A GHOST IN A STRANGE LAND
CHAPTER 19
Baldur took a step back - having heard Cu's True Name, he was undoubtedly getting a lifetime's worth of information on the Irish Servant fed directly into his head, and was being cautious while he processed it.
Cu was bouncing on the balls of his feet, frenetic energy practically rolling off the Servant.
"Kratos!" The Celt's grin was wide enough to nearly split his face in two. "Before we get started, I have three favors to ask you! One, can I get a loaner?"
He held out his right hand, middle finger twitching - as if his meaning had not been immediately clear. Unhesitatingly, Kratos withdrew Draupnir from his finger and tossed it to Cu, who snatched it from the air and slid it onto his finger, in a single motion. A second later, Draupnir was eagerly clutched in his hands.
"Much better!" he exclaimed, spinning the spear around in his hand, almost unconsciously. "Never was much for the two weapon stuff, that was always more Diarmuid's thing, poor unlucky bastard. But he does alright with it, spears or swords, and I'll just have to do the same, or else he'll mock the shit out of me when I get back to the Throne."
He slammed the butt of Draupnir into the ground. "These next two are going to take some trust from you. Two - go help Mash."
He met Kratos' glower with a look of pure confidence. "I got this. And you know our cute little student needs backup more than I do. Go, save her, and get back here - pretty sure there'll be plenty of fight left by the time you do."
Kratos growled, low in his throat, but he knew Cu was right. He could feel the girl's fear and desperation through the string in his head. And, in truth, there was little he COULD do against Baldur.
It did not, however, mean he liked it.
"And the third?" he asked.
"This one will probably rub you the wrong way more than the other two - I don't want to take any chances here, so I'm going to go all out. And for that, I want you to give me a boost," he glanced at Kratos' hand. "The kind that comes from a Command Seal."
"Doesn't need to be anything in particular, doesn't even NEED to be a command, you can just think about giving me a boost. But if you want, you can just tell me to 'win' - aligns perfectly with what I'm planning to do to this guy anyways." His grin was all teeth, sharp and feral. "But the extra mana will REALLY let me open my bag of tricks up, in case this guy's got some cards he's been holding close to his chest."
Kratos hesitated. This Singularity had already stretched him far outside the places he was most comfortable. In a few days, he'd made contracts with far more of these spirits than he'd anticipated doing so across this entire campaign - and in at least two cases, with individuals he'd never have imagined, either.
(For all that his contracting with Avenger had been a mistake - or more correctly, a misunderstanding - and her thread was like a splinter in his mind, he'd not dissolved the contract.)
Now, he was being asked for one more thing, one more step into a place where he was not sure of what he might be becoming. Here he was, once more commanding soldiers in a war - soldiers he could, if he so chose, control utterly and completely, regardless of what their desires or wills might have been. That these spirits were willing - in some cases, EAGER - to swear themselves to him did not make his skin crawl any less.
But, at the same time, he remembered this man's words to him, what feels like ages ago.
("So I think you need to face this thing head on, and realize you're not going to turn into 'him' anytime soon.")
His arm felt like it was carrying the weight of Atlas himself as he raised it, the Command Seal on the back of his hand, the Omega, flaring bright. His voice, when he spoke, felt like he was trying to force words out while he drowned. "Cu Chulainn." His voice, thankfully, still came out strongly, with no sign of his inner turmoil showing. "I ask this of you. Fight hard, fight to the best of your ability, and fight as you will."
The left 'foot' of the Omega on his hand burnt away, and Cu's grin, if anything, only grew as his body was flooded with mana. "Oooooooooo, that's the STUFF!" His staff appeared in his left hand, and he settled into a stance, spear and staff almost vibrating in his hands. "Now go on, get out of here. Save the girl - and leave this guy to me."
Baldur took a single, menacing step forward, still blocking the door. "And you think I'll just be LETTING you leave?"
Cu laughed. "Who said anything about you letting us do anything?" His head shook. "No, I'm just going to kick your ass up in between your ears." The staff in his hands began warping, as the wood began sprouting green buds all along its length.
Baldur's eyes widened, and he hissed a breath between his teeth. "Druid….."
Cu nodded, briefly, his eyes focused on his enemy. "Yeah, that's right - I see the Throne filled you in. Take your eyes off me while you worry about keeping Kratos here, I DARE you. No, you're going to let Kratos go, because you know your best odds are to take me out, right here, one on one. You call for help after he's gone, and Kratos will just yank me to him, and then you'll have to chase us down before we take out your buddies and put the odds even more in our favor as I hand out mistletoe party favors to all and sundry."
Baldur licked his lips, unsure, truly unsure, for the first time in ages. Cu continued. "You can read a battlefield as well as I can - the tides of this whole thing changed when I arrived. You kill me, and Kratos is proper fucked. And letting him go is your best chance of that - he's more than a match for any Servant you can bring to help you, and he's got two more Command Seals that can call in reinforcements to match every move you make. You've only got three Servants left, after all - versus two Command Seals and a god for us. I'll take those odds any day."
For a long moment, Baldur merely stood there, seething. Then, with a growl, he stood aside. "Fine. Delay the inevitable a bit more. I'll find you after I'm done with this mutt, Kratos."
Cu's head jerked towards the door. "Go on, now. You've got a girl to save."
Kratos didn't hesitate, despite his many misgivings about….well, all of this. Mash's string was practically screaming in his mind - the girl needed reinforcement in the worst possible way. He practically flew from the room, and thundered down the stairs.
A moment later, he was down the stairs, and burst into the receiving room.
He was halfway through the wrecked room when a soft voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Kratos…"
It was barely a whisper, but he heard it as clear as day.
There, in the corner of the room, laying in a pool of blood, her limbs broken and twisted, was Kiyohime. Her eyes were barely open, her gaze weak, but it pierced him all the same.
Mash needed him, her situation was balanced on the edge of a knife. But even so, this girl had laid down her life for him. She was dying a warrior's death - one she had chosen. It would sit ill with him if he did not spare her a moment, this last time.
He knelt beside her, gently cradling her head with his hand. She sighed, happily. "Did you do it? Is your Caster there?"
"Yes," he rumbled. "He fights Baldur now - I go to aid Mash in her battle."
"That's good," she whispered, her eyes closing for a second. She sighed, deeply, then forced her eyes open. "Promise me two things, please?"
He nodded. "First….promise me you'll make it back to your world, and your son. That boy shouldn't be without a father as good as you."
Her eyes fluttered shut again, as her strength began to leave her, for good. "And secondly…don't summon me, if you can help it."
Her head lolled back in his hand. "If you do….I won't remember any of this. And I'll fall for you…because you'll be kind to me, again, treat me like a person, and I'll think you're Anchin, because I can't help myself. And it'll ruin everything. So please…let me stay on the Throne."
"I will do these things, Kiyohime." Her body was beginning to break up. "But I shall never forget what you have done for me."
"Goodbye, Kratos. I'm glad I got to know you."
A moment later, there were only wisps of gold where the girl had been, and Kratos was thundering into the depths of the castle, following the shouted directions of a panicked Romani.
ORLEANS THRONE ROOM
"So, now that you've gotten what you wanted so badly, are we finally going to get to it?" Baldur sneered, but his eyes never left the staff in Cu's left hand.
Cu sighed, just…looking at the mess of the Servant across the hall from him hurt - it hurt the little voice perched on his shoulder, but it also bothered him more than a bit. "Man alive. What did he DO to you, kid?"
Baldur spat. "Snapped my neck and threw me aside like rubbish. Or hasn't he told you?"
"No, you…," Cu sighed again, deeper. This kept up, he might actually feel bad about killing this guy. Maybe. Possibly. "Not Kratos - he's told us about your run-ins in his world." Left unsaid is that Cu and a friend might have been very, VERY carefully poking around in Kratos' dreams while the man was asleep, just to verify some things. Cu trusted the guy, he really did, but, well, someone ELSE was paranoid, and Cu wasn't calling all the shots these days. "I mean Odin - YOUR Odin. Cause frankly, kid, he RUINED you."
Cu's staff swept through the air, cutting Baldur's retort off. "And don't start with that stuff about your mother, either. Yeah, she fucked up pretty royally too, but your dad? He didn't give two shits about you being dead other than the value you had to him while you were alive. And he lied to you, too - the Giants didn't have any more chance of fixing you than I do of flapping my arms and flying to the damn moon." Not that he'd ever WANT to go to the moon, from some of the stories some of the Servants on the Throne told about it.
