A GHOST IN A STRANGE LAND

CHAPTER 13

Their departure from the battlefield was delayed, on advice from an Irish Servant.

"Look, they might be pissed-off flying lizards, but they're edible! They don't seem to show any sores, pustules, or anything else that would make me think they've caught the blight that's affecting the countryside. And since they're not native to this Side of the World by this point in history, the Dragon Witch must be bringing them in from somewhere. This flock might not even have been around more than a couple of hours." He grinned. "So get to carving, and bring me back some of the teeth and claws - and I suppose bring some for Da Vinci too. Phantasmal parts make good reagents."

"You SUPPOSE?" There was a sound of a metallic thud.

"OW! Dammit woman, why did you have to use the metal hand to hit me?"

"Because I'd have probably hurt my hand otherwise! Be thankful I didn't use my staff!"

Kratos pointedly ignored the bickering coming from the communicator, focused on butchering the wyvern he was knelt over. When he made mention of his abilities as a hunter, Da Vinci had forged for him an entire set of skinning and carving knives. He had to give the woman credit, they were beautifully made.

He still used the knife he had forged for his wife for the majority of the work. Like the Leviathan Axe, and his son, the knife was one of the few things he had that still connected him to Faye.

However, other things that had been provided for him saw use. Magically treated paper that would soak up any amount of blood that leaked from the 'steaks' he was carving from the wyverns. Containers that would preserve the meat indefinitely and prevent decay from setting in. These were things that would have made their lives in the Wildwoods much easier.

Medusa leaned over his shoulder, watching as he set to his bloody work. She had extracted some claws and teeth from a handful of beasts, and stored them away in a container that had been provided for them specifically for that purpose. Now done with that task, she was observing him.

"You do this well, for all that this beast is new to you. It's not a skill I ever picked up." For a moment, she looked wistful. "There wasn't much game on the Shapeless Isle. It was mainly fish for us…..at least for a time."

Unspoken was what she had eaten as time had passed, and more and more heroes came to her island to slay the monster and spirit her two sisters away. A week had not been enough time to fully educate Kratos in everything, but they had spent a day on the differences between the Greek tales of Kratos' land, and the ones of the land he found himself in.

"My wife did the fishing in our lands. I am merely competent at it, she was far better." He reached down and smacked a questing paw away from the container where the carved meat was resting. "No. You may have the meat once it is cooked. Not before."

"Fou! Fou fou fou. Foungry. Fou KYU!" barked the creature. With the battlefield relatively secure, Mash had let Fou out to wander about some, arguing that he was probably unhappy being confined all the time. He had then proceeded to hover around Kratos as he had harvested meat from a fallen wyvern, making periodic attempts to snatch a bite or two.

None of which had been successful, to the animal's increasing ire.

Smirking, Medusa scooped up the white-furred scavenger, who kicked his legs helplessly in her grasp. "Come now, Fou. Let's not bother the god while he's holding that knife. You don't want to end up on the menu alongside those wyvern steaks, do you?"

"Fou…" The animal deflated, almost seeming to pout, but no longer fought to be freed from Medusa's grasp.

That she had begun to idly scratch behind his ears may have had something to do with that.

Mash was standing guard, carefully watching the Servant who had appeared to aid them on the battlefield (and also averting her eyes from the carving Kratos was doing - Mash understood on some level what needed to be done to get meat from the fields to her table, but seeing it was….something else entirely). Jeanne d'Arc, as she introduced herself, had told them to take as much time as they needed, and then had retreated some distance away, obviously aware that they were wary of her.

And it was not merely their group who was unsure of what to make of her. The survivors of the town had been ready to turn their cannons on her before she had pulled back, out of their range. Though from the animated discussions that had filtered down from the walls, it had not been a unanimous decision. A portion of the soldiers had argued against firing on her if she came closer to the walls, based on her actions on the battlefield, but they had been shouted down, an argument the woman had defused by the simple measure of withdrawing from their effective range, where she now waited patiently.

Kratos placed a wrapped hunk of meat into a container, then placed the lid on top, watching as it hissed as it sealed itself closed.

"Done?" asked Medusa, who by now had managed to flip Fou upside down, and was vigorously rubbing the animal's belly.

Kratos stood. "Yes. Assuming the meat is wholesome, this should supplement our rations for a time. Mash!"

The girl started. "Oh, are you done? Coming!" Mash quickly crossed the distance, kneeling down to load the containers into her shield, carefully keeping her eyes away from the wyvern's bloody carcass.

While Mash was occupied with that, Kratos crossed the grounds until he stood before the Servant, who placidly watched him approach. "Finished, then?"

Kratos gave a grunt of assent. "You said we should speak. Speak."

"If it would not trouble you overmuch, I believe we should withdraw out of the sight of Vaucouleurs. I would not frighten these men and women with my appearance more than I must." A flicker of sadness crossed her face, before it vanished, and calm serenity reasserted itself.

Kratos spared a glance at the sky - the sun was getting low. "We will need to find a place to shelter for the evening, before we speak, if we withdraw from this site now. Marching through the evening in unfamiliar territory is…..unwise."

"There was a roadside inn not too far from here, when I was alive. It's probably abandoned by now - at least going by the state of the villages and inns I've passed on my way into France so far, but if the structure still stands, it would serve our purposes." She frowned. "Once, I would have suggested the forests, but…"

Kratos nodded. "The branches are too bare of leaves to give us cover from either the weather or wyverns, and to sleep amid that much rot and corruption would be to invite disease." Nevermind that Servants, in theory, could not get sick, and Kratos could not remember the last time he had fallen ill - whatever was killing the plants in this land was not natural, and it would not do to assume it could not infect them all. "Lead us to this inn. Unless it has been completely sacked, it should provide us with some measure of shelter."

"Then, please. Follow me."

Jeanne was as good as her word, the building was little more than an hour's walk away from the walls of the town. And better yet, it was still somewhat intact.

"I still don't understand," said Mash, poking about the common room of the inn, as Kratos was tending a fire in the kitchen, over which some of the wyvern steaks were cooking. "Why have an inn barely an hour's walk away from town? Wouldn't it be more secure inside the walls?"

"Ah…." Jeanne's cheeks pinked. "While I cannot confirm this, some of my men spoke of visiting this place while they were stationed near Vaucouleurs. Supposedly, this was less of an inn, and more of a…..house of ill repute. It was allowed to operate by virtue of being outside of the town limits - and outside of the sight of the clergy."

Mash squeaked, but the greater reaction came from Doctor Romani. "Wait…you mean you guys are bedding down in a BROTHEL?"

Medusa nodded, a look of understanding on her face. "That would explain some of the lingering smells, then."

Kratos huffed, turning a skewer of meat over to let the fire lick at its other side. "If there were women of that ilk here, they are long gone. Though I doubt any of them served Aphrodite, as did the ones in Corinth. The building serves our needs. Whatever it was in the past is irrelevant." He drew a skewer of meat off the fire, and took a sniff.

It smelled like cooked meat did. He couldn't detect any odd aromas that might indicate poisoned or otherwise unwholesome flesh. He held it out to Medusa, who also took a whiff of the haunch.

"It smells fine to me, Kratos. As Caster said, I think the worst that it could do to us would be to our bowels."

Kratos gave a grunt, then tore a strip of meat from the skewer, chewed, and swallowed.

Truthfully, not too dissimilar to chicken.

After a moment, when he wasn't struck down by wracking pain, or a sudden urge to purge his gut, he judged the meat likely fit for consumption. "It appears to be safe to eat." He pulled a chunk of meat from the skewer, and tossed it to a certain white-furred creature, who had been salivating from the moment the meat had gone on the fire. Fou agilely snatched it from mid-air, and set into it with a vigor.

