"The Lord is in such a town? One ravaged and destroyed?"
"It's a bit of a story on how that happened. Fighting a Servant that Jesus saved us from, returning with the rising sun and carrying behind him those who worshipped his name, banishing one that did not." George looked at him with a face of uneasy awe. "We did little but fight the undead. They couldn't even approach Jesus."
"That's something that I wish I could have seen, but unfortunately I was unable to witness the Lord's approach. Everyone else was either in a high tower or watching from the back of an immaculate horse." Sasaki slapped the glass posterior of the horse he and Marie rode on, for the little good it could do. It was already running at a rather blistering speed.
Blistering for the young Master clinging desperately to the back of its Rider, while George, Sasaki, and Solomon ran next to him. Mozart laughed from the back of the Master.
"Our Master had faith that when Jesus returned the monsters would be no more. I will admit I doubted it would be so simple, but the tide turned as fast as I may swing my blade to catch a swallow." He laughed, something the wind stole. "And yet I don't believe our dear Master has ever expressed surprise at the abilities of this Son of God. Only awe, akin to many poets who traveled Japan, appreciating the landscapes that were promised to them."
"The Lord's abilities are both well-known and a mystery to all." The Saber responded back in kind, his long hair trailing as he ran. "For one who is devout in the faith as Master is, it would make sense. It is why I agree we should return, though perhaps a bit of out greed."
"Oh? A greedy saint?"
"Only for the love and attention of God." He returned easily. "I imagine be in his presence quenches a thirst that all mortals suffer. To be promised and told of it while apart from him would make any many greedy for it. Do you not wish the same?"
"I have found no reason to spite the man, and his power is grand, but my blade is meant to keep a Lord safe. The opposite is… not the most appealing."
"This is the first I'm hearing of this," the Wise King, a man who founded the nation Jesus would be born unto, responded. "I thought you were all about serving a strong king."
"How many kings fight before their men?" the Samurai asked. "They may fight, and out of need, but they are called the heads for a reason. You don't wish to lay yours before an enemy before you raised a blade. I wish to be that blade."
"And I was for the same Lord our Master serves." The sharp eyes of the samurai looked back at him, even as his long lavender waved to the near same length as the Saber's own. "But it is because the blade and tongue are meant to be shared, and recruit those to serve him. When enemies march upon us, greater then men, God rises to meet them. When we fight amongst ourselves, he lowers he hand begs us to stay."
"If it were anyone else, I'd ask when you met this king. You appear to describe him well."
"I converted many by following his word."
"And that makes your blade strong." He laughed as he turned his head back into the wind. "When we have reached the town, you and I will have to cross swords. I wish to see the strength of a Servant who clings to a blade while bowing to the Lord."
Saber didn't respond. There was no need. They only needed to get to reach Jesus. To see him, and the George would be able to lay at his feet and swear his oath again before the Son of God who brought salvation to the world. Already none could stand against him, wearing the mantle of God. With the Word at his side, there would be no enemy who would be able to resist.
The remaining distance was long, but for their swift feet, met in short time. The described ruins on a hill rose to meet them as they breached the crest of a great hill side, seeing it lift up. It was a ruin, and he could not about to describe it in any other way, but the glow it had under the afternoon sun was almost ethereal. Not of this world. Something, in his mind, that promised there was a great power within the broken streets and fallen homes.
"Eager, huh?" He looked at the Wise King. "That's normal. Hard not to be after being told what's up ahead, right?" He hummed in answer, letting his feet slow as he approached. He did not want to trample on the ground of his Lord.
Breaking past the edge of the town, George saw the exterior to be the same as the interior. Broken and filled with ruin. It did indeed bear resemblance to the aftermath of a Servants' fight. The kind of destruction akin more to armies than just warriors. The carved edges of blades that traveled to the third stories and roofs of homes, and then sections of walls plowed over by bodies being thrown against them. Roads and streets torn, and the few stalls of a French home ripped down. It would have been a pitiable sight.
If not for the crowd in the center of the village, merrily speaking and feasting. Some of them, as least. Some, but so many others working to rebuild those same broken structures. George walked in, seeing them start to place rocks on rock, laying up walls before putting up wood to hold them in place. He saw the molding being mixed as others saw at wood to lift up those same broken stalls. The few buildings around the crowd already being lifted up, and with no complaint from any around.
"They've made great progress!" Mozart, the flamboyant Caster remarked. He walked ahead of George with extended arms. "Here I was worried I'd have to spend another night upon hay rather than a fine bed. At least now I won't have to worry about smell chamber pots from my room!" Sasaki laughed at the man's odd compliment.