Baldur's eyes narrowed, and for a second, Cu thought he was going to charge him right then and there - and all he'd get out of this would be a quick, boring fight. But he somehow held himself back. "And just who the Hel are you to speak of the All-Father?"
Cu shrugged, subtly kicking one last rune over to the walls. Wouldn't do to have Roman or that crazy woman listening in on this. Some things needed to stay under wraps. "Me? Nobody, just a guy who loved to fight when he was alive. Normally, I couldn't even qualify for the Caster class. But a meddler saw some of the shit coming down the pipe for Humanity, and I got drafted, so here I am. No Gae Bolg, so slow I feel like I'm doing this underwater with weights tied to me, and with orders more complicated than the usual 'kill that guy, Cu'."
There, some of his contingency plans were all set up. 'Bout time to get this show on the road.
Baldur hissed a breath through his teeth. Yeah, he was about ready to throw the first punch - Cu was honestly shocked he'd held his temper this long. There was a bit more of a brain in this one's head than Kratos' stories had let on. "Who are you? You're more than just the shade of some god's bastard."
Cu shook his head. "Sorry, that's all you're getting. Too many ears around, even with me taking precautions. I just wanted a chance to take you in for myself. Call it curiosity to see what the Baldur of Kratos' world was really like." Or, more correctly, someone else really wanted to see, and what could he do but go along with it?
Morrigan's frigid teats, he wasn't even supposed to BE here! He should have vanished with that damn city, waiting until he'd be needed later on. But Chaldea had lost their Master, and had picked up one HELL of a wild/trump card in her place, and someone ELSE'S carefully constructed plans had gone belly up. So now he was sticking around, trying to make sure a certain girl made it to the end of her story - because she would be integral in his story, down the road.
Hence why he sent Kratos off to save her. They'd be fucked sideways if they lost Mash here. Forget some far away hell that was an alternate Britain - they wouldn't even make it that far. So here he was, trying to get the plan back on the rails.
Fuck's sake, when had his life gotten so complicated? He blamed Kirei, that bastard, not out of any rationality, but just because it made him feel better.
Least it looked like he was at least going to get a good fight out of this trainwreck of a Singularity. Be nice if someone else had been more aware of what was happening in the Singularities beyond 'they'll get taken care of without us'. But no, he was laser-focused on one point in particular, so he was flying blind where the Singularities were concerned. He'd have never let the snake woman take his spot in this one, otherwise.
"Fine." said Baldur, taking a step forward. "Whatever you are, it won't matter when you're dead. And once you're dead, Kratos won't be far behind you to whatever savage afterlife is waiting for the both of you."
One second, he was there, and then the next, he was right in Cu's face, leading with that big swing he liked so much. And damn if he wasn't a touch quicker in person than seeing it through the monitors back at Chaldea. Still predictable, though.
Or, apparently, not, as that had been a feint, and he'd fallen for it like a big dumb idiot who hadn't been put through the wringer by the scariest old hag this side of two worlds. Baldur pulled back as Cu's staff swept through empty space, and kicked him across the room.
Cu rolled as he flew, landing on his feet, staff and spear both flying up in case Baldur thought he'd be vulnerable on the landing. But he didn't seem to be in any hurry to follow, yet.
Well, at least he had confirmation of that - Baldur didn't hit as hard as Kratos did - or could, he supposed. For all that the Spartan always moderated his strength, you fight as long as Cu did, and you could get a feeling for what a body could bring to bear, and that man had power for days. And in their little brainstorming session after their mystery opponent had been revealed, Kratos had ranked Baldur as one of the most powerful foes he'd ever faced, at least in sheer brute strength, only coming in behind Thor himself. So it looks like even gods from outside this universe lost a little by being crammed into a Servant container.
That kick had still hurt, though.
And he still wasn't getting up in Cu's face and throwing another shot.
Well, fine by him. He'd never been one for playing defensive if he had his druthers. And Baldur had gotten his one free shot that Sétantas everywhere would do their level best to never let a certain Teacher hear about, or he'd be doing laps around the Isle of Shadows while a hag threw increasingly deadly things at him.
And he could do the speed thing too.
Cu's feet left craters in the throne room's floor as he leapt across the space between himself and the enemy Servant, his borrowed spear jabbing straight at Baldur's eye. It, of course, slid away from the Servant's body as if he had his own personal force field - and in a sense, he did. Seeing him over-extended, Baldur sneered, lining up a punch that would likely cave in Cu's chest.
Cu didn't know if it was long-buried instincts, or sheer bloody luck that made Baldur duck his head at the last possible second as Draupnir screamed through the space where his head had been. As it was, he still managed to shear off a few hairs from his head.
Though if he'd realized just how much the room would then be filled with the stink of burning hair, he MIGHT have had second thoughts about it. He'd rolled a mistletoe seed down to the tip of Draupnir, and kept it balanced there until just after he'd made his very obvious miss, then told it to sprout. He'd been halfway convinced he'd end the fight with that follow-up, but he only got some hair - which at the very touch of mistletoe, had burned itself down to the man's scalp.
Baldur snarled, some of it pain, but most of it sheer rage. Heat and light exploded from his body, as his flesh seemed to immolate, flames licking across his form. Fists slammed into the ground, sending a wave of molten death at Cu, who quickly took to the air to avoid it. Which meant he was an easy target for the bits of flame that Baldur hurled at him. Nothing he couldn't handle, Draupnir guided by Protection From Arrows knocked them aside before he could even feel the heat from them, but the fire did turn his little mistletoe bud on the end of his spear to ash.
That's fine. He had more.
Baldur was up in his face the moment he landed, throwing a flurry of burning hands that Cu had to weave between - his staff was still his obvious trump, and he couldn't risk parrying with it, he needed the blatant threat it represented, and hot as that fire was burning, well, you do the math what blocking with his druid's staff would probably result in.
Draupnir, however, acquitted itself well in that regard, keeping Baldur's strikes at bay (and Cu resolved that if they ever got within spitting distance of his homelands during this crisis, he was sending Kratos back home with a good bottle of Irish whiskey for the smiths who made this spear, as thanks from him for making the damn thing as well as they did. Voices in his head could whine as much as they wanted, it WAS the second best spear he'd ever handled, thank you VERY MUCH).
He ducked under one last strike, then wheeled about in a spinning kick that Baldur desperately leapt back from, when he saw the leaves sprouting from between Cu's toes. Cu continued his body's momentum, planting Draupnir into the ground and vaulting forward, leg scything through the air at an off-balance Baldur.
With no time for anything else, Baldur blocked, stoking the fires surrounding him as high as they could go in the microseconds before Cu crashed into him like a blue-haired missile. Frustratingly, it was enough, the plants shriveled into nothing before they could do more than brush against the man's skin, and Cu slid off his body as the protection reasserted itself, sending him crashing through the throne.
Cu kicked the shattered throne aside as he spun around to face his enemy, and let out a low whistle. The leaves had touched Baldur's body for maybe a fraction of a second, and where they'd touched, his arms looked like they'd been stuck into a bonfire and held there. They probably hurt like a sonofabitch, too.
As Baldur howled in pain - after so long without it, Cu wasn't sure if those were happy howls or angry ones, or a mix of both, Cu checked on his connection with Kratos.
Yeah, looks like it's getting about that time for the next part of Someone's plan.
Draupnir receded into the ring as he spun his staff about, sending flares of mana to a handful of the runes he'd spread around the room. "Ok, fun as this has been, I think I'm doing the rest of my allies a disservice by denying them a piece of this scrap. So let's take this downstairs."
Cu cackled as the castle shuddered, and the floor of the throne room shattered as massive branches erupted from the floor, and sent them tumbling down, down, down.
'So far, so good, Kratos. We'll be waiting on you when we land.'
ORLEANS CASTLE CHURCH
Avenger's body crashed through a row of pews, failed to stop, and then met the wall.
Ow.
Shakily, she pushed herself to her feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "Charlie…..you've been holding out on me. Where'd you get this power-up from?"
The Assassin Servant was unhurried in his approach as he crossed the church grounds. "You never even considered it, did you?" He shook his head sadly. "No, you were just all too happy to have another tool to kill for you, and never once wondered why I was so weak, even compared to the other Assassin you had summoned."
Having her back against the wall limited her options, but Avenger knew, after her first few exchanges had gone so poorly, she had to keep this suddenly Super-Sanson at range. She pushed off the wall, spear leading in a quick thrust.