Mash was rummaging in her shield. "We'll probably want to supplement that with some of our rations, Mr. Kratos. Just eating meat could lead to scurvy."

"I will leave that to you. As you control our supplies, you are the acting Quartermaster while we are in the field." Mash might have stood just a bit straighter with that announcement, and if there was a flush to her cheeks, her back was to Kratos, so he couldn't tell.

Medusa had already helped herself to a skewer, and was sedately chewing on it. Kratos took another one from the fire, and offered it to their guest, who took it with a bowed head.

"That you would share your food and fire with me is appreciated. If now would be an acceptable time to begin our discussions?" At Kratos' nod, she took a small, dainty bite from her meal, then began speaking. "I've already introduced myself, and you'd have guessed my identity by now if I hadn't, from what the soldiers were saying, but to make it formal, I am Jeanne d'Arc, Ruler-class Servant."

Ruler was not one of the Servants that he and Da Vinci had covered. He had vague memories of Olga Marie mentioning 'Extra Class Servants' that were outside the bounds of the basic 7, way back in Fuyuki, but he also recalled that she said those such classes were rare, and unlikely to be encountered.

So much for that.

Nor was he the only one surprised by this revelation. "An Extra Class Servant on the first Singularity?" Romani groaned, head in his hands. "Why don't I like the precedent this is setting?"

Da Vinci patted Romani on his shoulder. "There there, Roman. Maybe this will be the exception that proves the rule." From the tone of the woman's voice, it was clear she didn't believe that any more than Romani appeared to. "And now I look the fool for not covering Extra Classes when we went over Servants. My apologies for that, Kratos, I'll amend our curriculum, and make sure to have some extra-special cookies for the next lesson. The short and dirty of it is that a Ruler Class is summoned in a Grail War when the War in question is judged to be too dangerous for a human moderator."

Kratos considered the woman seated across the table from him. "Then, you are here as a neutral party?"

Jeanne shook her head. "No. While I have vague recollections of having done so in the past, that isn't why I'm here in France." She frowned. "I think."

Mash, who had been handing out small cans containing a medley of fruits (and another small can with olives, for Kratos), paused in her actions. "You think? Did…..did something go wrong with your summoning, like mine did?"

Jeanne sighed. "Yes. Normally, when a Ruler Class Servant is summoned, they are given a host of abilities to help moderate a Holy Grail War, and enforce the mandates and rules of the war. But those are abilities I find myself without - I don't have the Command Seals a Ruler would be given to control unruly Servants. Nor do I have the True Name Discernment skill, so I could tell at a glance what a Servant's True Name is." She glanced at Mash and Medusa in turn. "So, while I can tell the two of you are Servants, I am unable to tell who you are specifically."

Medusa set her skewer aside, the meat having been cleanly stripped from the metal. "So, then you believe because you haven't been given the typical tools of a Ruler, that means you aren't here as a moderator, but for some other reason."

Jeanne bowed her head. "It isn't just that. My parameters have been weakened as well - I'm operating at only about half of my full power. And I didn't receive any information from the Grail as I was summoned - I've been making my way solely on the fact that I'm native to the France of this time period. If I was just missing the skills a Ruler should have as a moderator, I could believe those had been denied me as I was not summoned to mediate. But this weakening leads me to believe I was summoned by the land itself….and something went wrong."

"So then, you're essentially a Rogue Servant?" asked Romani.

"Yes. That seems to be the best way to describe me." She laid her meal down, having barely touched the meat. "Before we go any further, could I possibly inquire as to your names and purposes here? I have heard some of them in passing as you spoke to one another, but I believe proper introductions should be made."

Mash flushed. "Oh, yes! I mean, if that's ok, Mr. Kratos."

Kratos nodded. He did not see the harm in it. If this Servant was truly the 'Dragon Witch', she was far less hostile, and more polite than such a title would lend one to expect.

Mash stood up from her seat, and formally bowed to the Servant. "My name is Mash Kyrielight, Demi-Servant of Chaldea, Shielder Class. I apologize for my poor manners."

Jeanne blinked. "Demi-Servant? And this is the first time I've heard of a Shielder Class…."

"A longer explanation for another time." And one that would be done by someone other than Kratos, as he only somewhat understood the details behind how a Servant had come to be housed within Mash. He gestured at the image being displayed by the communication device. "This is Doctor Romani and Da Vinci, also of Chaldea, though they support us from afar."

"A pleasure," said Da Vinci, her image bowing in a curtsey, as Romani waved his hand.

Jeanne peered at the image. "This is Magecraft of some variety, then, to allow communications from a distance?"

"Sort of….." Mash considered for a moment, biting her lip, then continued. "You see, we're not actually from this time period. We're from the future….something's happened here to push history off its course, turning France into a Singularity. We're here to fix it."

"Singularity…..then that means, all this death, all this suffering…it was never meant to happen?"

"Not as history was written, no," chimed in Romani. "Chaldea was formed to protect humanity - all of it - from disasters that could wipe it out in its entirety. About a week ago in our time, someone attacked us, nearly destroyed us, to keep us from doing exactly what we're doing now, trying to fix the areas in the past where they've caused history to veer off course."

Jeanne considered for a moment. "Is that then how you have a living god on your side? That these Singularities have been judged enough of a catastrophe that the Other Side of the World has chosen to intervene?"

Kratos shook his head. "No. I am…not of this world. I was thrown from my world to this one by no choice of my own. I have, however, chosen to aid Chaldea in their struggle, until such time that they can return me to my home." He met the Servant's eyes. "Kratos, of Midgard."

Medusa bowed her head. "Just Rider, for the moment. I'm sure another Servant cannot begrudge me caution in hiding my True Name from someone we've only just met."

"And this is Fou!" said Mash, holding up a squirming Fou, who was valiantly trying to escape Mash's grasp and make his way back to his dinner - or to make a play for Jeanne's food, which she had left unguarded.

"I am pleased to meet you all." said Jeanne. "You may ask the question I can see on all your faces."

There was a moment's silence. Unsurprisingly, it was Romani who chose to break it. "So, ARE you this 'Dragon Witch'?"

"No. I have committed none of the acts that I have heard attributed to this Dragon Witch who supposedly shares my face." She frowned. "I realize I have nothing but my word for you to judge me on this, but I speak the truth. I awoke on the borders of France about a week after my death. I've been slowly heading inward ever since."

Her hand reached up, clenching over her heart. "Since I was summoned, I've felt a….pull, for a lack of any better word for it. It was always in the direction of Orleans, right up until three days ago, when it felt like it vanished completely." She clasped her hands. "The shock of it left me feeling adrift - following it had felt right, in a similar fashion to how it felt when I was following God's commands to me while I was alive. So, without any other options, I kept heading to Orleans."

"Three days ago…that's about when the blight first appeared." Mash was hand-feeding Fou morsels, likely to keep him from making a play for Jeanne's food. "At least going by the journal of that soldier we found."

Jeanne nodded. "It was that day that I noticed the plants starting to wilt and die. I was so distracted by that, and whatever that it could mean that I didn't notice until the evening that the pull was still there - it was just very faint." She sighed. "Since then, it's moved south and east of Orleans. If I had to guess, I'd say it feels like it's somewhere between La Charite and Lyon…maybe."

"And you have been following this feeling since, which led you to here," stated Kratos.

"Yes. After the terror my face inspired in the first people I met, I had been avoiding settlements, and had been planning to just pass Vaucouleurs by. Then I saw it was under attack." Her eyes hardened. "I couldn't just let the people of France…..who I had fought for, die like that. As I drew closer, I could feel two other Servants…..and something else, already there. I had expected to have to fight you, as I assumed you were Servants of the Dragon Witch, there to destroy Vaucouleurs at her command."

She smiled. "Imagine my surprise to arrive, and see you fighting to protect the people of France." She bowed her head. "Thank you, for protecting my fellow countrymen."