"Oi! Such grand work already!" The martyred princess followed behind him. "But do not disparage their work! They are remaking a home for themselves and the Lord. It is something grand, that only a French can do with so little time. Viva La France!"
"VIVA LA FRANCE!" A few more members of the crowd cheered with her, earning a delightful jump from the young matriarch. George smiled at the sight, happiness and joy in ruin.
But it was not what he wished to see.
"He's ahead of us." George saw his Master already walking ahead. "Do you want to meet him?" He gave no response, choosing instead to follow. The crowd did not part like the sea for them, but he had no difficulty moving through it. No one impeded his way, and never once did he feel as if he was being kept from seeing his Lord.
Saint George was able to witness the people of France rebuilding a city torn by the minions of evil ones as he made his way towards his savior. And when he beheld him, it was what he always wished for it to be.
Standing on ground equal to everyone else, yet still far above them. Carrying only a robe, but one that was immaculate and shining among the ruins, untainted by the destruction around him. A smile that was so simple and unexaggerated, yet shining as brightly as the sun shown down on the city. He stood there, with the Roman soldier by his side, carrying a spear that had once pierced his, but he gave no sign of discomfort, distress, or unease.
His Lord, Jesus Christ, looked up and smiled upon them.
"My Lord, we've returned," his Master spoke first, bowing before him. "I am sorry that we left in such haste, but-"
Clap. "Why do you ask for apologies when none are needed?" His words flowed easily and above the started statement of the boy. They silenced him, easily and with comfort. Like a parent to a babe. "You heard of an opportunity to assist this land in my name, and you made haste to see it done. There is nothing in your actions worthy of sin. Not when you have returned with a man who slew a great beast in my name."
His eyes were upon him again, and for the first moment since George opened his eyes in this land, he felt small. Incomparable even to the man before him.
By height, he was taller. By build, he was larger. By weaponry, he was better equipped. By all measures, he was what should earn hesitation upon the sight of. And yet, he was the one who saw this man, this simply dressed individual, and felt his spirit yearn to bow.
George never turned from the urges of his soul, and he did not now.
He fell to one knee, stretching a hand over his chest and bowing his head. He stared upon the feet of his Lord, sandaled among cobbled stone.
"My Lord, my God," he began. "It is my privilege to see you and lay myself at your feet. Since I came to this land, I have done all that I could for you and your people. I fought back the tides of dragons that sought the souls of others, and kept them safe in your name."
"You did, and I am joyed to see it." George saw the feet move forward. Then he felt hands upon his armored shoulders. "Will you not stand so that I may look upon you?" He did not question his Lord's orders.
He raised his head, and all the Saint could see was the smiling face of Jesus looking down upon him. Heaven could only be so bright.
"The eyes of a knight who saw those threatened by evil, and called upon my father's name to save and bathe them in his light." The hand of his Lord cupped his face. "Through all that was put on your shoulders, you carried on dauntlessly forward. You are a what men wish to be, and I am pleased to have you in my company."
A smile blossomed upon George's lips. Incomparable to his Lord's, that of the sun's contender, but one that still pulled at his otherwise steel jaw. Enough for the scent of the air to taste sweet, and the warmth of the day to be like a night's gentle blanket.
"Rise then, George. Rise so you may stand amongst the others who follow me." He did not hesitate to stand. He did not shirk away from the gaze the Roman behind his lord gave him.
It was not a threatening look, far from it. He had seen the expression much in the eyes of those who challenged the holy book, or demons that look to swallow the villages of man. No, this was the look of another knight who saw what he wished to be, and he returned as he always did. With a sure nod, and a lack of condemnation.
Longinus looked as if he wished to call to George, but his gaze was quickly back on Jesus Christ, and he kept his lips still.
"You have done much good in my name, young Mystic of Chaldea," Jesus spoke to the Master, the boy's expression blooming. "Another of my father's saints before me, and in a land that calls out for one of his skill."
"You are referring to his blade, right?" Jesus nodded at the boy. "That's what I thought! I mean, any Saint that heralds your name would be one that I would be joyed to have in this number, but he has Ascalon with him, and against these wyverns, it will make it easier for us to save the other Master in the castle! It's almost a guarantee."
"Careful there, careful~." The boy's words, and body, twisted, as Solomon lightly pushed on the side of his head. "This is still a war and we have a crafty enemy ahead of us. A guarantee only exists when you know nothing will change. And I think you'll be the first to agree that the man before us created the greatest change in the world's long history."
"Your wisdom pervades your actions, Solomon." The King of Israel bowed to Jesus. "Though do you speak correctly? What did I change by spreading my father's word?"