Contemptuously, Sanson met her thrust, letting her spear slide down his sword until he could lock the point with the protruding metal at the tip of his sword, and jerk her forward. She stumbled, first forward, then backwards, as he hauled off and slugged her across the jaw.
Again. Ow. She thought she felt some of her teeth loosen on that one.
"You never once thought that making an executioner, one who's very PURPOSE was the punishment of the guilty, butcher the innocent might have some sort of effect?" Desperately, she called down spears from above, needing to buy herself a moment to get her feet under her. Sanson's blade was a flashing wall of steel as her spears fell, and he came out the back end without so much as a scratch or a mussed hair, but she'd gotten her legs back, so yay.
"The difference, of course, is that I'm not butchering some helpless peasant whose only crime was being born French - with the judge and jury being a delusional fake who was dreamed up by someone even more delusional."
Her stump twitched, and a gout of fire screamed towards him - he flipped his weapon and planted his feet, and the flames impacted his blade, but parted around him. His sword glowing white-hot from blocking the fire, but otherwise, he was unscathed.
"No, this time….NOW, I'm doing exactly what I did during my life. Punishing the wicked, the sinful, the guilty, and every single part of my Spirit Origin is SINGING with the righteousness of what I'm doing." His sword sliced through the air, seeking her neck, and she ducked, only to find a boot waiting for her.
She went through the broken altar, this time. Fucking OW.
Splinters fell off her body as she picked herself up. "I don't suppose saying I was fed a bunch of lies will get me off the hook, will it?"
"Ignorance of a law is no excuse," he stated, with the cadence of one repeating something that had long ago become rote. "And truly, can you say you would have done things any differently, AVENGER?"
The sheer venom he put into that word - she was shocked she didn't die on the spot. It'd have been a badass way to drop someone, if only it wasn't pointed in her direction. "Nah." She shook her head. "I ain't throwing Gilles under the bus like that. He might have put the ideas in my head, but I was the one making the choices. And I chose to summon a bunch of Servants, fuck with their heads, and get my murder on. That I wasn't a Real Girl when I was making those choices, or didn't have all the facts wouldn't absolve me. That excuse wouldn't fly with you anymore than it would fly with 'me' or that big lug I've attached myself to. And believe you me, the two of them hate me for what I did almost as much as you probably do. You guys should make a knitting club or something."
She chuckled a bit, despite her situation getting grimmer by the moment. Kratos would sit there like the big grumpy bear that he was, and Sanson wouldn't be much chattier. It would be up to her real self to carry the conversation. It'd almost be worth it to be a fly on the wall for that, if it didn't require her kicking off this Servant-mortal coil to see it happen.
She rolled her shoulders, checking, and thankfully finding that nothing had been broken inside of her - yet. "But you know what? That shit's all in the past. What's me saying 'sorry' going to do for any of those poor dead fuckers? And you chopping off my head's going to do just as much nothing for them too, given I'm actively TRYING to stop the guy who took my place, and is palling around with much, much worse than little old me."
Sanson's eyes narrowed. Oooo, seems like he didn't like being reminded that the person holding his leash was working for people so bad it made her look like a choir girl. What's the population of France vs all of mankind, after all?
"That does not excuse your crimes, Dragon Witch."
"No, it doesn't," Her agreement seemed to surprise him. "And when this is all said and done, if you want my head, you can have it. You step aside, right now, and let me settle my score with Baldur, and then you can have your justice after I get my revenge. It's win/win - we save France, and you get to punish me."
C'mon, Charlie, take the olive branch. I really don't think I can beat you one on one anymore, not with you riding that power high you've got right now.
He was considering it, she could see, but then she saw the first tinges of red flooding into his eyes, and saw his resolve harden. "No. You make a good case - but you are a villain, and a liar. I do not believe for a second you would willingly submit yourself to my judgment. I have you, here and now, and here and now I will pass sentence."
Hell. Goddamn Madness Enhancement. Why did she ever think it was a good idea to slap that on her Servants? It was like someone was constructing a morality play around making bad choices and how they came back to bite you in the ass, with her as the star. Understudy, please?
The ironic thing was, she was serious about what she'd said. Baldur might not be the last name on her list, but if she crossed that one off it, she could probably go to her death somewhat appeased.
But no, looks like we're doing this the hard way after all. Story of her freakin' short life.
"Fine, then, Charlie. You want my head, come and take it." Some nice bravado there, but she needed a plan, and fast.
She leapt down from the raised part of the altar, spear thrusting down at Sanson's head. His sword flew up to meet her, and she was shoved away, scrabbling to find her feet as she was knocked back to where she had started, amidst the ruined altar. Sanson leapt up to join her with almost casual ease, sword flying out to block her clumsy thrust, then shoving it down, and countering with a vicious riposte.
Avenger found herself beginning to give ground, slowly at first, but more and more as Sanson pressed her harder and harder, his greater speed and strength beginning to tell as the fight dragged on.
She knew she was running out of room, but truly didn't know how bad it had gotten, until Sanson's blade was screaming down in a diagonal cut at her left side, one she'd been planning on rolling backwards to avoid, only to find the wall of the church flush against her back.
Oh fuck.
She got her spear up, but her position was all wrong, and Sanson's sword blasted it aside and dug deeply into her side. Ribs broke, and she felt her legs turn into noodles as pain raced up and down her spine, as the blade damn near tickled it.
He tore the blade loose, and she fell to her knees, blood pouring down her side.
Under their feet, the ground shook, a small tremor at first, then a larger one, one that the damaged building didn't seem to appreciate. Already in questionable condition, it began making some noises that, in any other situation, Jeanne would have been just a touch worried about.
But she had much bigger problems at the moment. Like the gaping hole in her side. It wouldn't kill her by itself, but it had broken her badly enough that she wouldn't take her odds against an angry kitten right now, much less a very motivated Servant.
"Does the condemned have any last words?" asked Sanson, looming above her, sword raised.
Jeanne would have liked to spit out something defiant and hardcore, but she was too busy feeling the second worst pain of her life to muster up anything worthwhile. She might have gurgled something, or that just might have been some blood leaking out of her mouth when she opened it. He shook his head, and sighed. "If you stretch out your neck, I will make the cut as clean as possible."
As Sanson took a step forward, she saw it, through her haze of pain. He was wide freakin' open.
His sword caught the light through the windows, and a number of things happened all at once.
Another tremor, one bigger than the rest combined, blasted through the church, and it finally gave up the ghost, the ceiling cracking wide open and raining down on them. If Sanson noticed, he didn't show it, his eyes finding a path through the falling stone, his sword descending in an inexorable path to her neck.
Nor did he notice when she summoned up every last vestige of strength in her body, and rammed her spear right through his heart. Because the sword didn't stop coming to claim her life.
The ceiling fell, and there was the sword, and then darkness.
For a long, long while, she lay there, feeling nothing but cold and a smothering pressure, seeing nothing but a void before her eyes. She didn't even hurt anymore - guess the bastard really did take her head in one painless stroke. And she didn't feel Sanson anymore - so she'd probably managed to take him with her.
She could live with that.
Ok, Throne, if that's where I'm headed, get on with the show. Or Hell, if I've got a reservation there. Either/or, don't make me wait.
She was made to wait, but not for the afterlife. Stone shifted above her as the chunk of ceiling that she had apparently been buried under was lifted, and tossed aside. With the return of the daylight came the return of the pain, and oh, it hurt like a motherfucker.
But she was alive, somehow, and Kratos' craggy face was a sight for sore fucking eyes.
"Avenger," he rumbled, almost seeming concerned for her. "Can you stand?"
She gave it an attempt, but her body revolted almost immediately, and she had to lie back. "Nope. Sanson did a number on me - but you should see the other guy, if he wasn't already back to the Throne by now. Me, I'm going to need a minute. Go on, grumpus, get wherever you were getting to. I'll…" Her side made its displeasure known, she tasted blood, and she had to cut her rant short. "I'll catch up when I can."
He gave one of those grunts and was off with almost indecent haste. Still, she supposed she should be thankful he'd dug her out. Probably just wanted someone else to throw hands at whomever he was running off to fight - probably Baldur.
She lay there, feeling her side beginning to patch itself back together, painfully slowly. Despite the fact that it felt heavy enough to be made of lead, she raised her remaining arm and ran fingers along her neck.