Kratos grunted. "The wyverns were as much of a threat to us as they were to the people within those walls. It was in our interests to see them slain." He paused. "But they did not choose to be hunted by beasts such as those, creatures that should not be here in this time. It cost us nothing to defend them."

"And again, thank you for that." She considered for a moment. "If it isn't too forward of me, would you be willing to consider a temporary alliance? We seem to have similar goals."

Kratos found himself the target of six pairs of eyes - even Fou had stopped eating to stare at the Spartan. "There is merit in another ally. I have no objections."

"Wonderful." She frowned, as if something had just occurred to her. "I do hope you're not expecting me to worship you, though."

Kratos growled. "I neither desire, nor wish for worship. I have lived as a man far longer than I lived as a god."

Jeanne had paled a bit, but she kept her composure in the face of Kratos' irritation. "My apologies, then. Even for a Servant, meeting a living god is a rare thing. I wanted there to be no misunderstandings between us. Not even to save France would I forsake God."

"And I would not ask you to. Who you worship is your own affair. I do not care who, or what it is. Simply remain true to your word, and we shall have no issue."

Jeanne smiled. "Then here's to an alliance that will hopefully save France."

It was much later in the evening when Medusa slipped out of the building. Kratos and Mash had turned in a short time ago, Kratos curled up by the fire in the common room, while Mash had retired to one of the upstairs beds - despite being flustered about what might have been done in said beds.

The girl had apparently been tired enough that it hadn't kept her from sleeping, when Medusa had checked on her a moment ago, Mash had been fast asleep, Fou curled up on top of her. At first, she had thought the animal was also asleep, but then the light had caught Fou's violet eyes, and she realized he had stirred the moment the door had creaked open, and was carefully watching her.

She had chuckled, quietly, and left them to their rest. Mash was clearly safe with such a fierce guardian by her side.

Outside, it didn't take her long to find their new addition. Jeanne had retreated to the beaten path that led by the inn, and was keeping watch, eyes alternating between the road and the sky.

She looked away from her vigil as Medusa approached. "Rider. Are you here to keep an eye on me?"

She smirked. "Is it that obvious?"

Jeanne gave her a wry smile. "From the short time I have spent around him, I can say that the god you have contracted with is many things, but subtle is not one of them." She shook her head. "He doesn't fully trust me yet, for all that I could have easily left you to the wyverns at Vaucouleurs." She tilted her head. "Is he always this suspicious of others?"

Medusa shrugged. "I couldn't say for certain, I only contracted with him two days ago." And that had nearly gone right off the rails when she had sensed what he was. "Things were a bit tense when he first summoned me, but he was willing to agree to let me observe him before I agreed to work with him on a more permanent basis."

Jeanne tilted her head quizzically, and Medusa continued. "I suppose there's little point hiding it if we're going to be working together, if you watch me long enough, a Ruler will likely figure it out. Rider-Class Servant. My True Name is Medusa."

Jeanne's mouth made a little 'o' of surprise, and understanding. "That would explain your hesitance, then."

"More or less." She sighed. "To see an actual god standing there, and realize that was what had summoned me…..you could generously say I took it badly. What Athena did to me was bad enough, but Poseidon…"

Medusa angled her head back, looking sightlessly up at the stars. "I went to him willingly, you know. He said all the right things, showered me with gifts, treated me like I was beautiful…..after so long on that island with my sisters, constantly comparing myself to them and their ideal beauty…..I'd say I played hard to get, but I'd be lying." She shook her head, sadly. "Then, Athena laid her spiteful little curse on me, and what did the god who had said all those sweet nothings to me do? Nothing, just let the woman he supposedly cared for be cursed, and didn't even lift a finger. It was then I realized I was just a toy to him. A momentary dalliance that he'd eventually grow bored of."

She spat to the side. "Gods. After that day, I wanted nothing to do with any of them. Honestly, if it wasn't for the Caster Kratos contracted with on the first Singularity, I might have tried to kill him right then and there, and damn the consequences. Better to be sent back to the Throne than be a plaything for a deity again."

"What convinced you, then?" asked Jeanne.

"Part of it was him declaring he wasn't a god of this universe - hearing something so outlandish killed my anger dead long enough for me to be talked down from immediate violence. As Servants, our expectations for 'normal' are fairly skewed, but meeting a god from another universe entirely is strange, even for us, as you yourself noted this very evening." Though everything about this Grand Order Chaldea was undertaking was strange - it made a simple Holy Grail War seem almost mundane in comparison. "Part of it was what little he let slip about the Medusa of his world - apparently, there, I was the Queen of the Gorgons. Can you imagine that? Me, a Queen of anything, much less my sisters?"

She gave a throaty little laugh at the thought. (That some part of her wondered what tales he might have of her sisters was deeply, deeply repressed.) Jeanne did not join her in her amusement, just watching her with the patience of, well, a Saint. "But what really made me consider it was two things. One, the next day, I was in what passes for the library at Chaldea, with some light reading, when in stomps Kratos. At first, I thought he was there for me, but in fact, he didn't even know I was there. He was there for Mash, who's apparently been teaching him to speak, and read English."

Medusa noticed Jeanne's brow furrowing in confusion. "He's got some magical item from his universe that lets him understand pretty much any language, and to be understood in turn. It's how come we're hearing him in English for me, and I assume French for you." Jeanne nodded. "Without it, we'd be hearing him speaking some form of primitive Scandinavian. But it doesn't give him the same ability to read languages, so, every day, he spends a few hours trying to learn how to read English - and to speak it, as well, just in case something happens to his trinket."

"Suspicious," said Jeanne, echoing her earlier words.

"Paranoid might be a better term, or simply unwilling to leave things to chance." She shook her head. "But back to my point, there I was, watching as a god willingly submitted to being taught by an ordinary girl. It isn't anything I could imagine anyone from Olympus ever doing, and that cemented it for me, that this strange, foreign god at least deserved a chance from me."

"But the thing that really made me consider it was when I finally had a moment to stop and think, and really remember, after I was summoned." She glanced over to Jeanne. "You know how it is, on the Throne, when someone puts out a call. We've both been talking with someone, and seen their eyes kind of glaze over as they hear some would-be Master, somewhere, making a plea that they can hear and we can't - or had the reverse happen to us, where we'd black out and come back to a conversation minutes later, after rejecting a call, or being too slow to answer it. Or just being grabbed right in the middle of something and dropped into a summoning, when they have a catalyst, or we hear a plea that interests us."

Jeanne nodded, and Medusa continued. "So, once they'd shown me around the facility, and they left me to my own devices, I remembered. So there I was, two days ago, hiding in one of the libraries from my sisters, who had been after me about something or other, when I heard that deep, gruff voice putting in a call. Asking for help - and saying that he didn't want a slave, but an ally. And he sounded sincere enough that I decided to answer, if only because I was curious."

She shrugged. "It's only been a short time, but he's given me no reason to doubt those words, so far. He gets on famously with the Caster he contracted with, and seems to have a healthy level of respect for Da Vinci as well. And they both seem to be fond of him as well - and you've seen how Mash acts around him. The girl thinks he hangs the moon, I swear."

"For someone so otherwise strict, he's remarkably tolerant of the girl." Jeanne frowned. "Or, I should say, for how green she is. She doesn't move like a seasoned warrior, or carry herself like one. She's a little like how I was, before my first battle. All the titles people gave me after my death, but in the end, I was always just a simple farm girl at my core - and I had no idea what I was walking into with the relief of Orleans." She sighed. "Seeing battles as a civilian was one thing, but being on the battlefield - even though I never drew my sword….I didn't avert my eyes from the fields of the dead, though I wanted to."