"Men worshipped many gods, then they worshipped one." He raised his hand, twisting it so the five digits hid themselves behind one another. "And more than that, you showed them that the Gods they beheld were false, and now their entire view of the world shifted. From one of godly whims to one of divine determination. I'm wise by your father's gifts." The rings on his clanked together as he flexed and extended them. "But even a fool can see how that's a change."
"Are you calling the Lord a fool?" Longinus spoke before George could. The golden eyes of Solomon blinked.
"What? No! I'm saying that someone far beneath me can see how he's an agent of change!"
"Then you think him whimsical as well?" George followed, feeling Longinus glance at him.
"Oh c'mon, I literally said that he's deterministic and divine."
"For spreading the truth?" The king nodded. "Then does that mean you were spreading lies?" Longinus made the king shake his head, as if struck.
"You did preceed our lord, and founded the nation to whom many would call his home."
"I… I literally called out to God and got gifts from it! My father was the one who raised me and I never said that I was the Messiah! Hell, I denied it!"
"Then why did you not call forth the laws that Jesus did?" George looked to his Lord, who's smile had not changed. "I spread his word to the villages I arrived in. You could have spread his laws to your people."
"It was a different time!"
"I bet it was!" The Samurai from before made himself known again, carrying with him a grape stained glass. "A man who had the many, servants to kings, coming to him offering gold and flesh." He poked at the red cloth of the king's robe. "And nothing so sadistic as flesh cut, though I am aware there was some pounding involved." The king's fac flushed.
"Oh yes! I recall it in my lessons as well!" Mozart was beside him. "The great King Solomon, to whom he had more wives and women then coins of gold! Wisdom the only thing that could be measured against it!" The colorful man laughed, and the samurai joined him. "It's a small wonder why you prefer robes to pants. I bet it helps everything come out easier. Both doors, in fact."
Sasaki laughed at the comment, even as Solomon looked ready to throw them both off. George could only look to his Lord and Longinus the latter shrugging shoulders and the former shaking his head like a patient parent. As he was.
"That's not something you joke about in front of God!"
"But you're history is a great thing to laugh at." The comment had the king nearly throwing his hands in the air. "Besides, I'm happy to speak of such things in the presence of Jesus. I am loved by God, after all. My music has reached the ears of the angels by his blessings, and be damned am I if he gave me something to ruin his gift with!"
"Speaking about toilet humor in front of Jesus isn't something that shows you appreciation for his gifts… or love." George would be remiss to admit he forgot about his Master, the boy standing as if he had fallen. "You've done that, a lot."
"it's a very natural thing Master. I'd say more natural than the subject of life, death, and salvation in between." The musician's spark of wisdom caught George's attention. "And if I can easily talk to him about such heavy things, then how could I not talk to him about something so common as a good wet fart?" That wisdom was swiftly taken away.
"Non! Mal Mozart!" The musician found himself being slapped playfully, but forcibly, by the young princess. "Do not speak so callously in front of Jesus! Be respectful to him!"
"I am! I promise I am, Marie." The man laughed even as se hit his shoulder.
"Is he?" George had to ask.
"His words are choice, but my name is not being use in vain, nor as a demand for damnation." His smile remained beatific. "The words that bring smiles to his face are the same that would make children giggle as they play. Who would dare rob that innocence for something further from my father?"
And the wisdom of his Lord shone again.
"The innocent musician who mocks me for my robe is the favorite of Jesus." Solomon bowed his head. "Master, call the Director, as I'd hate to have her yell at you again. Please."
"I can do that, but what of you?"
"I'm going to do what everyone is accusing me of." He made a swift turn on his heel, forcing Sasaki to release him. "I'm going to get a drink!" He marched off to some other part of the crowd, becoming smaller but hardly vanishing among their number. He was too tall, bright, and powerful to be a mere face.
"The wisdom of my father does work through him, but the world makes any man weary." Jesus spoke on. "I am thankful for those who possess less knowledge of my father who come to me to hear him, and lay their heads at my feet for rest. For then I can comfort them and have them look upon the works that are promised to them." Jesus stretched his hand out towards George. "Would you care to join me, Dragon-Slaying Saint? Will you share your tale with those curious?" His eyes looked towards the crowd.
Only then did Saber pay attention to the other eyes on him. With Jesus staring at him, it was hard to remember the others who looked upon him. He was among their number before, but now he was the focus of the attention, and only because Jesus had brought him into the light. He did not shirk or squirm under the gaze, far used to it as he proclaimed to villages in past and present about the glory of God, but it was a stark reminder of where he was.
Before Jesus Christ, his Lord, but in the midst of a great war.