Still intact, not so much as a crease. How the fuck was she still alive? She'd made that blow expecting that it would be little more than 'taking you with me' spite, with no expectation of surviving. If Charlie had just stabbed her and been done with it, instead of doing his little execution roleplay, she'd have never had a chance for even that.
Knowing she'd regret it, she cast about, looking around her - Kratos had apparently had to clear a good amount of the rubble around the area to dig her out. Strong as he was, he was probably hucking them about doublefisted without so much as a pause for the size of the chunks of stone he was lifting. After that stunt of his with the gate, the remains of a church's ceiling was probably child's play in comparison.
(Man, it was fucking bad-ASS. He just punched two handholds and tore the thing loose like a complete boss. So sue her if some part of her had squealed like a schoolgirl at a demonstration of such pure, unfiltered awesome like that.)
It took her a minute to spot it, then another bit to figure out what it was, so bent and deformed it was. And then another minute where her mind was just fucking blank.
It was the big cross that had hung above the altar of the church - Gilles had never taken it down, had just inverted it, and hung…..things (babies) from it. It must have fallen when the ceiling came down.
And from the looks of things, it had taken the blow meant for her neck. Right along the horizontal part of the cross, where he'd cleaved into the metal, and it had dented and slowed his sword just enough to stop it before he'd faded out.
Her strength exhausted, she flopped back to the ground.
A hell of a coincidence, if she still believed in coincidences. A one-in-a-million coincidence that kept her alive.
Yeah fucking right. Her luck wasn't that good. 'Me's' might have been, but Avenger Jeanne? No chance in France.
Godda….ok, maybe just 'dammit', in light of recent events. She didn't like where this was going.
Avenger continued to lay there, staring into the French sky, her mind going in faster and faster circles, until, at last, she pushed herself from the ground, and slowly limped off to where she could feel Kratos.
ORLEANS CASTLE, SOMEWHERE ON THE GROUND FLOOR
Mash screamed as the Black Knight's clawed fingers came close enough to her eyes that she could feel the wind from their passing. Her feet slapped against the ground as she put distance between herself and the monster trying to kill her. She swung her shield, trying to keep him away from her, but he merely swayed back, then charged.
She ducked the sword, saving her life, but the follow-up elbow caught her in the side of the head and sent her sprawling. White spots flashed before her eyes, but she fought through the pain and fear and got back to her feet. She knew, even without Kratos' lessons echoing in her head, to fall down, for even a second, in this fight, was to die.
Something had changed in the Berserker. For about a minute after Medusa's departure, he'd just stood and stared, watching Mash like some sort of predatory animal deciding if the grazing animal before it would fill its belly. Waiting for its moment.
Then, from somewhere, he'd drawn a sword. And not some common blade, either - every single one of Mash's instincts had screamed at her that this was a sword with a Name and a Legend worthy of that Name. It held power, coming off it in waves in a manner similar to the corrupted Excalibur that she had faced in the first Singularity, or the twin Blades that her teacher carried.
[Arondight. Girl…..he's serious about killing you now. You….I…]
If she'd had any suspicions that this man had been holding back against her, those had been put to rest in the subsequent moments. When the Servant finally attacked, the blade was everywhere. Left, right, center. Descending to split her skull, sweeping to take her head, screaming forward to spill her guts, slicing across to hamstring her - or worse, sever the limb entirely.
And if the blade itself was dangerous, it was nothing compared to the man wielding it.
The corrupted King Arthur she had faced in the depths of that cavern had been skilled, for all that they had abused their connection to the Holy Grail to overwhelm them with pure speed and brute force. This man was better.
Mash fought on pure instinct, fueled by terror, and somehow, largely kept the blade from her body. She had long ago abandoned the idea of striking back, and was solely focused on defense - her novice's experience telling her that this was a foe that was well beyond her.
She had to survive until help arrived. Because she still believed with all her heart that help was coming.
Her shield flew up, the knight's sword crashing against it and bouncing back. Frantically, she grasped her shield at the base and twisted it, narrowly blocking the punch that had been the real attack from fracturing her ribs, then jerked the shield back before he could get a firm grasp on it.
She'd seen what his mere touch could do to anything he laid his hands on - her shield was her only defense. If he turned it against her, stole it from her, she was dead.
She'd barely settled back on her feet when she surged forward, needing to drive her opponent back.
(A cornered opponent is a dead opponent. Your weapon is large enough to command attention - use it to gain space when you are in danger of being pressed.)
Shield leading, she rushed the Berserker, for once, forcing him to give ground. She pulled back, swiping with the edge of her shield, not wanting to get too close. The Berserker slid under her shield, sword flying up to catch her shield's edge and let it push him.
Right into her flank.
Claws scraped along her side as she shrieked in pain. She kicked out, aiming for his kneecap like Cu had been showing her, but the knight merely angled his armor so that she was forced to glance off the plate - fully following through with the attack would have seen her foot impaled by the spikes jutting from his armor.
His sword flew in, and for a second, she thought she was dead, but it only slapped her across the cheek with the flat, snapping her head to the side.
[...is he still resisting the Command? He would slap other knights like that in the training yard when they made a mistake, showing them that they would be dead if they screwed up like that when it was real. That couldn't have been a mistake - whatever his many personal failings, this man did NOT make mistakes in combat.]
She let the momentum of the slap push her, as she leapt and tucked and rolled, spinning about to face the Servant, her shield raised, expecting the next attack to already be on its way.
But the Black Knight was where she had left him, staring at her, his helmeted head cocked to the side, a low rumble echoing from his throat. He raised his sword, regarded it for a moment, then returned his gaze to her.
"...what?" she cried, her mind filled to the brim with terror, adrenaline, and…whatever this was. "What do you WANT from me? You could have killed me there, but you….you didn't? What is going on?"
"Urrrrr….." The Servant began to make noises, almost like he was trying to speak - to force a throat long ago ripped to shreds by constant screaming to create something approximating human speech. But whatever he may, or may not have been about to say would never be known, as once again, red mana washed across his form, and once more, he was reduced to howling in mindless rage.
Mash felt her stomach turn over - the moments immediately after the Command Seal had reasserted itself over the Berserker had been when she had been pressed hardest - and that had been before he had drawn his sword.
Despite that she would be defending nothing but herself, and her life, she had a half-formed plan of deploying her Noble Phantasm, weathering the storm behind its walls, until the Berserker had spent his frantic energy, but it was never to be. Roaring, the Servant charged, crossing the room in a flash.
Mash set her feet, body whipcord tense, trying desperately to watch every part of the knight for where the attack would come from.
She needn't have bothered. As the Servant leapt towards her, one part of her mind realized the battle cries she was hearing were suddenly in stereo.
Kratos came through the wall, and if that hindered his momentum in the slightest, she couldn't tell. Like the Servant, his body was also awash in red energy, as it had been in the two previous instances when he had unleashed, for lack of a better term, what almost seemed like a Mana Burst - for all that he was not a Servant.
Kratos' fist cracked into the Knight's helmet with a sound like a gunshot, and the Servant's body was thrown to the floor. The Berserker rolled out of the way as Kratos' foot stomped down, reducing the stones underfoot to so much dust. He regained his feet seconds later, and slashed upwards with his blade as he rose, Kratos rushing to overbear the Servant before he could fully regain his feet.
The blade cut across Kratos' leading arm, and failed to cut the god's flesh - but the aura of power surrounding him dimmed. Kratos' foot shot out and clipped the Servant, knocking him back a step. Before he had even skidded to a stop, a gatling gun formed in the Knight's hands, the barrel already spinning up.
Mash moved without thinking, moving herself, and more importantly, her shield between Kratos and the storm of lead that began flying his way. Bullets rained off her shield in a constant staccato patter, one that sang in unison with the Berserker's frenzied cries. There was the sound of movement behind her, then suddenly, Kratos' massive presence at her back was gone.
She watched, still crouched behind her shield, as he leapt through the air, axe raised. The violent energy that he had been cloaked in was gone - she had no way of knowing if it had run out or he had merely called for it to recede. The Black Knight saw him too, and began to raise the weapon, but Kratos was the faster.
His axe sliced through the barrel, ruining the weapon, and silencing its voice. The Servant filled in where his gun could no longer, bellowing an almost sorrowful cry, and hauling off and cracking Kratos right across the jaw with the remains of the weapon. It rocked him back a step, but didn't stop him from sending his axe whistling at the Knight's head.