"He's mentioned a wife - deceased, and a son back in his world." She smiled at Jeanne's raised eyebrows. "Yes, I can only imagine what a son of his would be like, though he did share an amusing story about his son with us."

"You see, his son apparently 'accidentally' let loose Garm, the Hound of Hel…."

THE NEXT MORNING

Mash would have dearly liked to sleep more after the long day she had had, but Kratos roused her at first light, and she knew he wouldn't accept a plea for 'just five more minutes'. So she stumbled out of bed, shook off the cobwebs, and, after a quick breakfast, they were back on the road, heading southwest. It had been decided, after some debate, to divert slightly from their planned course taking them straight to Orleans, and follow whatever it was that was exerting a pull on Jeanne.

"So, then, do you think this Dragon Witch is another version of yourself?" asked Romani.

Jeanne shook her head. "Truly, I don't know. Beyond the issue of what other classes I could qualify for - and truly, it should only be Lancer, and even then, it's a stretch. I never killed anyone, for all that my hands are stained with blood all the same. But I can't see how any version of myself could become so….twisted with hate that I would do this to my own country."

Her shoulders slumped. "I never hated them, the English who captured me, who imprisoned me, and tried me on baseless charges. The priest who presided over my trial, or the people who cried for my blood, who threw rocks, produce, or…..other things, at me, as I was led to the stake - I never wanted vengeance on them. To hear that someone with my face, and calling themselves by my name has done all this horror…."

Her eyes turned resolute. "It's why I have to find this Dragon Witch, meet her face to face, and ask her, why…..particularly if it IS a version of myself that's doing this."

"It might not be." Da Vinci's head poked into the image. "It very well could be an imposter - a Servant with some sort of disguise skill, for one possibility. Or just one who is very, very good at putting together a mundane disguise. It's not like any of these people are seeing this Dragon Witch up close and personal, or that they have a way to make a recording so they can examine her in detail, and look for flaws or inconsistencies." She shrugged. "I could probably put together a convincing enough disguise to pull it off, and I'm no spymaster or deep cover agent."

"But an honest to goodness master of disguise - all they'd have to do is let a few people see them from a distance, and let them survive to tell the tale, and boom, we have a full blown panic like we do now. And with every new atrocity or massacre, you'd blacken Jeanne d'Arc's name that much more."

Kratos grunted. "Assuming that is their goal, and not just mindless slaughter."

"Why not both?" asked Da Vinci, with a shrug. "Mind, we don't have the best view of what's been happening to France, but from the scraps we've put together, it just seems like whoever's in charge is just mindlessly lashing out. The entries in that journal that Mash skipped over between Jeanne's death and the start of the blight described towns being attacked almost at random, there wasn't even the appearance of an effort to herd survivors to one area to more efficiently cull them. Grain of salt on anything we took from it, but this all feels…..sloppy. More like a child throwing a tantrum than a dedicated effort to destroy France."

Mash suppressed a shiver. To hear Da Vinci off-handedly evaluate the wholesale genocide of the people of France, and find it lacking in efficiency, or effectiveness…it just reminded her that underneath the flighty persona of 'Aunt Da Vinci' was a genius, and geniuses were a breed apart from normal people.

[I've looked at your memories girl. For all that that 'Doctor Roman' of yours would have killed Beryl if he'd been allowed to, I think Beryl would have taken that fate any day over what Da Vinci would have done to him. The look in her eyes when she heard what he did to you…..someone that smart would have been very, very careful to keep Beryl alive long after he should have moved on.]

"It could lend credence to the theory that this Dragon Witch is merely a fake wearing my face. While I'm no military genius, I at least learned enough about how to conduct a campaign in my time with the French army." She frowned. "Information any version of myself should have. But it would explain this discrepancy, if it is in fact a spy pretending to be me, who never learned anything of soldiering."

Whatever reply anyone was preparing to make to that was cut off by Medusa appearing at Kratos' side in a shower of light.

"Rider?" Kratos seemed confused at her sudden appearance, leading Mash to believe she hadn't warned him of it in advance.

"Apologies for rushing back, but…do you hear that?"

They all paused. Their march so far had been eerily quiet - no sounds of animals, only the wind rustling dead branches. It was why they had been talking - to chase away the silence. (Well, everyone but Kratos had been talking. Mash didn't see him as someone to be rattled by silence, unnatural or not.) But now that it had been mentioned, Mash COULD hear something, faintly, on the winds.

She closed her eyes, straining her ears to hear better. "Is that…music?" Her eyes slid open, to see the rest of the group tilting their heads this way and that, trying to catch the faint sounds over the distance.

"Yes….." muttered Kratos, his expression stormy.

"Good, then it isn't just me." Medusa had crossed her arms over her chest. "Again, apologies for the lack of warning, but something that out of place….I didn't want to remain close to it in case there was a harmful component to the sound."

Da Vinci pursed her lips. "Wait…..is that The Magic Flute?"

It had all gone wrong so fast.

Mozart had thought himself especially blessed - beyond all the chatter during his life about being a man 'beloved by God'. Certainly, being summoned as a Rogue Servant wasn't his idea of a good day. Mozart was many things, but a fighter was not one of them. He could charitably say he was about as far from one as it was possible to be. And when the land itself summoned you to correct whatever had gone wrong with France, it was clear that it expected you to fight to fix things.

He'd been in the process of lamenting his lot in life (or the afterlife, to be precise about it), when SHE had ridden up.

Beautiful, wonderful Marie. Every bit as luminous as he remembered her being.

Things had immediately started looking up.

For a time, he could ignore the plight of France, and just pretend the two of them were traveling across the nation, seeing the sights. Mind, he couldn't pretend for long - a day that didn't have them stumbling across yet another sacked village, or forced them to take cover and hide from a large swarm of wyverns was a rarity. But for a time, he could lose himself in a world where it was just him and Marie.

That they largely had no idea what they were doing didn't hurt. What little information they had managed to gather seemed to indicate the root of the issue affecting France originated at Orleans, but even impetuous Marie wasn't about to suggest they ride straight there and attempt a full-frontal assault (certainly not the kind of full frontal he would desire when mentioning Marie in the same sentence). For all that they were getting a big boost from being summoned in France, they both were modern Servants, and thus, weaker for it, and while Marie was at least a credible threat in a fight between Servants, he, to put it lightly, was little better than useless.

That's what he kept claiming, at least, and he was sticking to his story.

So, since their summoning, they had been kind of riding around aimlessly, criss-crossing across France in Marie's carriage. Their thinking had been, the land had summoned them to deal with this crisis, so it must have summoned others. All they had to do was find them.

Then France had started dying around them, and it was much harder for him to play pretend.

Worse, it had had a visible effect on Marie. Oh, certainly, she was keeping up a brave face, but he KNEW her. He could see how much it was wearing on her, to see her beloved France rotting before her very eyes.

So, their travels from that day onward had taken on a more hurried (some might say desperate) pace. Rumors that they might have dismissed out of hand were now looked into, and there were no more leisurely picnics in tranquil glens (not that there were tranquil glens anymore), no more evening concerts with an audience of one, no more wasted time.

And, the thing that would come to cost them, there was no more caution.

They had been riding south from Paris, following rumors that a man in armor had saved a column of refugees from Lyon (or was it Theirs? Or La Charite?) from a flock of wyverns, only to be set upon by the Dragon Witch - a clash that had ended in a draw. The poor, haggard man that had told them this swore on his life that he had seen it with his own eyes - what he could follow of the clash between the two.

Honestly, it was the most promising lead they'd had since they were summoned. If this knight was real, and was opposed to the Dragon Witch, as the story seemed to suggest, and better yet, could fight her to a standstill, then they might have a real chance at fixing things in this France gone mad.

So they had rushed to Lyon, hoping that this knight was still there, or, if he had moved on, that his trail was still warm.

