A GHOST IN A STRANGE LAND
CHAPTER 18
Their plan was put together quickly - for all that the appearance of an army on their doorstep, and their subsequent acquisition of said army was an unexpected boon, it would not change their plans overmuch. For these were mortal men, and little use against Servants.
Wyverns, however….
"Grapeshot, and lots of it!" stated Jeanne, her arms crossed. "By the time you reach the castle that has displaced Thiers, you will want to have enough to blot out the sun when your cannons fire! I wish our options were better, but there's enough abandoned towns and villages, or just small settlements between here and there that you should be able to scavenge enough metal to suffice in a pinch. Nails, forks, knives - whatever you can get your hands on - so long as you can wrap it in canvas and fire it from a cannon, it should tear through a wyvern - or their wings, at least."
Jeanne was….surprisingly enthusiastic about the subject of cannons, Kratos noted.
Gilles was nodding along with Jeanne's increasingly impassioned orders with the air of a man who had long since grown used to this. "We will be ready, Lady Jeanne. In four days time, we will stand ready to siege Thiers."
Gilles' words seemed to break Jeanne from her cannon-induced fugue. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, Gilles. Were it only wyverns…..some of your men would die, but that is war. But once you begin your attack, that will draw their attention, and….."
Gilles placed a hand on Jeanne's shoulder. "You tell us that these enemies seek not only the death of France, but all of mankind. Jeanne…our lives would be a small cost, in the balance, to stop such a thing."
Jeanne bowed her head. "It feels too much to ask of you, even weighed against the calamity we face. And to spend the lives of your men….your life, like so much coin, merely to buy us time with a distraction…it feels wrong."
"That is the burden of command," rumbled Kratos. "The weight of those lives that you hold, and, at times, must sacrifice for a greater objective. Those lives will stay with you for as long as you live." Or, in the case of a Servant, possibly forever.
Jeanne paused, staring at the ground. "It truly never gets any easier, does it?"
"No," said Kratos, shaking his head. "No it does not." It was one of the myriad of reasons he had been so uncomfortable with the mantle of General when they had assembled to bring Ragnarök down on Asgard.
Jeanne crossed her arms, a determined expression on her face. "Then we will have to make even better time than we were planning. The sooner we retrieve the Grail, the fewer of these brave men will have to lay down their lives for us."
Behind them, another group of men returned from Castle Csejte, setting their burdens in a pile. Liz had thrown the doors open to supply the ragtag army with anything that could aid them. Silverware, canvas, foodstuffs - as she had morbidly, but cheerfully put it "I won't be needing these much longer!".
Alongside them was Siegfried, who had joined in the work, using his greater strength as a Servant to haul loads that would take many men to carry, greatly hastening the looting of the Castle. Across the field, he met Kratos and Jeanne's eyes, and nodded. "We're about ready to depart. Most everything that would be of use has been taken from inside the Castle. Lady Kiyohime has gone to fetch Liz - I believe she wishes to see us off."
Kratos grunted, sending a message along the strings in his mind to Medusa to wake and fetch Mash. He had allowed the girl to rest as much as possible before departure, given her sleep had been interrupted, and she did not possess the measures of stamina of a proper Servant. A few seconds later, he received confirmation - the women were on their way down.
'Kratos? If we're about to go, can I?'
He sighed. Avenger had been asking constantly since a plan had been hammered out, and he had put her off as long as he could. Now that their departure was imminent, he saw little reason not to humor her. 'Yes. You may.'
There was a shower of gold, and then, suddenly, Gilles found himself being tightly embraced (despite only one arm being present) by a darker Jeanne. A fact he didn't seem to know what to make of.
"What? What….?" He stared for a long moment, looking down at the pale head of hair buried into his chest, then over to the actual Jeanne. "Who is this? This….this cannot be the Dragon Witch?"
Jeanne sighed, her expression half between a smile and a frown. "No, you are correct, that is the Dragon Witch. It's far too long a story to go into, Gilles, but just trust that she's on our side." The 'for now' was left unspoken.
If Gilles wasn't struck dumb by this revelation, Avenger pulling back, and looking up at him with eyes brimming with tears would have stolen his voice completely. "Hey, Gilles. You don't know me from Eve, but I just wanted to do that, and to tell you 'Thank you.' When I was at my absolute lowest, you gave me a kick in the ass to get me back on my feet. So, whatever happens in your future, try to remember that there's two Jeannes now who loved you. It's because of you I'm here now, trying to save France instead of destroy it."
She hugged him again, tightly, then pulled away, storming back to Kratos' side, expression daring anyone to say anything about how she was still wiping at her face. Kratos met her eyes, and he felt a sigh thrum across her fiery string.
'I know. I lied - I still hate France. And it's not going to change a damned thing about how his life plays out. He's still going to get mixed up with that sick fuck Prelati, and he's still going to die a monster. But maybe when he's at his lowest, he'll be able to remember what I told him, and he'll be saved from absolute despair, before the end. It's stupid, I know. But…..'
'You owe him your life. You do not need to explain yourself…not to me, Avenger.'
Kiyohime pushed open the doors to the throne room, which had seen some recent renovation in the light of Liz's planned stand in her castle. A large table had been dragged into the center of the room, and a map of Castle Csejte sat in the center. Liz was hunched over the map, muttering to herself, and drawing on it with what appeared to be magic markers.
"So, I can't use the same trick on ALL the staircases, or he'll expect them. Probably set half of them to collapse if you don't start on the right brick…..maybe oil for the others? Or maybe springs?" She stared down at the map, chewing on the end of the marker.
Kiyohime smiled - so engrossed was Liz in her plotting that the girl hadn't even heard her enter. Quietly, like a proper Japanese lady, she padded up until she was standing almost right behind Liz, then, when she felt the moment was right, spoke. "Up to no good, frilled lizard?"
Liz's undignified shriek was ENTIRELY worth it. That she jumped nearly high enough to touch the vaulted ceiling was merely the cherry on top. The pink Servant glared holes through Kiyohime for the moment it took her heart to settle, not helped by the smug little smirk that the girl was wearing. "Sweet Uncle Vlad, Kiyo, don't DO that to me!"
Kiyohime tilted her head, the picture of innocence. "But you were working so hard, I could barely bring myself to disturb you - particularly when you're focusing on something so intently that isn't your idol career."
Liz glared even harder, if that was possible. "I suppose you being here means it's time for them to head out?"
Kiyohime nodded. "Yes. I figured you'd want to see Anchin and the rest of them off." She turned on her heel. "Best hurry up - we've got a long distance to travel and not long to do it in, I don't think they'll wait on you if you take your time."
She was halfway to the door when Liz's worried voice halted her in her tracks. "Kiyo. You just called Kratos 'Anchin'."
"No, I did not. I said 'Kratos'." She turned her head to look back at Liz. "He and I had a long talk last night, both before and after he saved me. He can't be Anchin, he isn't even from this world. And…..he still loves his late wife." She shook her head. "No, you must have misheard."
She began walking away again. "Now come on, we don't want to keep everyone waiting."
Really, she thought, as she departed the throne room. I know Kratos isn't Anchin. He made it very clear to me.
But he saved you, said another voice, her voice. Who but your Anchin would do that? And he's been married before, that means he's experienced. No fumbling around on your wedding night….he looks like he knows how to please a woman. And imagine being pressed against all those muscles…
No, he ISN'T Anchin. It's just a nice fantasy to cling to. Just a fantasy my too overactive imagination is entertaining. Nothing more, nothing less.