Roaring in defiance, the Berserker sacrificed the ruined gun, using its remains to block the axe with one hand, while his other hand once again summoned that familiar blade. He tossed the shattered weapon aside, as he grasped his weapon in both hands, a growl that was almost…..respectful, coming from beneath his armored visage.
Axe and sword crashed against each other, once, twice, thrice, in the blink of an eye, and Mash then remembered to breathe.
[Get IN there girl! Back him up!]
With a battle cry that sounded almost pitifully meek in comparison to the two titans clashing before her, Mash lowered her head and charged in.
The knight parried Kratos' axe, shoving it up, then twisting it down, stepping in to lock it in place. Another second, and he might have tried a disarm, jerking it out the Spartan's hand, but he was forced to lean back to dodge Mash's shield. Somehow, he managed to uncork a kick that was met by Mash's shield, the girl quickly dropping it in front of her. Kratos tore his axe free of the lock, and chopped down with a cut that the knight sidestepped, then leapt, his back foot planting off Mash's shield, shoving her back as he unleashed a wickedly fast thrust right at Kratos' eye.
Unknown blade met the Spartan's shield, the metal unfolding with a click. Kratos' axe swung in the same moment, the Servant's arm shooting out to catch the god by the wrist, strength straining against strength as he struggled to hold the axe back, all while his sword pressed into the shield, blade cutting into the metal.
Roaring, both brought their heads back, and sent them crashing into one another - to no resolution, if anything, it only made them more determined. Another series of headbutts, each one harder than the last, and they remained locked together, both stubbornly unwilling to give the other even a single step back.
Mash broke the deadlock, her shield ramming into the Knight's knees, taking them out from under him. His leverage gone, the Berserker dismissed his sword, grasping the edge of the shield and falling back, the sudden shift in balance yanking Kratos forward.
The Berserker's foot shot up, and he rolled, hurling Kratos backwards, sending him crashing into Mash, both of them tumbling to the floor.
A howling madman descended upon them as they untangled from each other. Kratos rolled free, the sword slicing through the air just above his back. A series of impacts rang off Mash's shield, holding her in place for a second, before the Knight sprang away, oddly not going straight at Kratos, but moving off perpendicular to both.
A series of small, metal clinks sounded from in front of her, and her eyes saw a handful of ring-shaped pins hit the ground.
"Your shield!" Kratos' cry was cut off as a series of explosions thumped against the metal of her shield, and Mash was sent flying back, crashing against the wall.
Dizzily, she picked herself up from the ground, pain lancing through her skull. Gingerly, she reached up and touched her hair.
Blood.
Across the room, Kratos was weaving a web of flying steel, as he lashed at the Servant again and again with those fearsome blades. Fire licked across the metal as the Servant's sword rose to meet their flight again, and again, knocking them aside.
Until his sword vanished, and his hands flew up, and caught the Blades.
The room grew very quiet.
For a split second, the handles of the Blades began to blacken, and those red lines began to creep up across the metal of the weapons themselves.
Then the fires around the Blades erupted, a plume so large it scorched the very ceiling, and the blackness receded as if it was running for its very life.
Behind his visor, the eyes of the man who had once been the greatest knight of the Round Table widened. Somehow, impossibly, there was a woman standing before him, blue, lined in gold, translucent, eyes narrowed in disdain. Her mouth opened, and three simple words echoed through his mind.
"Not for YOU."
An explosion so bright it temporarily struck Mash blind thundered through the room. Distantly, she heard the sound of a body hitting the wall, and a continuous scream of the purest agony.
When her sight came back to her, Kratos was lying in a pile of rubble that had been one of the room's walls. Stirring, but not yet back to his feet. And the Black Knight…..
She blinked, then blinked again, unable to believe her eyes.
His hands were gone, vaporized. Indeed, his arms almost up to his elbows no longer existed, and what remained of his elbows were flaking off into gray, dead ash. He was howling, screaming in pain, having dropped to his knees, ruined arms waving pitifully in front of him.
There was a clatter, metal hitting the ground in front of her, and Mash looked down.
There was a sword.
[Go on, girl. Pick it up.]
She found her hand reaching for the sword before she'd even registered she'd moved.
[Come on. Pick. It. UP. Even he doesn't deserve to suffer like that. You know that sword, even if you don't know WHY you know that sword - that's because it's my sword…..or ours, I suppose. Put him out of his misery.]
Before she could second guess herself, the sword was in her hands.
It felt right, impossibly so. As right as her shield had felt from the moment her powers had finally awoken. Dimly, as if from a distance, she realized that there was an empty scabbard slapping against her leg, but her mind could not even process that.
There was only the sword in her hand, and the screaming Servant before her.
As she reached him, something must have pierced his agony, as his head tilted up to look at her.
Part of his helm had cracked and fallen off - either from the vicious heatbutts he had exchanged with Kratos, or from the subsequent explosion, but a tiny sliver of his face was visible - instead of an angry red visor, a single, violet eye stared up at her. Pain and madness filled it, but for a second, those things cleared, and….something passed between them. What, she couldn't say - for days after this, she would toss and turn in bed, sleep escaping her as the memory of that eye and the myriad of emotions within it rattled in her brain.
But for now, in the immediate, the Servant simply nodded at her, and lowered his arms, bowing his head.
Her thrust was true - it slid into the Knight's heart, easily bypassing his melted armor. It was as merciful, and as painless as she could make it.
The man rasped something, and then was gone. The sword clattered to the ground, falling from Mash's nerveless fingers.
It wasn't her first kill - the wyverns from what felt like months ago, for all that it had barely been a week, qualified for that - in as so far as one couldn't kill the undead which had filled the burning city, or had been their greeting to this dying France. And she had been ready to kill Carmilla in their fight - she would have lost little sleep in putting the unrepentantly evil woman down, she believed.
So, why then did this hurt so badly?
[...girl. He shouldn't have suffered so. I may have my disagreements with my father, but…..no one deserved that. I….maybe I should have done more, should be doing more. …..I need to think.]
A large hand enveloped her shoulder, and Mash wept. Was it for the man she had slain? The true weight of taking a life? Or was it something else? Were these feelings even hers?
What was happening to her?
Arrows chased Jeanne down the hall as she ran, full out, legs pumping, pushing out as much speed as she could muster from her Servant's body. As she neared the door, she kicked into a slide, an arrow hissing through the area where her head had been seconds earlier.
She rolled to the side, putting a wall between herself and the Huntress, but did not press up against it, despite needing something to lean against as she caught her breath. A decision that was proven sound, as a moment later, three arrows were driven far enough through the stone that they would have made a pincushion of her.
Additional strength from the Madness Enhancement, or simply the power of one of the greatest hunters of Greek Myth? Moot, as far as she was concerned, wherever it was coming from, it was currently pointed directly at her.
She had to close the distance - allowing Atalanta to define the terms of combat like this was playing right into her hands. For a moment, she envied Medusa her incredible speed - it would make all of this so much easier.
The Lord would provide, though.
She grabbed a broom that had been lying against one of the rooms walls and tentatively poked it out from behind the wall - to her utter lack of surprise, it was almost immediately blasted to pieces. Atalanta was still lurking, then, though she'd almost certainly moved from wherever she'd taken that shot from.
Not that it would matter much if she hadn't. Charging an Archer head-on down a narrow hallway would be a fool's notion. This room had doors that led elsewhere, and there was a window, so she wasn't pinned, at least. And she could always try to go through one of the walls, or the floor or the ceiling in the absolute worst case.
How to approach this?
"Stop hiding, Maid of Orleans!" cried the Archer, rage coloring her voice. Yes, that's it, keep yelling, and keep getting angrier. The less you think, the more you yell, the better this is for me.
"I am under no obligation to make this easy for you, Huntress," she yelled back, a plan forming in her mind. "Whatever your grudge against me is…," And there, for a second, there was the image of a young girl, ashen haired and scarred, dressed in tattered rags, lying dead in the streets of a foggy city, and then it was gone. "...you have chosen to stand against Humanity itself! The Lord…..and more, simple decency, were I not a pious woman, would have me oppose you!"
From within the room, there came the crash of shattering glass and timber.
"No!" shouted the Archer, practically flying down the hall. "You will NOT escape me!"
She burst into the room, quickly taking in the shattered window. In a flash, she was there, bow drawn back, eyes seeking the Ruler's form.
It wasn't there - a chair, falling to the ground in a shower of broken glass, however, was.
In a single motion, the Archer spun, loosing an arrow that took Jeanne in the shoulder as she burst from the closet. The Saint winced, but didn't stop her charge, crashing into the Archer, foiling her second shot.