And his Lord, his Commander, had asked of him a portion of his duty.
"I would be happy to speak of my deeds, my Lord." He bowed like a knight. "Where would you wish for me to begin?"
"Tell of when you took up the sword, and where you placed vows for my father." He instructed. "Let them know that the peace my father offers does not dull a blade raised, nor does a sharp weapon ring above his promises. Speak to them of the honor of knight." His eyes turned from George, and he looked to Longinus.
He spoke no words to the Roman, but he raised and left a hand on the Roman's shoulder.
Clap. A sound as the hand met and fell off of armor, and the face of the soldier beneath as hardened. Not hurt, far from inspired, but perhaps accepting of a duty. It was face similar, if George had to put it to history, of a man being asked to perform a duty that would pain him. He was unsure why.
It was unimportant to him regardless. His Lord asked of him a task, and he had to perform it.
"You found him… already?"
"Yeah, I did. Or we did." Ritsuka answered the blue-tinted figure of the Director, even as she stared gob smacked at him. "A woman approached us shortly after we finished talking, and told Princess Marie of where a village was that was being protected. We got there and found him."
"Just like that? No great fight? Convincing him? Trying to explain him who you were?"
"I quoted John 3:16 through 20 to him, but that's about all that happened." Ritsuka could not recall fighting any of the Servants that were on their side. Least of all those faithful to the Lord. "Did I do something wrong with finding him."
"No~! Hardly that. Our dear Director here is merely a bit surprised you were able to find another rogue servant, one willing to ally with you so quickly after the call ended~." Da Vinci laughed behind the young girl. "She was so sure that you would be searching all of today and tomorrow, and we would arrive with news of the other servants first."
"It made sense that we would!" The director fired back. "But no, no, forget that." She waved away her thoughts. "You said his name was George, as in St. George the Dragon Slayer?"
"Yes, and he's a Saber." He knew she'd like that information. "He mentioned that many of the wyverns were afraid enough of him that they haven't bene pursuing the village he was staying in, after he defeated many of them to follow the Lord."
"History repeats~."
"He's here now, and talking with Jesus. Everyone else is as well." He felt pride at the expression of the Director, but he was quick to push it down. This was the result of his faith in God, as this was all being done for the glory of his kingdom. "Does this mean we're ready to rescue Kadoc now?"
"Yes and no," Olga replied. "I'd say you have the suitable amount of force and Prana now, but you still need a plan of attack. It is a castle you are about to attack, and one with unknown Servants involved, not to mention an unknown number of wyverns."
"Those won't be trouble." He spoke with absolute confidence. He hadn't seen any trouble yet.
"They will be if too many come out against too few of you. Or worse, while you are fighting another Servant who has the advantage. What would happen if those flying monstrosities came out while you were facing off against the horde of the undead last night? Do you think the victory would have been just as quick." Ritsuka had to swallow at the idea.
He was hiding in a tower with Solomon, and Sasaki was alone. He was sure that he would be protected, but by Solomon using the power that made him feel extreme pain. And if Sasaki was left open for any of the thrown weapons… or Mozart was put off beat… Then it would have changed.
"I'm sorry," he was quick to say. "You're right."
"W-Well, as long as you recognize why." He did. "And I'm not disparaging you faith in them. It's good that you have confidence in your Servants."
"I have confidence and faith in Jesus, and he walks with us." The director sighed. "What?"
"Nothing, nothing again." She let out another sigh. "You're not wrong that him being with you is a huge boon. Just have faith in yourself as well."
"His faith in me is what gives me strength. And it's like I said before. Jesus stands with us, so who can stand against us?"
"The person who tries to kill Jesus first." The director's words almost made Ritsuka step back. "That's what was attempted back in Fuyuki, in case you forgot, and it almost worked. They drew his blood and you were the one to save him. He's the Son of God, but he is not invincible, no matter how great his power is."
"His truth was proven only after he died." Da Vinci confirmed.
"So don't go marching up thinking that because Jesus is there all will be well. All will be well if you put your heart into it." She stared at him, almost pointing. "Focus, on him and the others, and we'll start to think up of a plan. For now, just make sure everyone is cohesive."
"What… what do you mean?" The statement from before was still throwing him.
"Our dear Director means that we need to make sure there isn't any… tension among the group. For example, those vulgar jokes of Mozart seem to be to Sasaki's enjoyment, but can you think of George being so happy around the man who killed Jesus?"
"Why wouldn't he?" Ritsuka thought on it. "He is a Saint, one who had the blood of Christ give him new vision so he could behold the Son of God. He was…" He realized it slowly. "He wasn't widely known or celebrated until centuries later."