Idly, unaware she was doing it, she began to hum to herself. It was the Bridal Chorus.
They set off soon after, once the last stragglers had emerged from the castle. Mash, with a head of hair only somewhat tamed from the mess it had become in her sleep and a still tired Fou, with Medusa trailing behind her. In the moments as they waited for Kiyohime and Liz to arrive, she had set the creature on the ground to let him have a few moments of freedom before their long march began - upon which he would be consigned to riding within Mash's shield. As the small animal woke up and sniffed at the new arrivals, Medusa produced a comb from somewhere and gently began to brush the girl's hair into something resembling order.
A few moments later, Kiyohime joined them, with Liz hot on her heels. A flurry of tearful goodbyes - at least from the pink dragon girl, though Avenger almost seemed less overjoyed about the parting than one would expect - then proceeded to happen. Finally, Liz stood before Kratos.
"Elizabeth…." he began. What to say to someone who was sacrificing themselves, willingly, for you and yours?
Liz poked him in his stomach. "Pffft, call me Liz, Fuzzy. Elizabeth makes me feel like that old blood-bathing crone. And don't tie yourself in knots over this. I told you last night, I know the stakes. Call it nobility or enlightened-self interest, but you're not making me do anything I don't want to here."
Hands on her hips, she somehow gave the feeling that she was glaring down at him, despite the height difference. "But!" She said, her finger pointing right between Kratos' eyes. "If you really want to make us square, I want to see you, FRONT AND CENTER for some of my concerts! And spread the word, too, when you get back to your world! How many idols get a chance to go viral on a completely different world?"
She glanced behind her. "Siggy-Woogy, could you?"
Siegfried, who had been in a conversation with Gilles, started, then nodded. "Yes, one moment, Lady Liz." He strode up to her, then knelt, cupping his hands together. Liz carefully stepped into his joined hands, and then he lifted the smaller girl, hoisting her up until she was eye level with Kratos.
The girl preened. "MUCH better. You really are a tall one, aren't you Fuzzy? If you summon me, I don't think you'll be much of a manager, but you might be an even better bouncer than Siggy-Woogy there. MUCH scarier looking. Now, hold still."
Suddenly, Kratos found his neck encircled by the girl's arms, as she had thrown herself into a hug with the Spartan. He supposed he should have seen this coming - everyone else from their little group, save Fou, who had gotten what the girl had described as a 'wuzzling', had received a similar hug from the girl.
Her voice in his ear, so soft he had to strain to hear it, jolted him from the unusual physical contact. "Be careful of Kiyo. A moment ago, when she came to get me, I swear she called you 'Anchin'. She totally denies it, but I know what I heard. I know the two of you talked, but you also saved her life. She might know you're not him, but she's still a Berserker. She seems to be in her right mind right now, but that could change in an instant.…..just be careful, Fuzzy."
Carefully, Kratos nodded his head the barest fraction of an inch. Liz's arms tightened around his neck, showing she understood, then she released him, falling to land on her feet.
"Now go give 'em hell, Fuzzy. The next time I see you, I want to hear all about how you saved France."
CASTLE CSEJTE
TWO DAYS AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF CHALDEA
Baldur spat on the last wisps of gold, as they faded into nothingness.
Two days. Two WHOLE days he had been stalled. And he had absolutely NOTHING to show for it.
One day had been unavoidably wasted - it was just not possible to heal Fafnir any faster. And while he could have hitched a ride on the jet alongside Berserker, it left him with no way to retreat in the event they had, somehow, acquired mistletoe. So he had spent the interval of time while his dragon was healing sending Berserker off in random intervals to bombard the castle. He'd never expected it to cause any real harm - and it hadn't. As Atalanta had explained, it served the dual purpose of keeping eyes on them, and preventing them from relaxing.
And it seemed to have served exactly that purpose. After the first, surprise attack, the second time Berserker had flown by the castle, he had been met by a wall of horrific sound (or so the impressions he had gotten over their mind-link had implied) - it seemed the little group from Chaldea was still there.
After that show of defiance, he had worked the Berserker like a dog - barely an hour passed before he had sent the Black Knight out again to scream into the sky. And each time, the jet had been met by that screeching, confirming that they were still there. No possible way a Rogue Servant could be throwing that kind of power around without having contracted with Kratos, and not without the man himself being there to provide mana directly - even a god's mana would be that much less abundant over a large distance.
No, he had them right where he wanted them, and he meant to keep them there until he could lock his hands around Kratos' throat.
There was, of course, the possibility this was a trap. Maybe, somehow, they had gotten their hands on his bane and were luring him in, but he and Atalanta had gone over it again and again - the timeframe just didn't fit. It didn't seem possible that they'd have been able to get across the borders and back in less than a day - and none of the Servants they had identified there seemed like they'd be able to conjure mistletoe out of thin air.
But, at her cajoling, he had waited until Fafnir was fully healed - another half day - instead of taking him out as soon as he was good enough to fly. He'd sent the Berserker out one last time, just to make sure they were still there, and then set out himself.
As they passed over the fields of France, the Black Knight heading back to Orleans, he thought the thing almost seemed happy the endless flyovers were finally done, one way or another.
When he'd drawn close enough to the castle, once again, that horrible screeching had burst forth - and while it had done nothing to him physically, he'd had to ditch his ride and make the approach on foot. Before long, he was standing in front of the doors to the castle.
That was when his headaches began.
The entire castle, it seemed, had been rigged with traps.
Nothing that could hurt him - if nothing else, this confirmed they still hadn't been able to lay their hands on any mistletoe. No, the purpose of these traps had been to delay him - and also possibly to enrage him.
Stairs that collapsed when he was halfway up, or ones that transformed into sheer slides, the stairs sinking into the stone, and oil suddenly pouring down the slope. Doors that triggered the ceilings to collapse, forcing him to either dig through the rubble, or to go around. Pitfalls that dumped him one or more floors down - on one occasion he fell all the way from the top floor to the dungeons. And, it seemed there had been further digging, possibly seeing if there was a river that ran under the castle that he could be dumped into and swept out with the current. Had they been given more time, he shuddered to think what annoyances they could have put together.
Despite not having the means to harm him, that didn't mean they didn't make attempts. Spring-loaded traps that fired blades at him, tripwires that triggered showers of bolts from rigged crossbows, murder holes that dumped oil, then flaming rags from above - he even at one point tripped something that swung an anvil, of all things, on a hanging rope at him.
None of them could hurt him, but it delayed him, and frayed his temper to the barest edges, until he was literally seeing red by the time he finally breached the doors to the throne room.
Where he was greeted by a single Servant.
She looked, for the lack of a better term, like she had been starved for months. Dark circles under her eyes, hair a tangled mess, her outfit smudged and torn, and her skin an unhealthy pallor - but her eyes were defiant.
It was upon seeing those eyes that the coin finally dropped - Kratos wasn't here, none of them were, save this little pink annoyance. She'd been stalling him, endlessly using her Noble Phantasm, burning away at her very life to keep delaying him, giving the group from Chaldea time to slip away right under his nose.
When he came back to himself, when the red receded from his vision, the girl was in several pieces all across the room, rapidly vanishing. But her mocking laughter still echoed around the room. She'd won, and they both knew it - him killing her was pyrrhic at best.
Kratos and his allies weren't here, and he hadn't the first idea WHERE they were.
