilisation? Guillman was right, it was the greatest irony that the Legiones Astartes were forging a galaxy that they could not participate in. Death would be far more welcomed than to live idleness. The best of Humanity was found in conflict as it also brought out their worst. Yes, war reveal the purest form. It was the scourge that cut away the excess to reveal the diamantine underneath.

But when was the diamantine too small or the ore too impure to consider refining it? Even in the throes of scientific advancement, people still clung onto religion. It was harmful yet what could he do? Chaos was a memetic hazard. The Emperor had tried his best but that had left his sons woefully unprepared. Except Magnus. Alpharius had a feeling that Magnus knew of the denizens of the "Great Ocean" long before the Heresy. Regret was an emotion that tinged his thoughts. This Grail would solve it if it truly worked. All he had to do was triumph.

A blade nicked his skin.

A relatively short chapter, admittedly. I understand that some of you might rail against idea that Alpharius is weaker at the moment but I'll address that latter. What is an Alpha Legion novel without some mystery after all?

Apologies, formatting issues appeared.

Hydra Dominatus!