A moment later, they were through the window, and tumbling to the ground.
Atalanta clawed at Jeanne as they fell, trying to tear free, but Jeanne clutched at the feral woman, unwilling to let her gain even an inch of distance.
Jeanne's head ducked as Atalanta slashed at her eyes, her forehead crashing into the other woman's chin, causing both their jaws to click shut, teeth rattling. Jeanne's knee crashed into the Archer's stomach, clumsily and largely ineffectually, given her utter lack of solid footing to put any real force behind it, but it distracted her enemy for a second, and seconds were precious.
Yowling, Atalanta's head shot forward, and sharp teeth sank into Jeanne's face, ripping at her cheek. Jeanne cried out in pain, and reflexively shoved the Archer away from her, forgetting her plan in the sudden instinctual terror that came from having one's face attacked.
Freed from her enemy's grasp, the Greek Servant kicked off Jeanne's body and rocketed through the air towards a hanging banner, claws digging into it and arresting her fall. Jeanne, for her part, was knocked towards the inner castle walls, body crashing into the stones - while it hurt, it was a blessing in disguise, as it allowed her to drive her flag into the wall and similarly halt her descent.
Jeanne let her weight pull her down, her flag bending as her momentum and mass pulled it down. She would only get one shot at this.
The tips of her boots touched the castle walls, and she pushed off, her flag hurling her forward, aimed somewhat in the direction of where Atalanta was pulling herself up to stand precariously on the staff of the banner, her bow forming in her hands.
She wouldn't make it before the Servant could fire.
She got her arms up, and managed to knock the first arrow aside, the tip deflecting off the armor protecting her wrists. The second missed, narrowly, in a stroke of luck. Atalanta had a third nocked and drawn, but would not get to fire it, as Jeanne crashed into her.
They tumbled together onto one of the walkways, bodies bouncing off the hard stone. Atalanta bucked and kicked and clawed, but Jeanne stubbornly held on until their momentum was spent. Once their bodies had rolled to a stop, she called for her flag.
The Archer got her bow up in time to block it, and pushed back, trying to keep the flag's point away from her - but the Ruler had the advantages of position, leverage, and greater strength, and she wasn't going anywhere.
Atalanta's arms were beginning to tremble with the strain of holding Jeanne back. She thrashed, trying to throw the other woman off, to no avail. So it was with some shock when Jeanne felt something drive itself into her back. The surprise of it caused her grip to loosen for a second, and allowed the Greek Servant to slide her legs out from underneath her, and kick her aside.
Jeanne's hand probed her back as she staggered to her feet. What in the world?
An arrow. Somehow, Atalanta had stabbed her with an arrow that had fallen from her quiver. Not deeply - it had barely broken the skin, but still…how in the name of sanity had she managed that?
Angrily, Jeanne tore the shaft loose and hurled it at Atalanta, using the second the woman would need to knock the projectile aside to close the distance, flag leading.
"Why?" she called out, as her flag darted and thrust, trying to keep the faster Servant from breaking free. "You know who Baldur serves - he may be nothing more than a mercenary to them, rather than a true follower, but the difference is little, in light of the ends they seek. Does Humanity mean so little to you against your lover?"
"Lov…..," Atalanta choked back a gag. "How did that notion…..ah, the fake you. I see she was as stupid as she seemed." Her foot shot down, aiming for Jeanne's instep, and the Ruler was forced back a step.
"It never could occur to one so blinded by hate and revenge that there could have been something between Baldur and myself besides base pleasures." In the split second before Jeanne re-engaged, she lifted her bow and unleashed a hail of arrows. Jeanne's flag spun through the air, knocking them aside, though each one came closer and closer to striking home. "We NEVER! He merely told me of his life - how his mother cursed him, how she dismissed his suffering, how ALL he wanted was to be free of her smothering, her constant hovering, her placing her own fears and worries over his well being!"
Atalanta slid under the point of Jeanne's flag, leg flying out to sweep Jeanne's legs out from under her - forcing Jeanne to leap forward, over the Archer's body.
Jeanne spun as she landed, seeking to slash her flag across Atalanta's body, but the woman had already darted away, putting distance between herself and her foe.
More shots rang out, and Jeanne was once again on the defensive, with no way to immediately strike back. "After hearing that, what choice did I have? Your other self cared only for wanton destruction, while Baldur only wanted to return to his world, to settle affairs with his mother. My decision was easy!"
"And he still serves those who would kill all Humanity!" Jeanne charged, eyes locked onto the Archer's bow. Red had nearly filled Atalanta's eyes, and she was getting increasingly rushed and sloppy, and the precision that had made her so deadly in the earlier parts of this battle was suffering for it. She was getting predictable in her rage.
Arrows ricocheted off her flag as she closed the distance, parrying shot after shot. A saner Atalanta would have fallen back as Jeanne drew nearer, but this one was hell bent on a kill shot.
When she was a step or two away, Jeanne stumbled, and Atalanta let loose a cry of victory. In one motion, she lined up a shot, drew, and fired at nearly point-blank range. Jeanne, off-balance, desperately spun her flag before her, the fabric unfurling.
The arrow bored through the flag as if it wasn't even there and continued on - but failed to hit anything else. Atalanta's eyes widened - where was the Ruler?
A booted foot crashed into the Archer's legs, from behind, and she fell to her knees. Before she had even registered the pain, arms slid around her neck, and squeezed.
The stumble, the fall - it had been a ruse. Jeanne had used that, and the visual blind of her flag to hide for a split second, in which she had rolled behind Atalanta. And she had been so focused on killing her enemy that she had fallen for it completely.
Frantically, she struggled, but Jeanne jerked her backwards, sending the both of them crashing to the floor. Jeanne's legs slid around her waist, locking her in place and preventing her from rising. Atalanta reached back, clawing at the Servant's face, but Jeanne ignored it, shaking free of her increasingly frantic attempts.
Atalanta's struggles grew weaker and weaker, until at last, she lay limp in the Ruler's arms. Still, Jeanne held on longer, unwilling to take a chance that the Archer was merely playing dead. She only released her hold when the tell-tale wisps of gold began signaling the death of a Servant.
Wearily, Jeanne rose to her feet. "It isn't wrong to want to save people - to save children. But to ignore a greater evil as you did…." She shook her head, as Atalanta's body began to vanish. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions…..and you were a fool, Atalanta of Greece. I only hope that it was the Madness Enhancement you were cursed with that affected your judgment so."
She bowed her head, all the aches and pains she had accumulated over this extended fight coming back to her. Wearily, she picked up her flag, feeling her body protest at the motions.
Her job wasn't done yet.
ORLEANS CASTLE DEPTHS
Kratos had stood there, silently supporting Mash until her tears had stopped and she had regained control of herself. It was a delay, yes, but one they could afford. His connection with Cu sang of combat, but not the dire threat that he had felt from Mash. If anything, it seemed the Irish Servant was having the time of his life.
So he had given Mash the moment she had needed to work through her emotions - he expected however, that she would seek him out later with questions. In her, he saw some of the same signs he had seen in Atreus when the child had been forced to kill a man (a cannibal reaver, barely a man) back at the start of their journey to see Faye's final request fulfilled.
He hoped, this time, he would have better advice for the girl than he had for his son. Telling Atreus to 'close his heart to it', as he himself had been told in the agoge, was the absolute wrong thing to tell one as compassionate as his boy. And it would be equally incorrect to tell Mash.
He foresaw a long conversation with Da Vinci in his future. Afterwards, he may even take Cu up on his offer of a night of drinking.
They ran deeper into the castle, following the stairs down in the depths - the tremor that had rocked the castle, and collapsed the building on Avenger's head had apparently been the Caster's doing - and it had dropped him and his opponent from the throne room in the heart of the castle to the lower levels, where the fight continued. To Cu Chulainn's continuing enjoyment, if the sensations echoing back through his string were any indication.
"You're getting close," intoned Romani. "Just a bit farther ahead - though this hall, and there's a big area ahead - it looks like that's where they're fighting."
Kratos grunted. The farther down they had gone, the thicker the miasma in the air had become. Already unpleasant from the moment they had set foot in Orleans, now it hung about them like a pall. But beneath it…
It was like the cave in the mountain. He could feel it, if he concentrated.
The Grail was near.
"Mash," he rumbled, his voice low. "Are you ready?" Have you recovered, hovered in the thick air between them, unasked, yet asked.