Their haste, in the end, had made them careless, and Death had come for them on black wings.

Literally, on black wings. As in, a bat had dived at them, shifting into a man as it fell from the sky, and cleaved right through Marie's carriage, forcing them to bail out to avoid worse injury in the crash.

By the time they had gotten back to their feet, their attacker had been joined by another, a woman, who was eying Marie like a particularly fine entree.

If he didn't already think they were in trouble at that point, his ears confirmed it. He couldn't hear a heartbeat, or breathing, from either of their assailants. And while Servants didn't NEED to breathe, it was a rare one who didn't do it reflexively, memories of a lifetime of doing so.

They were in a lot of trouble.

There had been no attempt at parley, no witty repartee, just two monsters of claws, fangs, and blades descending on them, and a fight for their lives.

Mozart had tried his best, he really had. He might be the worst person under the sun - just ask him and he'd cop to it - but he wasn't going to half-ass it where Marie's safety was concerned. This wasn't some brawl with some tavern-goers that he'd stiffed, or a gambling debt he was avoiding having to pay, this was life or death, for both of them, and he threw every trick in his book at the pale, noble looking man who was doing his level best to gut him.

It didn't amount to much, in the end. The man - if that Servant was truly a man, and not a monster in the guise of one - was too fast, too powerful. The lance moved in his hands like it was a living thing, Mozart only JUST keeping ahead of it by virtue of summoning his singing angels and using them to block it - a trick that the enemy Servant quickly adapted to.

In no time flat, Mozart was bleeding from a score of wounds, and laying face down on the ground, his legs no longer working right.

Marie, bless her heart, had put up a better showing than he did. Some of the woman's dress was scorched away - as well as some of her dominatrix-like gear, but Marie hadn't managed a telling blow. While her enemy seemed almost DESIGNED for this, stalking and killing women. Waves of blood slashed at Marie, forcing her to dodge into the woman's elongated talons, or worse, to take bone-breaking strikes from the cruel staff the woman inexpertly wielded. But despite it all, Marie fought, unwilling to take one step back in the face of Death itself, still convinced that they would see this through, and would save France.

It was beautifully heartbreaking.

"Look at you," sneered the cruel voice of the woman, as she tapped the head of her staff in her hand, looking over Marie. "You can barely stand. Your dress is in tatters, and your body is in little better shape. You've almost bled enough to make this barely worth my time for the amount of blood I'll get from this. And yet, you REFUSE to fall. What do you think you're going to do, you stupid girl?"

"Fight." said Marie, wiping blood out of her eyes. The woman had torn a ragged chunk of hair - and some of Marie's scalp - away in a previous exchange, and the blood was yet to clot. "Die, maybe. It wouldn't be the first time I died for France, and it may not be the last. But if you're expecting me to beg, or to despair, I'm afraid I will have to disappoint you, Mademoiselle. I didn't beg for my life to Henri, though I saw how it tore him up to have to do his duty. So I won't be begging to a petty little monster like you." Somehow, despite looking like she was on her last legs, Marie managed the same pert little sniff of dismissal that had left many a socialite in the court of France with an inflated sense of their own importance in shambles.

He had never loved her more than he did in that moment.

"Boring." The woman shook her head in disappointment. "Just boring. Well, if you won't provide me with the amusement that I want, then you'll provide me with something else that I require."

The Servant's mana spiked, and her eyes seemed to fill with red. "Everything is an illusion. Maidens shall enter here…"

Mozart screamed at his body to move, begged it to get up, to muster enough energy to blast the woman, to interrupt the chant of what could only be a Noble Phantasm.

It was futile. In the end, all he could do is watch through eyes brimming with tears as an iron maiden shuddered into being, and descended upon his Marie.

Too beaten and broken to move quickly, Marie didn't even have the time to scream as the doors slammed shut on her, and from within the torture device, he heard the most hideous sound he had ever heard.

And all Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart could do was sob into the dirt, and try to close his ears to the jubilant laughter of the Servant who had just killed Marie Antoinette.

(Some part of him, deeply buried within his blackest depths, regretted selling his soul to music at that moment. Had things gone differently, there was someone - someTHING else that would have had dibs on his soul - and in his black despair, he would have willingly paid that price to have the power to wreak vengeance upon these two Servants. But, alas, that isn't how the story of Mozart went, and the plans of demons went awry.)

He noticed footsteps drawing close, but they failed to break him from his despair.

"You fought well, for all that it was a foregone conclusion. If you can take comfort in it, musician, you will die as a man." The cultured, noble voice paused, then gave a weary sigh. "Would that I could give you a better death than this. But my legend commands me, and I must consign you to this end. For I hunger, though it damns me."

An iron grip seized him about the neck, and Mozart's shattered body was lifted up, and his head tilted back.

The last thing he saw was a pair of vicious fangs, descending upon him.

"It's gotten quiet."

Medusa's voice broke the sound of their running feet.

When Da Vinci had identified the music being played, she had quickly theorized the identity of the person potentially playing it - Mozart, apparently a famous musician. A famous, Austrian musician from some three hundred years in the future of this Singularity.

Almost certainly a Servant. And possibly a Rogue Servant like the Ruler that now accompanied them. And that meant a possible ally at best. At worst, if he was aligned with the Dragon Witch, it meant a chance to remove an enemy from the board.

So they had set off at a cautious march, following the sound of the music. Kratos had, after considering, chosen to have Medusa not scout ahead, and to remain with the group, in case this was a trap. Better to present a solid core than to risk having their group separated and torn apart piecemeal. It deprived them of advance information on whatever they were walking into, but their forces were limited, and they could ill afford to lose anyone.

Better caution in this instance. Unless whatever awaited them outnumbered them greatly, Kratos did not fear for their ability to, at worst, be able to fight free of an ambush, if they could not win outright.

But then, as they drew closer, he heard it, over the sound of the ever-more frantic music.

The sound of combat.

That had put an entirely different face on the whole thing.

It still could have been a trap - allies faking conflict to draw them in, but it felt too cunning, too well-planned for this haphazard campaign of extermination that was being waged against France. And it also required their enemies to know they were in this location, and, as of yet, there had been no signs that their arrival in France had even been noticed.

(The wyvern attack on Vaucouleurs, they had decided, was not a response to their arrival, but a simple attack against one of the remaining population centers in France, though they were prepared to be wrong on that assumption.)

So, they had abandoned the march for a run. Combat, again, assuming this wasn't a trick far more clever than their enemy had any right to be capable of, meant opposing sides. And Kratos couldn't see a musician lasting long against whatever forces were arrayed against them, even as a Servant, super-human as they were.

(Orpheus, by all accounts, couldn't even throw a good punch.)

As they had grown closer, the music had died out, save a few sputtering notes, and then, even the combat sounds seemed to cease.

Then, there had been the sound of something heavy, and metallic, and then a scream of anguish so tortured it barely sounded human, followed by laughter cruel enough to make Hera herself sit up and take notice.

Then silence.

Three pairs of eyes glanced at Kratos, as they continued on their run forward.

"We continue, though with caution. If the battle has ended, whichever side has won may be injured - in need of aid, if they oppose the Dragon Witch. Or easier to defeat, if they serve her." He reached back, mid-stride, and freed his axe from its harness, as they drew near to the edge of the forest they were in. "Be ready."

As they left the dubious cover of the forest, they came upon a battlefield. The wreckage of a carriage littered the ground, though it was breaking apart into motes of light as they arrived. The ground was blasted and scorched in places, in others, great furrows had been dug into the ground, sometimes singly, sometimes in rows of five.

Standing in the center of it all was a woman.