THE OUTSKIRTS OF ORLEANS
FOUR DAYS AFTER THE DEPARTURE OF CHALDEA
When they finally laid eyes on Orleans, a ripple passed through the group. It had been a long, tiring four days, and to finally catch a glimpse of their goal…
The castle itself had seen better days - gloom and despair clung to it like a shroud. The corpses that Avenger had used as, as she had put it, as a 'keep the everloving fuck away sign' still lay strewn about the borders. But, even had they not known, they would have realized at a glance that this was the source of France's troubles, both those seeking to destroy it, and the plague that was slowly choking the life from the land itself. A miasma wafted from the very bricks of the castle itself, thick enough that it could be cut with a blade.
The walls, however, still stood strong, and the gate was drawn and barred. No signs of life could be seen from within the castle, but Romani had confirmed - there were Servant signatures within. At long last, the final destination lay in sight.
"Fuckin' FINALLY," griped Avenger.
Crude as her words were, the sentiment was at least shared by all of them, even Kratos. He had marched them all as he would fellow Spartans - Liz was giving her life to draw their enemies' eyes to her, and other soldiers would soon be spilling their own blood for the same reason. They would not let those sacrifices be wasted by being late.
To all of their credits, they had matched his pace easily.
It had been the hardest on Mash. The girl may have been a Servant, but unlike them, she still needed food and sleep like a human. But never once had she let her pace slacken, she had kept up through pure grit and will, always just behind Kratos.
No one commented on how, once she had eaten her fill in the evening - always lukewarm food, they could not risk a fire being spotted (though Avenger was apparently able to heat the metal containers their food was stored in through her touch alone) - she had collapsed into a dead sleep in her sleeping bag until the morning, Fou snuggled into her arms. The various Servants just smiled at the sleeping head of purple hair, made sure the girl was as comfortable as possible, and took their various turns on watch, always talking in a whisper, careful not to disturb her slumber. Even Avenger had made an effort to moderate her volume.
Kiyohime sniffed, turning her nose up at the other Servant. "Language, Avenger. Truly, I don't know how something so base came from Jeanne. You're nothing like her, and prove it in new and more disgraceful ways every day."
Kiyohime, for all that she had been a pampered noble girl in her life, had weathered the march as well as any of the other Servants - proving that the word 'superhuman' which had been used so often to describe Servants in Chaldea was as true as ever. She, like Mash, had been right behind Kratos every step of the way.
And that, in hindsight, should have been the first sign.
It was subtle at first. She was typically at his side - never too close, but always there. Watching, listening, engaging him in conversation in the few times they had breath to spare for words - typically only when they stopped for the evening. It could have passed for simple curiosity, were Liz's warning to him not ringing in his mind.
She'd not called him 'Anchin' once - something that had allayed his fears, until the second evening, after they had heard a massive explosion far to the east - one that could only be the destruction of Castle Csejte. While all had mourned their fallen ally, Kiyohime had taken it the hardest, having some familiarity with her fellow draconic Servant from the Throne.
That morning, he had awoken to find her curled up next to him, fast asleep, and far too close.
Part of him wanted to write it off as just a reaction to the trauma of losing a friend - and she and Liz WERE friends, despite their at times adversarial relationship - but he now knew Kiyohime's Legend. And Servants, as he had been told repeatedly, were slaves to their Legend.
For the next two days, Medusa and Jeanne had watched Kiyohime carefully. She'd not fallen asleep next to him again, and she'd still refrained from calling him Anchin - it continued to be Kratos or 'sir', mimicking Mash at times. But Medusa reported that one evening, while on watch, Kiyohime had been quietly talking to herself, carrying on both sides in a conversation. While it had been too quiet to hear the entirety, she had caught Kratos' name at least once.
It was clear, while the girl might know, on a rational level that Kratos was not her would-be beloved, her Legend, and the Madness that was the curse of every Berserker was beginning to take its toll.
And in a likelihood, because he had saved her life, and that had triggered something in the girl's fractured mind.
Kratos found his opinion of the Throne of Heroes deteriorating even further. Bad enough these spirits could be called up by mages unworthy of their service and forced into acts beneath them, but Berserkers were degraded even further, their very minds stolen by the class they had been placed into.
Kiyohime was stable, for now, but for how long would that last? Long enough for them to kill Baldur and restore this past France? And if she had lost sight of reality before they had reached Orleans, what was there to be done? Dismiss her from the group, and he risked provoking a battle that could well upend their entire plan. Talking to her, Medusa and Jeanne both agreed, would do little if her madness gained dominance over her mind - she would twist all answers to the reality she wished, rather than the reality that existed.
He would not even consider the option of killing her, sending her back to the Throne. Were she a ravening beast like the Berserker of Fuyuki, and actively dangerous, it would have been one thing…..but at worst, Kiyohime was merely delusional. Mad, yes, but she was not a threat. Not at this moment. And not to the group.
So she remained by his side, and he guarded his words carefully, and hoped her mind would remain intact long enough to see this Singularity resolved.
"Our scans are showing the army's drawing up on Castle Dracula," stated Romani, eyes flickering between displays on his screen. "If they hold to the plan, they'll send out a screen to draw out the wyverns, and start the bombardment soon after. So it's now or never."
"Means I better get down to the coffins, then, and get my stretches in," Cu's grin was positively feral. "After sitting on my ass for nearly a week, I'm finally going to get to see some action! Don't make me wait too long, Kratos. Sparring with you was fun, but fighting next to you is better." With a cheerful wave, he departed from Da Vinci's screen, allowing the woman to reclaim her seat.
Kratos grunted. "We make for the throne room at haste. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we finish this."
Avenger rolled her eyes. "Great speech there, grumpy. Don't quit your day job to become a motivational speaker….OW!" The pale-haired woman glared down at Kiyohime, who had jabbed her in the side with her fan.
The shorter girl glared right back. "Behave, Avenger. We're all of us anxious to avenge Elizabeth, even if we're not compelled by our class to do so."
"Enough," rumbled Kratos. "We move. Remain cautious."
They set out at a rapid pace, nerves on edge, all of them waiting anxiously for the moment they would be noticed - because they would be noticed. Whether it would be the sheer amount of Servant signatures approaching, or Kratos' divine radiance, or simply the chain of enmity that existed between Siegfried and Fafnir, they could not hide. Something in their group would be impossible for their enemies to miss. It was only a question of what, and when.
'When', it turned out, was when they had crossed half the ground that stood between them and Orleans itself. And 'what' was a dragon that boiled up from the castle grounds, shrieking in mindless rage.
Siegfried drew up next to Kratos, his eyes never leaving the wyrm flying towards them at reckless speed. "Is it time, then?"
"Yes," Kratos extended his hand, and Siegfried took it. One more thread burned itself into Kratos' mind, this one steady, reliable. A weathered, but implacable tree. One that would stand up through the fiercest of storms.
Siegfried drew himself up to his full height, his eyes going still and dead as he gazed upon his foe. "I shall not let you down, Sir Kratos."
"Fight well," Kratos and the rest of the group drew away from Siegfried, all them carefully watching Fafnir, but they needn't have bothered. The monster had eyes only for its destined foe.
Fangs and claws descended from the sky, but were met by a shining sword that leapt to meet the drake. Balmung was everywhere, darting left, right, and center to parry claws that would have rent Siegfried in two, or jaws that would have swallowed him whole. Blood rained down, both the toxic blood of the dragon, and the redder blood of the man.
Within a few moments, their fight had carried them far beyond the horizon.