Mash nodded. "I'm ok, Mr. Kratos. I…I can worry about the rest of this later. For right now, we have to finish this." Eyes still puffy from shed tears met his, and her hand, almost unconsciously, dropped down to the hilt of the sword that was sheathed at her side. "I…I can do this."
He sighed. Many, many conversations loomed in front of him when he returned to Chaldea. The spirits offered by Cu grew ever more tempting. "Defense only - neither of us can harm Baldur as it currently stands. We act to give Caster his opening." Unless things changed, of course, which they likely would. 'No plan survives contact with the enemy' - Tanya was fond of that quote, and he heartily agreed with the sentiment.
At last, they entered a large chamber. This was likely the hub of the lower levels - branching off into the dungeons, barracks, guard rooms, and other less savory areas that resided beneath most strongholds.
This one, however, had seen better days. Large roots and branches had split several of the walls open, and the ceiling was in ruins - Kratos thought he could see all the way to the sky from here. This then, was likely the cause of the tremors he had felt - Caster's doing, he suspected.
Within the room, its walls rang with the sound of combat.
Cu leapt high into the air, as a wave of fire swept beneath him. Draupnir shot down at Baldur, three spears released almost as one. None even came close to him, sliding away from the Servant and driving themselves into the ground, but Cu merely laughed, his staff swiping at his enemy's head as he fell to the ground. Baldur swayed out of the way and clapped his hands together, attempting to smash the weapon's head between his burning palms - but Cu quickly dismissed his staff, and rode the wave of the explosion higher in the air, Draupnir spinning in his hands, like a baton, knocking the bits of flame aside.
"Hey, Kratos! You made it!" Cu was grinning from ear to ear, eyes shining from the pure love of combat. He landed on his feet, resummoned his staff, and gestured with it to a point behind Baldur. "Look what I found!"
There, in the back of the chamber, where stones had been pulled from the flooring to expose the soil of France, buried to its neck, was the Holy Grail. Dirt filled the cup almost to its lip, with runes drawn into the soil, glowing a sickly green. The stench of Seiðr poured out of the Grail in waves, as bad, if not worse than some of the fouled isles in Vanaheim.
His axe was flying across the room in a flash, only to rebound off a dome of power as it neared the Grail.
A protection stave.
"Yeah, already tried that," commented Cu, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Guy's got a pretty good Bounded Field set up there. I could break it with a bit of time, but that would require him to leave me alone for far longer than I think he's willing to." Cu shrugged. "Fine by me, though, no need to complicate what's turning out to be a pretty good fight."
The Leviathan Axe returned to Kratos' hands with an audible smack, as he took in his enemy. Baldur was no longer pristine - he was missing a strip of hair from his head, for one, and, more tellingly, spots on his arms were horribly burnt, and did not seem to be healing.
Though Cu Chulainn was not without his wounds, either. He was hiding it well, but Kratos could tell he was favoring his right side a touch. His long experience said damaged ribs, likely bruised rather than broken, but this was also a man who had tied himself upright with his own guts to die on his feet, so his pain threshold had to be considerable.
His long mane of hair was much shorter than it had been when he had parted from the man in the throne room, looking like it had been rather hastily, and raggedly, cut.
Cu noticed the direction of his eyes, and sighed. "Yeah. Bastard caught me by the tail while we were free-falling from the throne room down to here. Couldn't let him hurl me into a wall, so I gave myself an emergency haircut. Broke my heart - women LOVE the hair." The only woman in the room, Mash, remained conspicuously quiet.
Baldur's face split into a snarl upon spotting Kratos and Mash. "WORTHLESS BERSERKER! He couldn't even kill a mere girl, with a COMMAND SEAL no less?" The fires surrounding him guttered for a second, then flared up, white-hot. "Sanson as well - not that I ever expected much from him. And Atalanta, the one I thought had some worth, is still fighting for her life against the chosen of some pitiful nailed god?"
He shook his head. "Fine. I'll just have to do it myself. Not that I ever planned on bringing any of them other than Atalanta with me when I go back to my world. You just saved me the trouble of killing them myself."
Baldur's hands clapped together, and fire rushed out at them in an expanding sphere. Mash sheltered behind her shield, while Kratos crouched and did much the same, though he could not completely block the wash of fire, and his skin blistered as it washed over him. Cu stomped his foot, and a massive root tore itself from the ground, sacrificing itself to guard the Caster.
Baldur was amidst them a moment later.
He swung a colossal punch at Mash, one that clipped her head and sent her tumbling. His follow-up of a stomp was foiled as Kratos slid in, grasping Mash and rolling out of the way of his descending foot. Cu leapt over their bouncing bodies, Draupnir leading.
Baldur slid his head out of the way of the spear's thrust - some part of Kratos' mind noted that Baldur was actively dodging now, even against weapons that should not affect him. Again, this had to be Cu's doing, somehow having made Baldur wary of seemingly harmless (to him) threats.
Baldur ducked under the attempted side sweep of Draupnir, then sprang up with a vicious uppercut, one that Cu jerked his head out of the way at the last possible second. Baldur sprang from the ground, fist trailing fire, and lashed out with both of his legs, catching Cu in the chest and knocking him back.
Cu twisted in the air, landing on his feet, just in time to see Baldur send another wave of molten earth his way. He tensed to spring away, but then a massive form darted into his view, shoulders hunched. The burning wave crashed against Kratos' shield, and the man's feet dug into the ground as the sheer force pushed him back a step. But he held, and kept the attack away from Cu, though his shield was glowing white-hot, the metal superheated.
Cu vaulted over Kratos' head, Draupnir withdrawn to allow him to throw a volley of mistletoe darts at Baldur. Baldur hit the dirt, allowing both the darts, and the Irish Servant, to fly over his head.
To where Mash was waiting.
The darts impacted on her shield, mere moments before Cu's feet touched down as well, much more lightly, then sprang off, flying at Baldur's crouched body, staff spun about, the point leading.
Baldur scrabbled back, only just able to get out of the way of the point of the staff before it, and the mistletoe it carried, ran him through. Instead, the floor felt the full wrath of the Irish Servant's attack, driving deep into the stone. Cu moved to pull it free, to continue his attack, but was jerked to a halt.
His weapon was stuck, driven too deep into the ground to easily free.
"Ah shite," griped Cu. With a cry, Baldur sprung from the ground, form blurring as he flew towards the momentarily off-balance Caster.
Kratos again interposed, and once more Baldur's fist rang off the Spartan's shield. But this time was different - his shield rang with an ugly note, and then, the metal cracked.
From over the lip of the shield, Baldur sneered at Kratos, as frost dripped from his form.
Hands seized the damaged shield and tore at it, jerking Kratos off his feet and hurling him aside.
Kratos rolled to his feet, eyes darting to his shield.
Damaged, but not ruined - but severely compromised from the frigid strike so soon after it had been heated as if it had been in Brok's forge. Now each son of Odin had managed to damage Faye's gift to him, each in their own way.
Kratos felt his temper flare.
Cu, who had managed to free his staff, and Baldur were exchanging blows, Mash hovering around the edges of the fight.
Slow, shaky footsteps sounded behind him, and Kratos turned.
Two Jeannes were slowly limping down the stairs, Avenger leaning heavily on her real self's shoulder. She hardly looked better than she had when he had discovered her beneath the ruins of the church that had collapsed on her, but the desire for revenge in her eyes was as eager as ever. Jeanne, too, was carrying her share of wounds. An arrow, shaft broken off, still protruded from her right shoulder, and her left cheek looked like it had been savaged by an animal.
"Shut UP!" snarled Baldur, his face twisting in irritation. "That other one isn't even your sister, just a mistake that should have DIED on the ground days ago! Something I plan to FIX!"
He fixed a look of hate on Jeanne. "Atalanta too? Damn you ALL! You're ALL going to die, then I will take that god's head and…."
Cu sighed. "Kid? Aren't you tired of letting him have his way all the time?"
Baldur turned to Cu, his expression puzzled, then a spasm shook his body.
And the flames and ice surrounding him winked out.
"NO!" bellowed Baldur, as another spasm shot through his form. "You weak excuse for a…NO!"
Cu's smile was oddly restrained…..almost fond. "Knew it. Thought you hadn't given up yet, kid."
"DAMN YOU!" Baldur rocketed forward, his body trembling, his arm drawn back, all thoughts gone but an all-consuming, blinding rage that demanded he kill this man now.