She was dressed…oddly, to Kratos' eyes. Her outfit was half what Da Vinci had described to him as a 'noblewoman's dress', when she had described her own garb to him. The other half was revealing almost to the point of foolishness, at least for the battlefield. A simple mask veiled her face, which turned to take in the new arrivals. In her hand, she clutched a staff, one that seemed more a badge of office than a proper weapon, as ornate as it seemed.

She REEKED of blood. Fresh blood. Kratos' hand tightened on the grip of his axe.

A smile that almost seemed unnaturally hungry graced her face as she laid eyes upon them. "Well, well. The little Queen was barely enough to sate me, and what do we have here? Three beauties, each more….delectable than the next….and then…."

Her eyes widened, and her already pale complexion grew even paler.

"Berserker!" she snapped, any hint of her previous mirth gone.

As her body shifted, it revealed a man, kneeling behind her, a body cradled in his arms. He did not move as the woman called out to him, his head still bowed over the still form he was holding.

"BERSERKER!" she hissed, louder this time, carefully backing up, putting distance between herself and the group from Chaldea.

If the man noticed, he gave no indication, still bent over the body in his arms.

A vein was throbbing in her forehead as the man continued to ignore her pleas. "VLAD DRACULA TEPES! STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD AND TURN AROUND!"

All three of the women accompanying Kratos gave a reaction at the name, either a hissed breath through teeth, or, in Mash's case, a gulp of what could only be fear.

At the sound of his name, the man rocketed to his feet, tossing the body aside. He had strong, noble features - or would have, if they hadn't been twisted into something inhuman, and monstrous. "YOU DARE CALL ME BY THAT NAME, COUNTESS!" Teeth that were too sharp to be human were bared, and in an instant, he was towering over the female Servant, seemingly moments from tearing her to shreds.

'The name is familiar to you both. Explain.'

Medusa was quick to answer. 'If she isn't lying, the Servant is Vlad Tepes, or Dracula as he came to be known. A Wallacian warlord who gained such a bloodthirsty and feared reputation that a writer used him as the basis for a novel about a vampire. To the point that his legend has been inextricably entwined with the fictional account. As a Servant, he likely has the abilities of a vampire, despite never having been one in life…as that dead Servant he threw aside can probably attest.'

Vampires. Blood-drinking corpses, as he was given to understand, and all the more dangerous for that they retained their personalities and intelligence. Again, something Da Vinci had only touched on in the week they had had, but he had at least been given a basic understanding of the beasts.

And yes, the oddly-dressed body that was staring sightlessly into the sky as it slowly broke apart into particles did look like its throat had been savaged by an animal.

Mash's voice picked up where Medusa's had stopped. 'He called that woman 'Countess'. She….smells so strongly of blood she might be Elizabeth Bathory - someone else who wasn't a vampire in life, but came to be associated with them after her death. She…..she liked to bathe in the blood of young maidens, thinking it would keep her young and beautiful…..the way she looked at me…..'

Kratos growled. Monsters, then.

The two Servants still had their eyes locked on each other, staring one another down. "It was the only way to get you to PAY ATTENTION! Look, you idiot, LOOK!" The woman's arm waved to the side, indicating the group from Chaldea, but pointing directly at Kratos.

WIth an effort of will, the man seemed to leash his anger, his features smoothing back into a veil of humanity. He turned, and followed her pointing finger.

His eyes widened, but only slightly. "So, the great warrior we were warned was coming was a pagan god. So interesting that our benefactor chose to leave this information out." He looked Kratos up and down, then cast his eyes over the rest of the group, stopping on Jeanne. "And the Maid of Orleans accompanies him. A Saint of God standing side by side with a pagan deity. The irony of it all is delicious…."

Jeanne's eyes hardened, and she took a step forward. "I take it by your words, then, Voivoide, that you two serve the Dragon Witch?"

There was a pause, then the woman began laughing uproariously. "The Dragon Witch? That joke?" Her laughter trailed off, though she still smirked cruelly. "She's dead."

Four pairs of eyes widened. The Dragon Witch, dead?

Vlad did not fail to miss their reactions. "The Countess speaks truly. No longer are we bound to the will of an incompetent leader. We stand here as ourselves, under orders from no one." He held out his hand, and a strange sort of spear, with a circular guard for the hand around the midpoint of the weapon, formed in his hands. "He who now leads us set us free, to do as we will with this land. And so we have been."

Medusa's stakes had appeared in her hands. "The Dead we encountered, their bodies drained of blood. That was your doing."

Vlad gave an imperious sniff. "Indeed. While it pains me to act in such a fashion, I cannot avoid it, as I am once again given flesh as a Berserker, by a hand not my own. My legend howls in my head, pressing down upon me. So I will be a monster, and drain this land dry." His eyes fell on Kratos. "I have sometimes wondered what the blood of a god would taste like."

Kratos snarled, raising his axe. "You may try to claim it, if you dare."

"In time." He glanced back at the woman. "Countess, I believe we will require the use of our soldiers. Pagan though he may be, a god is a god, and the numbers do not favor us."

"Yes, yes," she huffed. With a sound like a bone splintering, she snapped her fingers. "ATTEND ME!"

In an instant, two forms materialized before her, both on their knees, bowing to her.

"Christine….." The first was a man garbed in black, his face hidden behind a porcelain half-mask. His hands seemed almost skeletal, like they had been stripped of all flesh. Clawlike talons protruded from his fingers, stained with blood.

"Mistress. Your orders?" The second was a person so thin and androgynous that their gender was impossible to tell. Even their voice gave no hint. They were garbed in fancy, almost ostentatious clothing, topped by a wide, floppy hat from which a pink plume sprouted. Sheathed at their side was a thin, almost needle-like sword.

If these were the soldiers of these two, Carmilla looked on them with little more than contempt. "Ah, Berserk Saber. So servile. So eager to please. It is the only thing that keeps me from figuring out just which you are, and if your blood might serve me better than your sword."

"Christine…." gibbered the other one, claws digging furrows in the ground.

"Yes, yes, I am your Christine…." she sighed, barely even playing along with the clearly-mad Servant's delusions. But it appeared to be enough, as the man seemed to settle. "Rise, and hear me. Berserk Saber, gut the Saint for me, would you? Maim her, but don't kill her. Her blood is mine, for the blood of a Saint may preserve my beauty for decades. Berserk Assassin, the one with the blindfold wishes to take me away from you. What have you to say to that?"

The black-garbed Servant keened a howl of rage, then hurled himself at Medusa, claws extended.

Kratos snarled, axe already moving to chop the Servant from the air, but he found his strike fouled as spears sprouted from the ground and both blocked his strike, and forced him to jump back to avoid being skewered.

"Oh no, heathen. You fight me." Mist gathered, then solidified before Kratos in the form of Vlad, his spear raised and pointed directly at the Spartan.

Beside him, Medusa leapt out of the way of the Assassin's strike, his claws slashing where her body had been. She descended from the sky, her leg snapping down in a vicious axe kick, but the Servant merely skipped back, avoiding the blow, then leapt again at Medusa, attempting to rend her face from her body.

Before a moment had passed, their combat had taken them across the battlefield, as they exchanged rapid fire strikes and counter attacks, neither able to land a blow.

Jeanne drew herself up straight as the Saber approached her, rapier unsheathed. "Will you not stand down? You have the air of honest chivalry about you. Why serve such as these?"

The Servant smiled a sad little smile. "I cannot. I once abandoned my Mistress, and the Crown itself, only to see them destroyed in my absence. It is a poor knight that outlives their liege. So, I shall serve my new Mistress with all my heart. To the death." They raised their rapier, and saluted Jeanne. "En garde, Maid of Orleans. By my Mistress' command, I must defeat you."

Then they struck.

Mash fought back a shudder as the sounds of combat echoed around her, and the Servant she was convinced was Elizabeth Bathory slowly stalked up to her. ('In moments of crisis, Mash, panic does nothing. You must harness it, and let it serve you, rather than letting it drive you.') Remembering everything she had learned in the short week under Kratos, she hefted her shield, and willed her hands to stop shaking.