"Nothing more we can do for him, now," said Jeanne, her face torn. "Just like he thought it would be."
"We have our goal, as does he," Siegfried had been unable to tell Kratos much of how he had slain Fafnir in his life - his memories of it were spotty at best. Dragonslayers in this world apparently entered into a kind of trance when in battle with a true Dragon, one that left little room for thought, only the cut and thrust of a life and death struggle against a foe like no other. But he had been certain, now that he had wounded his nemesis, Fafnir would come for him at the first chance, and he would meet him, as was his duty as a knight.
It had been oddly prescient.
They resumed their march, knowing that Fafnir would not be the only welcome they received from the gloomy castle. The Servants within knew they were coming now.
The whistling of arrows through the air signaled the next obstacle they would have to overcome. Shields raised, Kratos and Mash took the fore, as arrows rained down on them.
SOME DISTANCE TO THE EAST OF ORLEANS
Siegfried wiped blood, both his and Fafnir's, from his face, as he heaved breaths into his chest. Above him, Fafnir circled, snapping and roaring, polluted blood still dripping down to the earth.
Though he had no way to truly judge based on his hazy memories of his past encounter with the monster, this seemed to be going well. He'd managed to avoid taking a serious wound in the frantic clash that had taken place just moments ago, though he'd not managed a telling blow to the wyrm, either. How long they'd battled he had no idea - there had only been his enemy, and life, or death. To his best guess, the battle in the air had carried him some distance from Orleans - but thankfully not so far that his connection to his Master was strained.
Fortunate, because slaying Fafnir would take every scrap of mana he could muster, and then some.
Hissing, Fafnir descended, claws outstretched. Balmung snapped up and, lightning quick, parried the claws, knocking the massive arms aside. His legs surged and he leapt forward, rolling under the snapping jaws that had been Fafnir's true attack - the creature had once been a sentient, thinking creature, before the curse had transformed it - far too many had thought it just a mindless beast, and had paid dearly for it.
He came to his knees around the area of the dragon's stomach, Balmung moving with his body, the tip of the sword cutting into the softer scales of the dragon's underside. But before the blade could dig deep into vulnerable flesh, the rear talons were there, and behind them, a snapping tail. He leapt from where he had been crouched, Balmung shearing a single claw away as he Disengaged, the spiked tail making a ruin of the ground where he had been a moment later.
Still no telling blows, but each cut he made sapped his nemesis' strength a little more.
Bellowing in rage, Fafnir slammed to the ground and half-slithered, half-clawed its way towards Siegfried. Again, he was forced to leap away as a maw of yellowed teeth and toxic froth shot forward, shattering rotten trees as it snapped shut. He'd barely landed when he was forced to take to the air, as Fafnir snapped his body like a whip, and the jagged tail sliced through the air.
Siegfried easily cleared the danger, though the crack that split the air made him wince at the thought of what such an attack could do to his body. Balmung flipped over in his hands, and he landed on the dragon's tail, sword stabbing down, finally cleaving deep into the monster's body.
Fafnir howled, and he dug his heels in and jerked the sword back and forth, plunging it deeper, and widening the wound. If he could sever the nerves here….
Another howl of rage - he must have hit a particularly painful spot - and Fafnir again twisted his body, and with a crack that made the first sound meek in comparison, managed to dislodge the knight, hurling him though the copse. This time it was Siegfried's body that made ruin of the dying trees.
Thin, watery sap and splinters clung to his armor as he rose to his feet, thankfully never having lost grasp of his sword.
For across the distance from the two enemies, Fafnir was inhaling deeply.
So, it was to be the dragon's breath against his Noble Phantasm? So be it.
He took the familiar stance, both hands grasping his blade, point of the sword to the sky, and had just settled his foot back, about to twist the hilt, when he heard it.
Hoofbeats, and rapid ones at that.
He burst from the treeline, a man - a knight, astride a horse, clad in armor the color of bronze, and robes of white billowing as his charger churned up the ground beneath him. Brown hair fluttered behind him, and a sword, shining with radiance, was raised in his hand.
Siegfried would have recognized him anywhere, for he was one of a small fraternity of Dragonslayers, a fraternity to which Siegfried also belonged.
Saint Georgios.
He didn't know if Fafnir recognized the Saint for who he was, or just knew, on some instinctive level, that this man, like his destined enemy, was another Dragonslayer, but either way, the wyrm wasted no time in unleashing his greatest weapon on the charging knight.
Fire, a pale green, washed over the man…and parted. From within the deluge, the knight's steed glowed a brilliant white, and the flames were pushed back, not so much as singing a single hair on man or horse.
And the saint never stopped his charge.
Ascalon sang, and one of the creature's legs crashed to the ground, severed as neatly as you please, still twitching as it lay in the dirt.
Fafnir shrieked, a high, keening note of pain, and its many wings beat the air, leaving the ground, desperately putting space between itself and that blade.
Georgios wheeled his mount around, and within moments, had drawn up to Siegfried. "Well met, Sir Siegfried." His head nodded, as close to a bow as he was willing to give, with Fafnir still roaring in pain above them. "This, then, is Fafnir?"
Siegfried nodded, his eyes never leaving his quarry. "Yes, good sir, you behold the cursed drake himself. Though, I did not know you had been summoned in this land - but it does my heart good to see you here, nonetheless."
Georgios favored him with a smile. "I came across a band of men not two days ago - an army, really - they told me of a group that would be attacking Orleans itself, seeking to save this land. I accompanied them until I felt this monster rear its head, upon which, I departed. For I could not allow one of my brethren to fight such by himself….I hope I have not made an imposition of myself."
Siegfried's smile matched the one on the saint's face. "Far from it, my brother. I would gladly welcome your assistance in seeing this blight scoured from the lands of France."
The sound of beating wings showed their time was up, Fafnir was hurt, but furious, and he was coming for them.
Steel filled Georgios' eyes. "Then, shall we?"
Together, the two Dragonslayers charged.
ORLEANS
Arrow after arrow bounced off the Spartan's shield as he took step after painstaking step forward. Around him, the two Jeannes' weapons were a blur as they worked to keep the arrows from finding their flesh. Behind Mash's massive shield, Kiyohime had found shelter - possibly she would have preferred to remain close to Kratos, but she had wisely chosen the greater protection offered by the larger shield carried by Chaldea's Demi-Servant. Medusa, as of yet, had not had need to draw her weapons, her great speed allowing her to avoid the arrows sent her way.
"There's enough of us that she can't focus fire on any one of us, but she's just buying time!" yelled Jeanne, sweat beginning to leak into her eyes. "We need to breach the castle walls, and soon!"
"Seriously lacking some ranged options of our own here!" snapped Avenger, her head darting out of the way of an arrow that barely missed splitting her head open. "You might want to consider summoning someone with a bow, or better yet, a damn rocket launcher, in the future!"
Kratos growled, but bit back a retort - the annoying woman was right. The Archer had the ability to strike them from afar, and the high ground. Approach would be a challenge, were she merely a mortal with a bow - and she was far more than that.
"Rider," he rumbled. "Can you reach her?"
Medusa cast her gaze to the castle walls, eyes tracing a path. "She's moving between shots, like she should be…..but I think there's a way." She frowned. "But if she's operating with a buddy, like a sniper should be I could end up in trouble. Sanson shouldn't be a problem, but the other two…"
"If it is the Black Knight, or Baldur himself, fall back. Drawing the Berserker to us could benefit us, allowing us to remove him from the field." He did not think Baldur would allow himself to be baited in such a manner, but the crazed Servant was another matter entirely.