"Until around or just after George's time. You caught on quick." He nodded. "And though the Grail gifts with knowledge of the present day or where they are being summoned, the emotions from the time don't change. He likely felt the same dislike for all who damned Jesus, as I'm sure you do if anyone speaks poorly of the church."
"I don't hate them. I pity them."
"Pity then. But not something that will make you trust them." She had a point. "I'm not telling you to put him in his place, either. Just make sure they get along. Can you do that?" Could he?
"I can try."
"The fate of the Human Order depends on you succeeding. Do better than try." The words of the Director were harsh. "You do that, and we'll come back with some information on the Servants. Hopefully tomorrow we'll have enough of a plan to be able to proceed with an assault on the castle and save Kadoc. The sooner the better."
"So be sure to sleep well, young Master~." Da Vinci waved. "Drink merrily if you have to before~."
"Or at all," Olga pushed back. "Call again if anything comes up. Take care." With little more fare, she reached up and the screen blipped out of existence. Ritsuka pulled his sleeve back over his hand, hiding the bracelet again. He stared at his hand when he was done.
It, and the red Command Seals on the back. The cross still stared up at him.
Jesus was with him, and two saints loyal to his word, and then three others who were known to have loved or optimistically curious about him. And all of that was not to discount the Wise King Founder of Israel. Names and people that were often quoted in scripture, or then were talked about often on the streets, or so he had to believe from how the Director mentioned their names.
No matter the names of those Servants, however, he couldn't discount tah tJesus was among their number. His Lord and Savior, the Lord of Hosts, he who had conquered the world in his death, and returned to share its glory. He was with them, and he was leading those in a time so far distance from when he was spoken of.
And he was here with him. No matter what Olga may say, he was here to follow, and Jesus was here to lead. Him the sheep and the Lord his shepherd, as it should be. All as it should be.
He walked back to the crowd, smiling as he heard the cheers and celebration. Subdued, and far from a festival or the choirs of the church, but enough to show that they did not let the misery of the broken town reach them. That, and seeing George stand before Jesus, flanked by Longinus, as the others spoke to the people as one.
All as one, all before God. It was as it should be.
Ritsuka felt the warmth of it, even as he felt that very warmth crawl up his back. He dispelled it from being unnatural. What was natural about this? All but being loved by God.
"No! No that's stupid! That's stupid and I refuse it's too stupid! He's right there and he's the man I'm gonna kill!"
"He's not a Servant contracted to Chaldea and he's not able to harm any of us. Killing him would set shock, of that I won't deny, but in the same way you may scourge a child in front of their parents. He is, after all, called the Son of Man."
"Not… Not harm!? I saw him turn Rider into nothing but dust in the wind! Not even that! He did the same to a wyvern before!"
"He acted on one who denied him, one who was not of this world. Our 'dear' Master has made it clear he can turn those who are not of God's molding, but no matter how much we know the truth of God, we are made by him. He cannot do more than deny us."
"That denial IS what I want to kill! He's the Son of GOD! How would killing him not put them in shock!? How would it not be justified?! YOU! You said I'd get to kill him as soon as they got here!"
"I said you would, I will confess, but this is war and she has new information. Better to act on it than to assume a better plan without it."
"HAHA! The archer who's famed for a single arrow is furious he can't kill a man he's never met. How odd that you seek vengeance against him."
"He's to blame! He let blame fall on me even when I was forgiven! HIM! It's his fault!"
"AHAHAH! And now you are the Berserker before the Archer! Where is your concentration now? The one that famed you to kill a king amidst a war from scores of yards away? Better to ask, instead, where is your mind that you blame a man who died centuries before you?"
"Right where it belongs!"
He finally stamped his foot, doing very little to impress the triage of famed and powerful Servants before him. He didn't care. He screwed his face and let his crossbow shake in his hand. They continued to stare, with eyes of gold and pale blue.
The woman in front stepped forward. The cool stone beneath them warmed at her approach.
"It belongs in the heart of the one who set forth the idea of you to be killed." She spoke with flames at her lips, though eyes of glowing gold. "Not a king who managed to create peace, but the monarchy that failed to. The monarchy that set forth an idea that all should be killed for their crimes, and punishments unjustly given. The one who did not care she was killed for so little, and did not care that her people had as much."
He stared at her, even as a black gauntlet lifted beside his face, pointed down pas the broken window.
"Kill the girl who's name is synonymous for apathy of the elite, for she celebrates what you deserve. Does she not?" He glared up at her, though the witch did not blink. "Look, and tell me." He flared his nostrils, doing so only as he felt fire at his shoes.