The Servant licked her lips, slowly, as she dragged her eyes up and down Mash's body. "Such a delicious looking little rabbit. Trying so hard to be brave, to hide her trembling. So young, so nubile, so….FRESH." She sniffed the air. "Yes…..I can smell your fear. Oh yes, this shall be fun…..do try not to die too quickly, little bunny." She moved, and Mash only just got her shield up to block, the woman's nails screaming as they seared into the metal of her shield.

Kratos rolled, as stakes erupted from the ground where he had been standing, then brought his axe up to intercept the spear thrust from the Servant. The strength of a vampire waged against that of a god, and the god's strength was the greater. Kratos forced the spear down, then lashed his axe out in a savage chop that only just missed separating Vlad's head from his neck.

"Strong." Mused the Servant, whirling his spear into a guard position. "Stronger than myself. Whatever you were a god of, it certainly wasn't pacifism, or weakness." Red lightning crackled across his arms. "Thankfully, I don't need to beat you…just keep you here until your comrades are dead. God you may be, but even you cannot possibly stand against four Servants."

He snapped his arm out, a tide of stakes flying towards Kratos. Gritting his teeth, Kratos swung his axe, shattering the stakes, parting the wave before him, then continued the motion, planting his foot as he hurled the axe at the vampire.

"Shield." With a hissed word, and a gesture, a wall of stakes sprang forth, trapping the axe within their bounds - though only momentarily, as Kratos willed the Leviathan Axe back to his hands. In the moment between the shattering of the wall, and the axe's return, Kratos was on Vlad, axe screaming down in an overhead stroke. Vlad got his spear up in time to parry the stroke, but was again forced to give ground before Kratos' strength, using both ends of his spear in quick, skilled parries, as each end was forced out of place by the Spartan's might.

Again, as Kratos was beginning to turn the fight to his advantage, stakes once again erupted from the ground, disrupting his footing, and forcing him to break off just long enough to allow the vampire to regain his center. He was stronger, and more skilled than this Servant - this Vlad was dangerous, certainly, and he may not win unscathed, but he could beat him, he was positive of it. But it would take time, time he may not have.

Jeanne swept her flag before her, then cried out as the tip of the rapier pierced through the cloth of her flag, attempting to hamstring her. Jerking the flag up, she hoped to entangle their weapon, and force it from their hands, but the Saber was too quick, withdrawing their blade like lighting at the first hint of movement by Jeanne's flag. (So fast…but in truth, I'm too slow. I knew I was missing most of my strength, but this…) Leveling her flag before her, she struck at the Servant, hoping to use the length of her weapon to her advantage.

The Saber drew up straight, allowing Jeanne's strike to slide just past their back. As the flag ceased moving, they reached out, grasping it with their left hand, and rolled their body up the length of the flag. Incredibly, they managed to juggle their rapier in the air, as they continually switched hands as they crossed the distance between themselves and Jeanne, constantly keeping one hand on the flag, locking it in place. In the span of an eyeblink, they were face-to-face with the Saint, and Jeanne only barely avoided a thrust that would have torn her eye from its socket, but instead carved a deep groove into her cheek.

Ignoring the pain, knowing to let herself be distracted was to die, especially with an opponent of this caliber so close, Jeanne dropped her flag, and seized the Servant's outstretched arm.

Impossibly, the arm refused to move, even with both of Jeanne's arms putting their full strength to bear. She had been meaning to attempt a shoulder throw that Gilles had taught her, in an attempt to ground the Servant, and deny them the agility and speed that was giving her so much trouble, but the surprising strength the Servant was demonstrating put a quick end to that.

As did the knee that crashed into Jeanne's stomach, blasting the air from her lungs.

Gasping for breath, Jeanne lashed out with a clumsy, ugly haymaker as she stumbled back, one that somehow managed to clip the Servant and knock them back just long enough for Jeanne to snatch her flag from the ground and ready herself again.

Medusa flew through the air, her leg flying out in a roundhouse kick that the Assassin barely managed to duck.

Torquing her body, continuing her spin, she grasped both stakes in an underhanded grip, and drove them straight at the disturbed man's body.

He was off-balance from his dodge, and wide open.

At the last second, the man got his hands up, the stakes driving into his palms, but saving his body from greater damage. With an insane trill of laughter, he closed his hands around the stakes, pushing them deeper into his hands, to allow his claws to dig lines into Medusa's hands, fingers twitching like some sort of obscene spider, as he attempted to flay the skin from her bones.

Medusa gave a yelp of pain, then leapt into the air, using her trapped hands as anchors, as she kicked out, her feet cracking into the Assassin's face in a brutal dropkick.

She heard the sound of porcelain cracking, and dismissed her stakes, as the Servant was blasted away from her, no longer able to maintain his grip on her hands - though the blades took strips of flesh from her as he was knocked away.

Quickly, resummoned her stakes, as the Servant regained his feet with almost indecent haste, showing no sign of feeling his injuries. "Christine…CHRISTINE…." he howled, thin lines of blood leaking from where his broken mask had cut into his face. "YOU SHALL NOT TAKE CHRISTINE FROM ME!"

(He's beyond pain. Whatever his level of Madness Enhancement, it's clearly enough to block out his injuries. Troublesome. And worse, he's willing to take injuries if they give him a chance to hurt me. Very troublesome.)

Howling in madness, the Assassin charged, hands wildly slicing the air before him.

Medusa met his charge with one of her own, feinting high with her stakes, then, as they were nearly upon each other, making a small almost half-jump, feet extended as her body slid through the air, low to the ground.

The sliding kick caught the madman in his knee, knocking him off his feet, and sending him head over heels, ending with his body crashing to the ground, back first. Medusa planted her foot in the dirt, halting her slide, then leapt, turning her body in a picture-perfect backflip, stakes gouging down at the prone Servant, her knees drawn in, seeking to crash into his stomach.

Desperately, the Servant rolled to the side, swiping up with his arm as he rolled, slicing thin lines into Medusa's arm, as the force of her landing drove a crater into the ground. The explosion blasted the Assassin away, though, again, he was on his feet in a flash, and was closing the distance, ranting and raving as he ran.

Kratos growled as he shattered yet another wave of stakes. The Servant had given up trying to match Kratos' strength, and was fighting purely defensively. If Kratos managed to close the distance, he would lock weapons, and disrupt the ground underneath their feet, knowing he had nothing to fear from his own stakes, and that it would force Kratos to disengage. If Kratos attempted to draw near any of the other fights, a thick wall of stakes would spring up, and the vampire would descend on him, seeking to drive him away from his engaged allies. He had yet to injure Kratos, but he was stalling, and doing so effectively.

Medusa, he could see, was holding her own - the Servant she was fighting was clearly insane, with all the dangers that implied, but she was slowly winning the fight.

Just not quickly enough.

Jeanne was sporting a handful of minor wounds - she was just too slow, and too weak to keep up with the Saber she was fighting. It was a minor blessing that her opponent had been instructed to cripple her, rather than kill her.

But the true danger was with Mash.

Mash planted her feet into the ground, shield held before her, as yet another wave of jagged blood washed towards her. The wave parted around her, but she knew this was only a distraction - she had cuts on her shoulders and arms to attest to that.

(Where? Where is the attack coming from?)

Mash's body tensed, then ducked her head, as a clawed hand pierced through the wave to her left, skimming just above her head and parting a few hairs from her head. She pivoted her body, bringing her shield up in a chest-level sweep, one that was blocked as an iron maiden flew across the ground, knocking her shield back. Off-balance, she was wide open to be clocked across the head by the Servant's staff, though she managed to turn with the blow and rob it of some of its strength.