She nodded. "As you wish. Mash, cover me for a second!"
"Right!" The purple haired girl dashed over to Medusa's side, Kiyohime less than a step behind her. Once behind the cover of Mash's shield, Medusa crouched low, her legs tensing. Purple energy flared around her lower limbs.
And then she took off like a shot.
Within seconds, she had crossed the empty field between themselves and the castle walls. Pieces of the walls fell, shattered, as she flew up them, the cracks of her footfalls so close together they seemed like a single, continuous sound. For a second, Kratos thought he saw a flutter of the woman's purple hair as she leapt from the walls to one of the castle towers, but he couldn't be certain.
A moment later, the arrows stopped.
"MOVE!" shouted Kratos - unnecessarily, as every member of their group rushed forward at the sign of a reprieve from the barrage.
They reached the gate without further incident.
"Ok, now fucking what?" asked Avenger, her head tilted back to stare up at the walls. "We climbing?"
Kratos' shield retracted into the strip of metal on his arm. "Now, you stand guard. And stand back."
He strode up to the gate, looking for and finding nothing that would serve as suitable handholds. Two strikes from his fists solved that issue, caving in the metal enough for him to get a good grip. He took hold, inhaled deeply, and pulled.
Metal groaned, as feudal castle construction of the 1400s vied against the sinews of a living god. The veins in his arms popped out, and the muscles of his back, always on display, bulged until they seemed as if they were forged from steel.
(Kiyohime may have had to wipe a bit of drool from her lips. Not that she let that stop her from staring.)
For a long moment, there was only the steel gate, and the man straining against it. Then, the groaning metal gave way to a sound of breaking.
Avenger's jaw had fallen open. "No freakin' way….."
Stone shattered and metal fractured as the gate was torn from its moorings. Kratos took a step back, awkwardly balancing the gate as he held it above himself. Another step back, as he half-turned, then another deep breath. Then, with a roar, he hurled the gate aside.
The noise of its crashing to the ground had barely died down when Avenger let out a low whistle. "Hoooooleeeeee SHIT. Remind me to never piss you off."
Kiyohime's eyes were wide. "Kratos…just how strong are you?"
"When he first came to Chaldea, we tried to measure it," said Mash. "Doctor Roman ended up having to write down 'Yes' as the answer when we couldn't find an upper limit to it…..though we were operating on limited power for the Simulator then."
Avenger was shaking her head in disbelief. "Fucking impressive. So long as you didn't hurt your back doing that stunt."
"My back is fine." To hear those same words his son uttered coming from Avenger…..he couldn't decide if it rankled, or was just strange. "Three years ago, before Ragnarök, I was forced to flip Tyr's Temple. This was less, compared to that."
"You're telling me that story, if we both make it out of this alive, Kratos." There was a grin on her face that was almost friendly. "I'm holding you to that."
He grunted. "Jeanne, lead us to the throne."
Inside the castle walls, the miasma was thick enough to make any normal soul gag. There was an unwholesomeness in the air that reminded Kratos, in a small way, of the cramped and choked pathways of the Temple of Light, when it had been under Dark Elf control.
They had taken but a few steps into the courtyard, when there came a roar, a great cry of something that was once a man, once, before events had cost it its reason and sanity, then, hot on its heels, there came the sound of shattering stone, and a form was blasted into their midst.
Medusa landed on her feet a bit shakily. The woman looked worse for wear - her dress was torn in some places, and she freely bled from a cut on her forehead. Most notably, her blindfold was gone.
"Careful!" she snapped. "Don't meet my eyes - without my blindfold to suppress them, there's the risk that they might start turning you to stone!"
"Atalanta?" asked Jeanne, eyes flitting about the castle walls, seeking the Greek Servant.
"No, the Black Knight." Medusa's hands tightened on her weapons. "The stories didn't do him justice….he's a monster. He tried to tear my eyes from my skull, and only got my blindfold…..and then slapped me with it when he realized he missed. It's what caused this cut. Be careful, he's…."
Whatever she had been trying to say was cut off, as a heavily armored form burst through a wall, roaring its head off. In the few seconds it was within his sight, Kratos' mind furiously took in the details.
Black, thick plated armor. Dark, shrouding smoke poured from every crevasse. A visor slit lit with angry red, a tail of blue hair fluttering from the top of the helm. And around his form, the flickers of red magical energy.
And this thing was crashed against Mash's shield, the girl having raised her weapon/defense the second the Servant had blasted through the wall. Time seemed to stop, as Kratos saw the mad Servant shove against Mash's shield.
Then, a second later, they were gone, the Berserker's charge having carried them off into another part of the castle.
"Mash!" the cry came involuntarily from his lungs. Whatever, WHOEVER this Servant was, it was nothing Mash was ready to face on her own. Truly, the aura of madness and savagery pouring from it even gave him momentary pause.
He began to take a step to follow them, but was cut off by a shout from Medusa. "No! You HAVE to get to the throne room and get Caster in - he's the only one who can stop Baldur." For the briefest of seconds, she turned her head back to look at him, and met his eyes. Her eyes, like her hair, were violet, he noted. Then she turned away. "I'll go - my eyes might be able to petrify him completely, or long enough to kill him - and I'm the strongest Servant you have to throw at him."
Avenger took a step forward. "I'll go with her. I feel Charlie off in that direction too. The fact he doesn't have his Presence Concealment up means it's probably a trap. Not that it'll help him. I'll roast him, keep him from jumping either your girl or sneaking up on the rest of you while you're dealing with Baldur's ass. He might not be much as far as Servants go, but he could still cause problems if we let him run around alive, and I owe him." She sneered. "Once he's dead, I'll go help the snake. Between 'me' and the dragon girl, you should be fine."
Kratos growled, but couldn't fault her logic, loath as he was to divide the group further - and Avenger was the one he would trust the least out of his sight. Not from fears of treachery - he believed her need for vengeance was genuine enough, given her class, but she was utterly lacking in control and discipline, as she had demonstrated more than once.
"Go," he rumbled, and both women hastened away, Medusa darting away in a flash, following the trail of destruction that had been left as the Black Knight had driven Mash through the castle. Avenger was hot on her heels, though she diverted paths soon after.
"Let's go," muttered Jeanne. "The throne room is this way."
It wasn't hard to find Sanson. He was, as she had noted, making no effort to hide himself.
Which, as she had also noted, likely meant this was a trap. Best case, it was just an attempt to either delay them by forcing them to deal with him, or to peel off a member of the group to reduce their concentrated awesome. Worst case, she was quite literally sticking her neck into the old guillotine for the executioner.
Well, not like she had any better ideas. And constant exposure to her showed that her real self had gotten most of the brains in this exchange. Thankfully, she kicked enough ass that it didn't bother her too much. And while the both of them couldn't read a lick, she, at least, had gotten the artistic talent, as her Banner of Vengeance so effortlessly displayed.
Advantage, Avenger Jeanne.
She kicked the doors open, and strode into the ruined church. Glancing about, she saw that it hadn't changed much since she'd been evicted from Orleans. Gilles had taken an unholy delight in defiling the church once she'd taken over the castle, and it looks like none of her traitorous Servants had cared to restore the building to its previous state. Not surprising, since the only one of them that could claim any sort of real fondness for God had moved out when he'd been given his own castle to live in, leaving a pair of pagans (Atalanta and Baldur), a lunatic (whoever the fuck that Black Knight was), and one other.