He stared at the girl, who danced in an elegant dress, wearing a hat to match. One that bobbed as she jumped and laughed, spinning children around her. He watched, who at lavishly and was given a quick death, and thought of himself, who did upon the orders of his leaders and was flayed for success.
She the failure royal, celebrated under God. Him the successful soldier chef, killed by a flogging.
"Do you think the Lord deserves to die more than her? For your sake?" He didn't answer. "Aim your bolt upon her, think of what she has done, and remember that her death is the pin that will hold the rest here. Kill the one responsible for the precedent of your death, and seal the fates of all others here."
"… they'll all die?" He looked up at her, panting. "All of them?"
Her grin was toothy sharp. A wolf would be humbled by the gaze.
"Viva La France!"
"VIVA LA FRANCE!" The princess twirled her short gown at the chorus to her cry, the music nearly as enticing as Wolfgang's own symphonies. It was a dance all her own, but one she enjoyed. How could she not dance around the merriment of her subjects? Subjects to France not her own, but one where they were making the land she would eventually rule.
Rebuilding the ruins of a war they didn't start, worshipping the name of God as he fed them and gave them hope, following them and never losing faith in their country. She was among the French she knew her land to always be home to, and now she was given the blessing of seeing it.
"You seem merrier than usual," Wolfgang spoke, stopping her mid twirl. "Did you have a smooth break? I hope it came out clean." The princess's response was to stomp her feet, pout her lips and slap the man at the shoulder. He laughed off the blow. "Apologies, Marie. You just seem rather gay."
"Oi. I am finally able to see my people work!" She swept a hand at a nearby stall, constructed near a new from broken parts, and already one of many building up around it. "The people are laying no blame on another before they work, remaking the town that I was so sure would be abandoned! They are already forging France from the ashes and making it a more beautiful land! Viva La France!"
"Viva la France!" A few others around her cheered, earning the jubilation of the young girl. Mozart laughed along, waving his baton in the air.
"They are! They're making their quant homes rise again! It reminds me of the second verse of many songs, dripping in detestable times before rising to a grand chorus. Seeing the dead roam these lands only a night ago, and now the homes are coming up again." He laughed as he helped a nearby man stack a pair of bricks. "And without a complaint, too. Here I couldn't get my dear manager to dance unless I scored the brown note a few times."
"That is a lie and you know it! You made the nobles dance with your craft as if they were children again."
"Of course! But that's because they were looking for it. It's always easier to make someone do something they want to do, but I don't believe anyone came here looking to rebuild. And yet, here they are doing it gainfully." He caught a pot that was flying through the air, holding it out for a pair of women, them bowing with flushed faces as he handed it back off. "There's a great amount of strength in these men and women."
"Je Tamie! How could they not? We have Saints and Lords among them." She extended her hand towards the white clothed Shepard, the only man to smile as much as she. "So a dutiful man who looks to lead them, and them so eager to follow."
"Do I detect a note of jealousy? I'd have to ask you to put that instrument back in its case."
"Non! Non Non Non Non!" The young princess quickly shook her head. "he is the one who's very influence has created the beautiful art that our land is known for! How could there be a Notre Dame without his notre dame. How many grand sculptures would be left unchiseled without his story? Non! To be jealous of him would be like saying the sun should shine less bright!"
"You do have a smile that rivals it."
"But never will surpass." She bopped her old friend on the nose. "And that is why I do not have jealousy. Our dear master is correct about him, and we should remember how grand he is. Helping to ensure the greatness of France! Ho ho ho!"
"Then you will have to help me make a song for him!" The musician surprised her with the command. "I have a great desire to craft a new symphony for him, I will confess to you instead of him, but I will admit I'm a bit behind on knowing just what is appropriate. I fear he'll be less appealed by the grand piano, seeing as he comes from a time so old the flute was considered novel."
"Don't think lowly of him! His father created the heavens!"
"Then let me flip it." Wolfgang flapped his arms as if to roll his sleeves. "What can I possibly make that will impress the Son of God?" He leaned back, scratching his chin. "I suppose this is the time where I really will have to ask the angels to assist me. God does love me, after all, so I suppose I can call on this favor once to impress his son."
"Oi! That's a perfect idea!" She clapped for him, hopping up and down. "Be sure to plan it out, make it a full symphony for us all to hear. I'm sure Jesus will be as enthralled as the meal Martha made him before Mary."
"Martha? Oh! The sister of Lazarus?" He tilted his head. "Maybe I could think of others as well? He does have a rich history."
"Yes! But if you need more people to help you, then how about the only one here who knows about Jesus?" She looked over, unsurprised to see their Master slowly making his way through the crowd, nodding at the people as they worked, offering words as he passed. "Oi! Master!" She waved her hands above her large hat, earning his attention. He waved back.