When his fist struck, it wasn't the face of Cu Chulainn that it impacted, but Mash's shield, which was quickly covered in blood.
Baldur's blood.
The Servant shouted in pain, jerking the remains of his arm back - which looked like it had been shredded - little more than a ragged lump of meat and bone. In a moment that seemed to hang, Baldur's eyes leapt to the shield, the shield that was covered in blood and bits of his flesh - but beneath that gory coating, the little leaves that had rooted into the metal and sprouted.
The darts that had missed.
Baldur clenched his teeth so hard he tasted blood, forcing himself to remain on his feet. He reached for the fire, clawing at it, trying to tear it from the grasp of the one blocking it, the fair-faced weakling that dared to use his name in this world. He could still win this - a large enough explosion and…..
There was an impact on his back, and a spear erupted from his chest, the tip blooming with a familiar plant.
The fight drained from Baldur's body. "When…..how…" he rasped out, as he sank to the ground.
"Tossed it to Kratos with a seed when you broke his shield," replied Cu. "Don't suppose you'll be a gracious loser and let the ladies say goodbye to their brother?"
Baldur laughed in his face. "Curse you all, every one of you…." He tried to raise his head, but lacked the strength. "Enjoy your meaningless victory….Lev….and worse, are waiting for you. Oh, the things he told me he has planned for you…."
Baldur laughed, a raspy, choking laugh, up until the moment his body broke into particles and vanished.
A FIELD SOME DISTANCE FROM ORLEANS
Siegfried drew a ragged breath into his chest, the last wisps of his Noble Phantasm's release draining from his sword. Across the field, Fafnir's lifeless eyes stared back at him.
It was done.
He was covered in blood, both his and the wyrm's, and had been wounded a score of times, at least, but it was done. His nemesis lay dead.
Georgios' hand clapped him across the back, his fellow's face jubilant, despite the injuries he himself had taken. "Truly a fight for the ages. We will have quite the tale for our fellows when we return to the Throne." At his side, Bayard nuzzled against his hand, the horse's coat spotted with its rider's blood.
"Indeed," sighed Siegfried. "It seems my Master has also found victory in his fight." He raised his hand, which was beginning to leak gold. "France has been saved."
Georgios let loose a deep breath, a weight seeming to fall from his shoulders. "Then the drinks shall be on me when next we meet on the Throne, to celebrate. We shall gather in our Order's hall and toast to our victory!"
(Their 'hall' was just Siegfried's room. He'd offered, and the Order of Dragonslayers on the Throne had used it as their appointed meeting place for business - or celebrations, ever since. He'd never seen a reason to deny them.)
Siegfried nodded. "I look forward to it, my brother."
They clasped arms, as their bodies began to fade. A few moments later, the clearing was empty, save for the signs of the battle that had taken place there.
ORLEANS CASTLE DEPTHS
Cu was poking at the protection stave, walking slow circles around it, while every so often probing its barrier with his staff. Spiteful as Baldur had been, he wanted to make sure he hadn't woven any traps into the thing as one last attempt to take Kratos with him. After a long few minutes, he rapped his staff against the ground, runes flared, and the protections around the Grail collapsed.
"Looks like I was worrying over nothing, but never hurts to be careful." He kicked the Grail over, the soil spilling from the vessel, and the sickening odor of Seiðr began to fade. "There. That should put a stop to the plants dying…..all that's left is to take the Grail."
Kratos nodded to her, and Mash scooped the golden chalice up, quickly storing it in her shield. When a moment passed where no other calamity reared its head, they breathed a collective sigh of relief. "Grail secured," said Mash.
That was it, then. They had won. "Best news I've had in a week," said Romani, his face beaming. "We're getting the Rayshift ready to go, so you've got a few minutes to say goodbyes."
Kratos could already feel Siegfried's thread in his mind beginning to fray, the Dragonslayer starting to head back to the Throne, with his enemy slain, the satisfaction of a job well done echoing across their link. In the seconds before Siegfried's string vanished completely, Kratos sent a respectful nod, and his thanks to the Servant, and received the knight's equivalent back.
Serious, disciplined, and a great warrior. Kratos felt he would miss the knight's presence in the coming days.
And the same could possibly be said of the woman now standing before him. Kratos still had little use for gods of any ilk, but this woman…..
"Kratos, thank you again," said Jeanne, a serene, pleased smile gracing her tired features. "You saved my homeland."
He grunted, extending his arm. "You were a capable and trustworthy ally, Jeanne d'Arc. I would fight by your side again, should the occasion present itself."
She grasped his arm and pumped it up and down once, twice. "May you go with the grace of our Lord God, on the rest of your journey…" She shrugged at his frown. "….even if you have no use for his help, I feel he at least approves of the work you are doing."
Kratos huffed a breath out as she released his arm, and turned to say her goodbyes to Mash. He looked over to where Avenger was lying against a wall, her eyes closed.
"Don't bother, I'm not one for goodbyes," she said, never opening her eyes. "And it's not like we were best of buddies, anywho. You only Contracted with me because of a misunderstanding on my part, and you were never crazy about me."
True words, but still… "You are correct, I am not fond of you. You are reckless, and blinded by your need for vengeance…but you carried your weight, and you were less of a burden than I anticipated."
Avenger chuckled. Master of the back-handed compliments, this one was. "Be seeing you, Kratos."
Kratos grunted, as Mash and Cu Chulainn walked up to him. "Are you ready to go?" asked Romani.
"The Grail is secure, and Baldur has been silenced. I think we're ready." Mash looked up at Kratos, who nodded. "Bring us home, Doctor Roman."
"All right! Beginning Rayshift…..now!"
Like before, there was a yank, and then, the tunnel of swirling lights, and Kratos lost sense of himself.
CHALDEA COMMAND CENTER
Kratos pulled himself from the Coffin, sliding the weapons that had been resting on his chest back into their harnesses. Cu, still grinning like a madman, was helping Mash from hers.
"Both Mash and Kratos have been successfully returned to the present…..," Romani's voice was thick with emotion. "The French Singularity is beginning to stabilize….we did it, everyone!"
A cheer burst through the room, people hugging, leaping into the air, and venting emotions, both the pent-up week's worth that had accumulated since the Singularity had begun, and others that had haunted them since the explosion that had rocked Chaldea.
Kratos, for his part, felt something settle in his chest.
One step. He was one step closer to returning to his world, to seeing his son again.
Then Cu was clapping him on his back, and a beaming Mash was beside him, and he allowed himself a small smile.
They, all of them, had done well.
"OK!" Romani's voice broke out over the celebration. "Before we get ahead of ourselves, I want Kratos and Mash in the infirmary pronto! I know I'm probably being a mother hen, but I want to give you two a clean bill of health before I…"
He trailed off, staring at a point behind Kratos.
"Huh. Nice place you got here, big guy."
That voice. No.
Kratos turned, dreading what he would see.
Standing behind him, running her hand over the metal of the Coffins, was a pale, ashen-haired, one-armed Jeanne d'Arc, her side still coated in dried blood. As his gaze fell on her, she turned her head, and shrugged at him.
"What? Did you think I was done? I've still got some names I need to cross off my list…..starting with that bastard Lev."
AUTHORS NOTES: And JAlter joins the team. Sorry Kratos, it's like you fed a very obnoxious cat, now you're stuck with her.
Serious note, she was always the choice for Orleans for me - both for the parallels between her - or the Avenger class in general - and Kratos, and for other reasons that will pop up in incoming chapters. The chunni still has a role to play in this story, beyond her stated need to finish settling the score. She's also one of my favorites, so I won't claim there's no favoritism in play, either. She's also somewhat fond of me, as there was an NA banner a bit ago that everyone was saying was the 'last JAlter banner' going off what had been released on JP at that time, and I tried a few on it, trying to Limit Break First Sunrise, which I had a few of already. I managed that, and also had three JAlters show up in five multis. So, yeah.
Look at that, Galahad actually being something within a country mile of credit to team. Begrudgingly as hell, but still.
Sadly, the chapter was massive enough as it was, so something, in the end, had to get cut, and Siegfried and Georgios vs Fafnir was the victim. I might, at some point, write an addendum where we see the fight in full. For anyone who was wanting to see that in the final chapter of Orleans, my apologies. This chapter really turned into a beast.
OOC Cu while fighting Baldur: POCKET MISTLETOE!
I almost had him say that during the fight. Almost.
This chapter brought to you by STAND PROUD and the Turtles in Time OST.