Who just happened to be there, kneeling in front of the broken altar. Her former Servant, Charles-Henri Sanson, his head bowed, that bigass sword of his held in front of him, doing that cross thing that pious knights were so damn fond of - or so parts of her tattered memory told her.
Rich, really, coming from an executioner. She had to give him credit for audacity - it also looked cool, so points for that.
"Praying the beating you're about to take will be over quick, Charlie?" She raised her hand up to her neck, pressing down, cracking her knuckles against her pallid flesh. (Gads, she missed her left hand sometimes. Can't do a badass knuckle cracking the way you're supposed to when you're a gimp, but she managed. She was dope like that.) "You can't be asking him for help - God wants about as much to do with a butcher like you as he does a heretic like me. Honestly, the Big Man might be more fond of that wall of muscles I'm walking around with these days than either of us."
He said nothing, his head remaining bowed, which stoked her ire - not that it had taken much to raise it, even before she'd gotten reborn into her current class. "If you don't answer me, I'm going to get mad and forget about giving you a chance to die on your feet, jackass. Cause I'm not exactly swimming in time here - I don't actually hate the little marshmallow that's tagging along with my current Master, and if you make me late and something happens to her, I might actually feel bad." The temperature inside the building began to climb, rising with her anger.
Sanson finally raised his head, and slowly made his way to his feet. "As boorish as ever, I see. I wondered, after you summoned me, how something like you could have ever been French. But after Baldur explained what you truly were, it made perfect sense. Just a flawed copy, dreamed up by a madman." He turned to face her, his face still in that bland, dead expression he always wore.
(It had always unsettled her, just a little bit. Knee deep in carnage, dead bodies all around him, and he'd look as bored as if he was taking a nice stroll across the town square. Then again, he'd probably seen enough death, up close and personal, in the Reign of Terror that it would take a lot to get him fussed by it.)
"I wonder," he said, as he raised his sword. "Will it feel any different to kill a fake, as opposed to a real person? When the guillotine blade caresses your neck, will it be new, or will it feel like all the others that I saw sentenced to the Madame's tender mercies?"
For the first time since she had summoned him, an expression marred his bland facade - his eyes flared, and he looked…eager. "Because, if ANYONE deserves death, it is you, Dragon Witch. You forced me to kill the innocent, those who had committed no crimes, all to sate your need to punish France - and worse, it wasn't even your desire. Just one handed to you by that gibbering blasphemer." He shook his head. "No…..this may well be the last act I perform in this summoning, but it will be a just one."
His sword snapped up, pointing directly at her. "Dragon Witch, false Jeanne, I sentence you to death for innumerable crimes against France and its people." His blade whistled through the air as he slashed it into a ready position. "Resist if you desire, struggle if you must. But I have my duty, and I will see it through. Then the Madame shall have her due."
Avenger's spear materialized in her hand, the point already beginning to glow white hot. Without her left hand, she couldn't really give him the 'come on' gesture that this standoff demanded, so she'd have to Use Her Words. "Don't sing it, Charlie, bring it."
And as one, they struck.
They made their way deeper into the castle, Jeanne at their head. The strings of Siegfried, Mash, Medusa, and Avenger thrummed in his mind - all four of them were fighting, possibly for their lives. But they were alive, for now.
"We're almost there," said Jeanne. "Just through this receiving area, and then up the stairs and…."
She trailed off, as they entered a large room, and beheld the two Servants awaiting them.
Baldur, sprawled in a chair. Still wearing the face of Jeanne's brother, but with hair that had darkened and thickened since they last laid eyes upon him. The fine, golden curls of the Maid of Orleans' brother were slowly transforming into the matted tangles of the Baldur that Kratos had known. And a face, formerly clean-shaved, was beginning to sprout the first wiry bits of a beard.
And by his side, one who could only have been the legendary huntress of Greek legend, Atalanta.
Truly, she looked little like he had expected. Thin and willowy, as one would have expected from one whose fame was tied to their great speed, but the tufted ears and tail were…..strange. Likely yet another oddity of the Servant system, somehow related to how she spent her last days in the form of a lion. And like as not, it only made her more dangerous.
Hate filled her eyes as she stared upon Kratos - but it was not merely him that drew her ire. Her eyes narrowed upon sighting Jeanne as well.
"Finally," sneered Baldur, pushing to his feet. "Looks like I lose my bet with you after all. He really was coming for us."
The Greek Archer's rictus of hate softened as she turned to favor Baldur with a small, confident grin. "Everything you told me about him made it seem like this foreign god wasn't one to tiptoe around things. Far too many things could go wrong with an excursion across the borders - no, he'd come here." The hate was back on her face as she beheld Kratos. "To try to murder an abused child once again."
Her bow materialized in her hands, though she did not draw it back. Yet. "Was it not enough to kill him in your world, after he had finally been freed from the curse his mother laid upon him?"
"He serves someone who wants to destroy all of humanity!" yelled Jeanne, taking a step forward. "Not just France, everyone, everywhere! All the children that ever lived, or ever will, will BURN if this Lev and his fellows are not stopped!"
"And I don't CARE!" shouted Atalanta, a hint of red flooding into her eyes. "Do you know what this boy's mother did to him? Cut him off from everything, all sensation, all feeling, all to soothe her worries. All for her own peace of mind, HEEDLESS of what it was doing to her son! And when he told her how he was suffering, she just laughed it off. No." She shook her head sadly. "No, I cannot let this stand. I can do nothing for the children that have been caught up in the Incineration - that is beyond me. But what I can do is help a child who is suffering right in front of me, HERE AND NOW!"
Her bow snapped up, an arrow appearing fitted to the string. Her eyes were filled with red. "And while I have no memories of what may cause it…merely seeing your face, Maid of Orleans, fills me with a loathing unlike any I have felt before."
"Well, looks like she's made her choice. You can have the 'Saint'," drawled Baldur. "That just leaves you, Kratos, and our unfinished business." He sneered. "Though I see you have another brat trailing in your wake. Did you miss that puling runt of yours so badly you had to find another one?"
Kiyohime hissed, and from behind him, Kratos could hear the crackle of flames. 'The stairs to the throne are just behind them, Kratos. We just have to get by them. I can handle Atalanta, can you figure some way past Baldur?'
'I will have to.' Kratos reached back and seized the Leviathan Axe. Its length would be more useful than the Blades in this cramped space, and indoors was a poor place for Draupnir. And better the frost of the axe than the fires of the Blades - a castle could burn like anything else.
(And, if need be, it could put out the fires that would be started by his possibly unstable ally.)
For a long moment, no one moved, the only sound was the crackle of Kiyohime's flames. Then, Atlanta loosed an arrow, and the fight was on.
Jeanne slapped the arrow aside, then yelped, as Atalanta was suddenly behind her, seizing her by the braid. With a feral cry, the huntress hurled Jeanne through the door they had entered by, then spun and fired a volley of arrows at Kratos, almost point blank.
He got his shield up in time, only just, but he needn't have bothered. A gout of fire, waved forward by a fan, turned the arrows into ash. Before he could retaliate, Atalanta was gone, sprinting off into the castle after Jeanne.
Then Baldur was there.
A hooking punch buried itself in his side, before he could turn, and he was knocked back, the breath blasted from his lungs. A jet of flame flowed over Baldur, the flames parting before ever touching him, and with a mocking laugh, he backhanded Kiyohime across the room.
And then it was just the two of them.