"Of course!" Wolfgang slapped his head. "That boy knows more about Jesus than I do a good wet fart." She pouted at him again, making the musician laugh. "I'm sorry I'm not sorry!" She flashed a bright smile at him, before turning to face their Master.
She took steps forward, intending to meet him halfway. Perhaps if she spoke to him just far enough away from Mozart, she could ask him to help Wolfgang, and then yet plan a bit of word play to catch her friend in a playful comment of his own. She enjoyed the idea, making him utter a poor statement to finally earn a bit of red at his face.
She took two steps before she felt something slap her chest. Hard. How odd.
Princess Marie looked up at her Master, who's expression shifted so quickly from peaceful joy to shocked horror, it forced a frown on her own features. His eyes were not on her face… but lower.
Her gaze fell to where she felt the sudden shove, and saw the wooden bolt of an arrow protruding from her red dress.
A red that began to swim downward, painting more of her cloth a deeper stain. It dripped to the broken tiles and turned ashen gray a mournful crimson. Her eyes blinked, blurring, wondering what had happened. She made to take a step forward, and found her foot nearly slipping. It forced her body to spin. The people were in shock looking at her, so many shocked and saddened faces.
She saw the Servants looking at her. Solomon, looking beyond the crowd. Sasaki, following a motion from the king. Longinus stepping for the lord. George, stepping before the crowd. Mozart… the most unrefined frown on his features. She made to lift her hand, to force the expression away. She made to command it, but found no oxygen to breath with.
He caught her hand instead, and she fell into him. Her eyes looked up, and the slow shake of his luxurious locks was the sweetest denial. That wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to frown. He was supposed to bring joy.
"Mozart…" She managed to push out.
It could have been swept away in the screams that were starting to dull her ears. It could have been muted by the cries of dragons she hadn't seen coming. It could have been much, that which kept her own voice from being heard. But she forced herself on.
"Write… his… song..."
Her head fell, and she saw the eyes of Jesus looking upon her.
He smiled upon her. Simple, sweet, and as eternal as her country.
Marie Antoinette, smiled in return.
He watched it happen, but he didn't know how.
"Wyverns! WYVERNS!"
"Those of the Lord, to me! Stand behind me!"
"Monsters and men, both far from God! Keep them away!"
He saw the girl who had carried him through the land smile, even as her hands fell to the stone, nearly trampled as the people ran away around her. Her friend, a musician without a band, was screaming something. Probably here name.
RAAAAG! RAAAAAA!
"Keep them down! Longinus, don't let them within a hundred meters! Sasaki, kill any that get close!"
Her body was heavy. He had clung to her as he was dragged up and down France, from no less than three towns, including the one they currently were in. He had seen her dancing and smiling minutes, seconds before. He had her talking about how she loved the Lord, and that she was eager to retake her nation.
"Back! Further behind me! My sword is a shield!"
RAAAAG! AAAAAAAGH!
"I see another monster, but that is no Wyvern. She may call herself a more devious swallow."
"Keep her back!"
"I will do all that I can."
Ritsuka wasn't sure when his feet brought him in front of the girl, the princess, the girl with a hat as large as her heart, with a smile that made the Lord smile with her. The girl that looked at nothing, slumped messily in her friend's arms. No tears marking her face, even as others fell over her chest. She stared ahead to nothing. Ritsuka stared down at her, his hand touching hers. It was still warm.
The rest of the land was hot.
"FIRE! She controls the flames!"
"She is born of hell! Longinus, George, keep the people safe! Sasaki, you and I must keep her back!"
"You mean them back."
"Of course! Back and away from them and Master!"
Her body started to vanish. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.
Ritsuka watched as the body of France's princess turned to sparks in his hand, traveling up until his digits scratched at the cobblestone, feeling the blood she had bled. Mozart's arms flexed, pulling her up as if to keep her of this earth. It as much good as any other time it was tried. Ritsuka did not know if he cried, screamed, or cursed.
Marie Antoinette vanished in the arms of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, leaving behind shouts of fear.
Ritsuka didn't know what to do. He hadn't seen someone die… like this. He hadn't seen them die in a war. Cu died behind a wall of Camelot, made by Mash. Mash had died before they fell into Fuyuki.
He touched the hand of the princess as she turned to nothing before him. No soul traveling to heaven before his gaze, nor hidden from view. He just watched the greatest gift of God being stolen before him. He stared, throat dry and voice gone. His crouched position was held.
All the way until he felt someone standing over him.