[At least you've learned something from that Spartan's training, but you're getting slowly bled to death, girl! Do BETTER!]

Shaking off the hit, Mash kicked out at the woman, aiming for her knee, only just missing as the Countess retreated, again looking to keep Mash at a distance. Instead, she caught her in the shin, and Mash felt a surge of exultation as her boot cracked into the Servant's leg, and she gave a hiss of pain.

"Brawling like some commoner, as though this was a filthy bar fight. You begin to make me think your blood is too dirty for…AH!" Mash cut off the woman's monologue by charging straight at her, feinting with her shield, then driving a straight left directly at her face.

(Once you have resolved to kill a foe, do not waste breath on words in a fight. Air that you use to speak can be used to fill your lungs.)

The woman awkwardly slid out of the way of the punch, stumbling right into Mash's charge, which let her catch the Servant and drag her straight to the ground. While they were still rolling around, the Servant trying to break free, and Mash holding on for dear life, she snapped a short punch straight into her cheek.

It felt satisfying.

"My teacher would say you talk too much. And I think I'd agree." The Countess was thrashing like a wild animal, but Mash clung to her tenaciously as they tumbled, finally managing to end up on top of her. Another punch to the Servant's face to stun her, then she raised her shield, seeking to end the fight.

Then she was flying through the air, as that iron maiden once again interceded, smashing Mash off of the Servant. She rolled as she hit the ground, the breath blasted from her lungs by both the unexpected impact of the massive metal object, and her subsequent high-speed introduction to the ground. But despite it all, her training held, and she managed to use her shield to blunt the worst of the impact with the ground.

[That SHOULDN'T work! You shouldn't be able to use a shield to lessen the impact from a fall! Why does that WORK?]

She was quickly back to her feet, a significant part of her taking some pride in the fact that the woman's once pristine outfit was now much less so, soil and dead grass clinging to her, and she was beginning to sport a rather impressive bruise beneath her left eye.

And she was furious. "You…..dirty….little…..TROLLOP!" One of her hands was gently probing the bruise, wincing as she tracked the extent of the damage with her fingers. "I'm going to FLAY the skin from your bones, and bleed you dry, slowly. You're going to BEG for death before I'm done with you!"

From across the battlefield, all involved parties felt the woman's mana spike.

Vlad leapt back, narrowly avoiding a two-handed strike from Kratos, and sighed. "I see the Countess has finally gotten annoyed enough to take her fight seriously." A web of stakes shot out in front of him, forcing Kratos to smash through them to get to the Servant - who had conjured another spire underneath his feet, which he used to vault over Kratos' head, raining a barrage of spear thrusts on the Spartan's head as he flew overhead. None of which connected, but it forced Kratos to stop and parry long enough for Vlad to land, again at distance.

"And cutting it fine, to boot. Our Assassin is moments away from losing, and I'm unsure how much longer I will be able to stall you." He held his spear up in a salute. "You're quite the warrior, for whatever heathen pantheon you're from."

Kratos' patience, rarely an infinite commodity, was depleted. That spike of magical energy could be nothing else but the Servant's Noble Phantasm - something that Mash was not ready to face. If this walking corpse believed he would just let himself be held here, he was sorely mistaken.

Within the former God of War, a well of surging anger peaked, as Kratos' fists clenched. Red began to tinge his vision, and the world began to slow down.

A roar was building in his throat, but it remained unvoiced, for in an instant, the battlefield reshaped itself.

Across the field, where Jeanne was parrying slower and slower, a wall of fire erupted between her and her opponent, both crying out as they were seared by the sudden inferno.

Closer to the center, the Countess was forced to hastily abort her Noble Phantasm's release, as a ring of spears rocketed down from the skies, aimed directly at her heart. She dodged back, then kept moving, as the spears chased her to the edge of the field, near the edge of the withered treeline.

Where one more spear was waiting for her.

The Servant made a gurgling noise of pain, as a form leapt from the trees, and drove their weapon right into the woman's back.

Her head turned, the tendons on her neck standing out, raised in pain, her eyes wide. "You…"

The 'you' in question smiled, hate dripping from the expression. "Hey, you traitorous bitch. Miss me?"

It was Jeanne….but it was not. Dark where the Jeanne they had met was bright, pale, where she was gold. Jagged, and harsh, where the Jeanne they had gotten to know over the past day was soft, and rounded. Where a soft light had seemed to follow Jeanne around, this Jeanne seemed to carry with her a flicker of ashes, constantly around her. And where her left arm should be, was only a stump, raggedly bandaged. More bandages were loosely wrapped around the woman's head, not binding any apparent injuries, but almost as if they were being worn for the sake of fashion.

It seemed reports of the Dragon Witch's demise had been a bit premature.

Sneering, this dark Jeanne kicked the Countess from her spear, sparing her not a glance. Instead, her eyes found the Maid of Orleans. "Hey 'me'. You look like shit."

Jeanne, for her part, looked like she had seen a ghost. "You hardly look better, Dragon Witch."

Ignoring her other self's response, the Dragon Witch then cast her gaze to Kratos. "Hey there, pagan. Once I put this back-stabbing parasite in the ground, let's talk."

AUTHORS NOTES: Hello JAlter. I'm sorry the Fate Samurai/Remnant collab event saw just a lazy weapon-swap for you, and not an animation update. Let me give you an appearance in this chapter to make up for it. It'll just cost you an arm.

The Fou/Kratos food war rages on. Watch your bed for presents from the critter, Spartan.

Two chapters in a row we end on a Jeanne appearance. I'll have to dig up JArcher to keep this up. Or Summer JAlter. Or Lancer Jeanne from Samurai Remnant. Or Santa Alter Lily.

Medusa and Jeanne get a bit of girl talk. Or as much of that as a Saint and a Gorgon can have.

And Mozart and Marie are the next victims on the 'cull Orleans down some so the cast is less bloated' tour. I was slightly writer's blocked with the stuff preceding that, but that section flowed out easy. Probably doesn't help with my better half's accusations that I don't write happy stuff. There was a sort of Inktober Challenge of write a paragraph every day a number of years back, and I did that for a while, but I kept sending her some bleak ass stuff, hence the accusation. Probably also doesn't help that I keep saying 'oh yeah, I summoned Scathach/Medb/Bazette to make my Cus SUFFER' - to which she replies 'yeah, you're definitely a writer'.

OOC Kratos: Carmilla is barely dressed, what kind of fool does that on the battlefield?

OOC Chaldea: Bro….

Yes, staredowns to establish dominance are more a Werewolf the Apocalypse thing than Vampire the Masquerade, but I couldn't see Uncle Vlad NOT getting right in Carmilla's face when she used the Forbidden Name.

Good grief, I didn't even think about what a HEADACHE writing d'Eon would be until I started writing things, and realized do I use 'he' or 'she' or 'they'. If things constantly flip flop between the three, that's why. Enkidu might be a similar headache, since the Man of Clay both gives and receives Valentines, and I think there's at least a few others like that beyond Enkidu and d'Eon.

Also d'Eon - A Rank Strength, somehow, which is the same as Uncle Vlad. WTF. Sorry Jeanne, no Judo throw for you, as you've lost at least a rank of stats all from your summoning being borked in Orleans.

Medusa with the Kota Ibushi kneedrop moonsault. At least when he used to do that regularly.

Carmilla's about the WORST kind of matchup for Mash at this stage - Mash is still inexperienced, and Carmilla eats weak fighters for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, since those are the kind of people she killed in life.

And yes, Carmilla used some of the healing from her Noble Phantasm to repair the damage Marie did to her outfit. Because vanity, thy name is Carmilla.

EDIT: Good GRIEF, this thing's almost 3x the word count of my first chapter, and nearly 2k bigger than the last chapter. Madre di dios.