Baldur's fist crashed into his shield, the metal ringing like a gong. Kratos pushed back, shoving Baldur aside, then slid out of the way of a telegraphed haymaker. Testing, he stuck his leg out, seeking to foul Baldur's footing - if he could cause the man to stumble, he could possibly bury him again, and gain the moment he would need to break off and make for the throne room.
It was as useless as if he had tried to strike him - Baldur's legs flowed around his attempted trip, showing a grace and balance the man had never demonstrated in his living days. Kratos gritted his teeth - this likely meant grappling would be equally ineffective, as would attempting to bind him with the chains of the Blades of Chaos.
With a cry, Baldur's foot lashed out, and Kratos twisted out of the way. A barrage of fists followed, and Kratos weaved around them, ducking and twisting, trying to get Baldur off balance - if he couldn't trip him, maybe he could just get him to stumble under his own power.
Kratos faked a stumble of his own, and Baldur took the bait, throwing another titanic punch Kratos' way, one he easily rolled under, and then, he was behind Baldur. He made it two steps before, in a flash, Baldur was again in front of him, hand wrapped around the handle of the Leviathan Axe.
"Oh no, you're not getting away that easy," With a grunt of effort, he hurled Kratos back into the center of the room. Contemptuously, he stalked forward. "This doesn't end until you're dead, Kratos, and I have the bounty that gets me back to my world….and to my bitch of a mother."
A shrieking, enraged Kiyohime leapt onto Baldur's back, attempting to seize him by the throat, but her hands slipped from his neck as if they were oiled. She fell onto the floor, and avoided a vicious kick by the skin of her teeth, narrowly stumbling under it. She choked, then belched a cloud of smoke into Baldur's face.
Smoke that dissipated almost immediately.
"Not FAIR!" she shrieked, as she backpedaled, trying to avoid the fist that was screaming at her face. At the last second, Kratos' shield interposed itself between them, the metal groaning with the impact. Baldur seized the edge of the shield, and Kratos jerked his arm, attempting to fling Baldur aside, but the Norse god released the shield the second he felt Kratos move, and threw a jab at Kratos' now exposed side.
Kiyohime's fan managed to block and stop the punch, proving that it was more durable than its fragile appearance let on. She slapped his fist aside, then leapt back, taking position at Kratos' side.
They were getting nowhere, fast. And he had no idea how his other allies fared. All the strings in his mind, save that of Cu Chulainn, were vibrating with the feel of imminent danger and combat. None yet had slackened in what he would assume was death - so they yet lived.
But for how long?
Baldur cackled. "Try everything you can think of, Kratos. You CAN'T hurt me. And your time is running out - whether my Servants win against your worthless allies or not, they can't hurt me either. You're skilled, I'll give you that, but you WILL make a mistake, eventually. And then, I'll make you pay for it in BLOOD."
Fingers on his arm caused Kratos to turn his head to the side, while still keeping one eye on Baldur. "Anch….." Kiyohime bit into her lip, hard enough to draw blood. "Kratos! Kratos….make a contract with me."
At his furrowed brow, she continued. "I can hold him, just long enough to let you get away. But I'll have to use my Noble Phantasm. And…I'll need more power to do that." Her eyes turned imploring. "Please…please trust me, this one last time. While I'm still myself."
Baldur's hands were on his hips, his entire posture one of callous indifference. "Plotting something? Go ahead. The more time you waste, the better for me."
Her eyes stared up at him. "Please, don't make me beg. Let me help you, in some way, to get back to your son….."
The one thing he had been warned against doing, both by Romani and Da Vinci, and by Medusa. But now, they were backed into a corner…..
Cautiously, he transferred the Leviathan Axe to his left hand, and held out his right.
Kiyohime seized his hand with both of hers, and another thread burned itself into his mind.
It was an unstable thing - parts of it burning with a fiery rage akin to that of Avenger's string, other parts hard and scaled, the dragon she became in her Legend. But underneath it all was the core, that of a simple, ordinary girl who had been overtaken by events and become something so much more, who had let her rage transform her.
Kiyohime's eyes brimmed with tears. "Thank you, for trusting me, at the end of all this." She wiped the tears from her eyes, then leveled a steely glare at Baldur. "Now stand back."
She stepped in front of Kratos, fire playing across her fan, and Baldur laughed uproariously. "Oh, letting a little girl fight your battles for you? This should be amusing…."
"You will not hurt him, you filth," Kiyohime's voice dripped with rage, and the promise of violence. "If by my death, I can see you stopped, then I will give it."
"I will exterminate all of the liars who ran from me…"
Kiyohime's form started to swell and grow, her formerly smooth skin rippling with scales. Her horns elongated, and her pupils transformed into reptilian slits.
"TRANSFORMING, FLAME-EMITTING MEDITATION!"
There was an explosion of heat and light, and when his sight returned, the girl was gone, replaced by the dragon.
If Fafnir had been more serpentine than the dragons he had seen in Midgard, Kiyohime's transformed body was beyond even that. He saw no wings or even legs, only a long, sinuous, white-scaled body.
Baldur, if anything, was unimpressed. "Oh, so THIS is your trump? Another dragon for me to break?" He sighed. "How incredibly…..disappointing."
The dragon that Kiyohime had become shrieked a challenge, body rearing up to nearly touch the ceiling. Baldur laughed at the display, his eyes taken completely off Kratos for a moment.
So he missed that Kiyohime's tail, quick as lighting, looped tightly around Kratos. For a moment, the Spartan was shocked, half-convinced that Kiyohime's sanity had been shattered by her transformation. But then her body jerked forward, flinging Kratos through the door at the opposite end of the room.
It wasn't a gentle throw by any stretch of the imagination. Kratos shattered through the door, then tumbled partways up the stairs - it hurt. But he was past Baldur.
"NO!" bellowed Baldur, already blurring as he made to cross the room, to catch Kratos and drag him back into the room.
He almost made it.
The second before he crossed the threshold, he crashed into a wall of scales and bounced back, Kiyohime's bulk now blocking the door to the stairs. Her body weaved from side to side, eyes locked onto Baldur as he feinted one way, then another, attempting to get past her.
"You…MONSTROUS BITCH! I'll RIP YOU APART!" His fist crashed into Kiyohime's body, knocking her back, making her cry out in pain, but she stubbornly remained in his path.
'Run Kratos. I'll hold him as long as I can. And goodbye….'
Mash huffed a breath into her chest, fear thrumming through every part of her body.
She didn't know how long they had been fighting. In the first few moments, she had been acting purely on reflex and training, blocking the Servant's attacks by the narrowest of margins. At the time, she hadn't understood just how dangerous this foe was.
She had learned since.
She didn't know what part of the castle they were in, and she didn't have time to wonder - she only thanked her lucky stars that they hadn't ended up in the armory.
Not that this Servant needed traditional weapons. Before she'd even fully come to her feet once they'd crashed into this room, the Black Knight had seized two bricks and sent them screaming at her head. Before they'd crossed half the distance between them, the bricks had blackened, with angry red veins running through them.
The force and impact when they had collided with her shield had been so much greater than bricks should have been - she knew somehow - it had to be her Servant's instincts - those bricks had carried the force of a Noble Phantasm. A weak one, yes, but a Noble Phantasm all the same.
She shuddered to think of the damage those bricks could have done to her if she hadn't blocked.
The next few moments had been the most terrifying of Mash's life, more so than even waking up, alone, in the burning city, more so than when the explosions had torn through Chaldea, and she had found herself lying on the floor, so weak, and so cold, unable to feel her legs.
It had been just her, and the crazed Servant, and a desperate struggle to survive.
But she had survived.
It had been by the skin of her teeth, but she had managed to hold her own against the Black Knight. She'd fought desperately, frantically, and his clawed gauntlets had managed to leave her with a handful of wounds, but she was still alive.
At times, it almost seemed like the Berserker was….hesitant to truly strike her, but every time it seemed like his assault was slackening, red mana would flow over him, and he would howl, then redouble his efforts. She wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but those seconds of respite were a godsend to her - they allowed her a brief, brief window to catch her breath.
Amidst the terror and the adrenaline, there was something else. It was deeply buried within her, hidden, but almost begrudgingly revealed nonetheless. It was a sense of…..familiarity.
[Knight of Owner….and Eternal Arms Mastery. It IS you, isn't it, old man? Girl, beat this disgrace, and hit him at least three times for me. I might even take back half the things I've said about you if you manage that.]
Had she a moment to herself, she might have wondered about this odd sense of having known this knight - but she was far too concerned with surviving the next few seconds to spare even a single thought towards this oddity. So she fought, striving to hold out until help came - she knew, as sure as the sun would set tomorrow, that her teacher, Kratos, would not let her face this alone.
And her faith was rewarded. With a crack akin to a sonic boom, Medusa shot into the room, moving so fast she was almost a blur.
Her eyes flashed, and for a second, the Black Knight was frozen in place. Medusa's foot crashed into his helmet, the metal cracking at the force generated by her kick, then she was flying upward, and past him, as the Servant seized a wooden beam and swung it, attempting to shatter every bone in the Greek Servant's body.
Chains clattered, and popped into being, wrapped around the Berserker's throat. Medusa landed, feet planted on the ceiling, and her arms bulged, as she hurled the Servant into the opposite wall.
For a second, it was quiet, as Medusa leapt off the ceiling and landed at Mash's side.
"Are you hurt?," she asked, eyes forward waiting, expecting the Servant to re-emerge any second.
"I'm ok!" replied Mash, heaving breaths of air into her lungs. "Mr. Kratos?"
"Heading towards the throne room. I came to back you up. Avenger should be here once she's done with Sanson. We just have to hold out until then."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!," roaring incoherently, the Berserker blasted through the wall. His hands opened, and were suddenly filled.
"Assault rifles! How….?," Medusa's exclamation was cut off, as the crazed Servant opened up with both barrels.
Mash ducked behind her shield, desperately trying to hide every inch of herself behind the solid metal, flinching as the first few bullets pinged off it. Medusa took off, flying across the room, barely staying ahead of the stream of lead. The torrent of fire continued, long after he should have run out of ammunition, so long that Mash began to realize she had to do something to break the stalemate - she was safe behind her shield, but Medusa could not keep this up forever.
Hesitantly, she took a step forward, terrified of letting even a sliver of her peek out from behind her shield. When she managed that, and did not feel a bullet crease her flesh, she took another step, this one more confidently.
And then another.
Then she was running.
The long, continuous roar the Berserker had been emitting was cut off as Mash crashed into him, her shield bending the barrel of the rifles backwards. The madman never released the triggers, and the guns misfired, then exploded in his hands.
This only seemed to make him madder.
He hurled the shattered remains of the rifles at Medusa, the woman weaving between them, then hauled back and struck Mash's shield, the sheer force of it blasting her back several feet. Medusa swooped in, her stakes gouging at the eye slit of the knight's visor, but he fell backwards, feet swinging upwards to blast Medusa in the gut, sending her crashing into the ceiling.
The Berserker sprang to his feet, legs tensing to jump up and finish what he had started, but Mash's shield crashed into his side, staggering him, and Medusa descended from the ceiling, leg falling in a vicious axe kick, one that the Servant only just avoided by springing forward in a roll.
Quicker than a thought, he spun around, snatching some of the masonry that had been blasted into the air by Medusa's kick, and hurling it at the two women. Mash got her shield up in time to protect both of them, then braced for the next attack.
Which didn't come.
The Black Knight was staring at her, again, that odd hesitancy once again having asserted itself.
"What….?," began Medusa.
"I don't know…..," replied Mash. "Sometimes, he just stops…..before red energy washes over him, and he attacks even harder…."
"...sounds like a Command Seal, one he's fighting." Medusa was gently probing her stomach, wincing as her fingers trailed across where she had been kicked by the other Servant. "I don't know why they'd use one on a Berserker, but this could give us our window. The next time he freezes, we'll….."
Medusa stopped, her eyes glazing over. "Mash…I'm sorry, but I have to go. Please…please, try to stay alive."
And then Medusa vanished in a shower of gold sparks, and she was alone again.
Kratos ran up the stairs, moving as fast as he had ever moved. The walls echoed with the sounds of the room he had left, the sounds of a titanic struggle.
And the cries of a dragon in pain.
After what seemed like an eternity, the stairs leveled off, and he beheld the door atop them - so garishly decorated it could be nothing else but the doorway to the throne of this castle.
Some part of him realized that the sounds of combat behind him had ceased.
He crashed through the doors, reducing them to kindling, his legs not stopping until he was close enough to the throne to touch it. He raised his left arm, jabbing at the button to activate the communicator - amazingly, it was still intact, despite everything he had been through in this Singularity.
"ROMANI!" he roared. "I AM HERE!"
"Leyline….connected! Ready to activate substitution!" Romani was clearly riding the edge of panic, eyes flicking between screen and screen and screen, somehow trying to monitor the many different battles taking place within, and without, Orleans. "We don't have the power to keep Medusa and Cu manifested at once, we're going to HAVE to pull her back - there's too much risk of blowing out a generator, and that would see you all lost."
His eyes met Kratos, fear filling them. "It's going to leave Mash all by herself against that Black Knight - Avenger's still fighting Sanson…..are you certain?"
Kratos could hear footsteps, heavy and rapid, echoing from the stairwell. He had no time… "Yes." he growled, his gut twisting. "Do it!"
Three things happened at once.
Baldur burst into the room, howling Kratos' name.
In Kratos' mind, Medusa's string dimmed and slackened, as his sense of her presence faded. Dimly, he heard what he thought was the sound of two hands connecting, slapping each other across the palms. And Cu Chulainn's string flared to life.
And between Kratos and Baldur, a form burst into being, winds whipping through the throne room.
"FINALLY!" yelled the blue-haired Caster, his expression ecstatic. "Cu Chulainn makes his big entrance!"
AUTHOR'S NOTES: While I was trying to sleep, the image of Liz Home Alone-stalling Baldur throughout Castle Csejte came to me, and wouldn't go away. As some have said, she can't physically harm him, but psychologically? Girl's in her ELEMENT. I may come down on the side of Team UMU in the great Fate/EXTRA Idol War, but Liz showed up on my tutorial gatcha and has been with me my entire journey, so I'm still fond of the little miscreant.
OOC Gilles: 'TWO Jeannes? I've had dreams that started this way…' Or maybe NOT so OOC Gilles.
I looked for a good picture of Kiyo's dragon form - her Noble Phantasm gives you like a SECOND of a glimpse of it, and it's mostly a fiery snek as far as I could see. The best image I found through a google search was this, which is what I went with.. .
As a note, I'll almost certainly never do an April Fool's spoof post or anything. Not to my taste. I realize this looking at the date, and how close I came to posting this on the dread date.
Next chapter will be the last for Orleans.