Ritsuka looked up, staring at a man covered in a cloak of darkness, lightning crackling about his form. His hat was brimmed like Marie's, but thin and baleful of the sun. It let the glow of his golden eyes shine like a demon's gaze. The sharp row of teeth he grinned with fit the image all the better.
"Death is a cold thing, is not?" He questioned, voice clear even among the screams around them. "Witnessing it alone is enough to have its cold hand surround your warm heart." Ritsuka didn't make to answer. He only stared as the man held up his hand. A hand that was covered in darkness, dripping as if with shadows, crackling like a storm cloud in the deepest parts of midnight. "Almost enough to make your soul turn."
The man reeled his arm back, and Ritsuka felt the same as he did watching Saber lift the blade over her head. His hand was of flames and lighting, but all he could see was fire burning burning burning burning burning BURNING BURNING!
"SHIT! Ritsuka!"
Then a blade falling, as a fist flew.
BOOM!
His eyes shut and hair shot back with hid body as the force of the air hit him. Air, he realized quickly, and not a lightning clenched fist. His body shook as he felt heat surround him, even as his body made to shiver. His legs did not work, and could hear power crackling and rolling around him.
"You speak of death as if a tool, not knowing of the journey it has." A warm voice, warmer than the burning burning burning spoke above him. He still did not look up. "Why do you believe yourself the ferryman and soothsayer in one?"
"HAHAHAHA! Why? Because I was made to that journey before. From what I recall reading when I was a boy, you were the one supposed to accompany us on that cold journey. Are you being called at an inconvenient time?"
"You call without words and demand action without respite." A sound of clenching leather echoed above screams and flames. "You are not to approach those who are not ready for such a journey." Something fluttered above him. "Ritsuka, will you not gaze upon me?"
The question forced his eyes open, and the boy looked up to see the Lord, his Lord, standing before him.
Before he saw the torment around him. He felt the fires, he heard the screams, but as his eyes beheld the source of such noises, the torment of Fuyuki returned to him. He saw wyverns crying across the sky, now truly raining fire down from serpentine gullets. He watched the people huddle behind a Saber and Lancer, as a lone samurai swiped at wings that fell near him. A wise king was raising shields that may have explained the weakness in Ritsuka's legs, but it did nothing for what else he saw.
Nothing except for his Lord putting a hand to his chin, drawing him back.
"I asked you to look upon me. Why do you divert your eyes?" Blue eyes looked into his own, and Ritsuka could look no where else. "Why do you look upon the torment of the world when I am asking you to gaze upon me?"
"Because he is one of this world, and you only pretend to be." His Lord looked away from him, but did not release his head. Ritsuka by temptation that was greater than his own will, followed the eyes of his Lord.
He beheld a demon, wearing the garb of a woman.
A woman that wore an outfit of dark cloth and chains, a half-formed crown on her head that framed platinum hair and glowing golden eyes. Skin pale as snow, and teeth as sharp as the man at her right flank. She carried a banner twice as tall as herself, and a sword encrusted with a jeweled pommel. It was all malicious, but it was that which swept behind her that had Ritsuka staring, nearly crying.
Wyverns, beasts, dragons, swarming at her back, lifting from the edge of ruined buildings, perching on falling walls, as if coming from the very horizon itself, and all falling behind her. Her, and swirling amongst the flames that carried up at her flames. Flames that bloomed from the ground like the foliage of hell, flames that didn't light up the night but darkened the sky, flames, fires, burning burning burning-
"Stop." The flames obeyed her.
They retracted back to her, leaving her standing at their head as the beasts and two men beside her stood tall and intimidating. The cries of the crowd were reduced to wet whimpers, and Ritsuka could only hear them through the crackle of flames. He watched the woman stare at the men, one who so nearly attacked him, staved off by his Lord, and the other he hadn't seen.
A man taller than anyone else present, even Longinus, and hair to match. A long twisted lance in his head, carrying the weight of nobility with platinum hair of his own, and a cruel grin that showed not rows of sharp teeth, but a pair of protruding canines. Ritsuka swallowed, but his Lord Jesus stood before them without a tremble.
"Do you know my name, Son of God?" The woman asked, golden eyes glowing. "Do you see my face and feel regret for what happened to me? Do you have any words of sympathy for one who was thrown to the wayside by your father's machinations?" Her boots clicked, heavy metal that crushed the already cracked stone to dust.
"I do not." The answer was immediate.
It made the woman start, for just a moment. Her eyes opened, her gait slimmed, and she stared at him. Ritsuka watched behind his Lord.
"You… don't know me." Her smile grew, and the flames with it. Flames that were hot, tall, scratching, demonic hands and laughter that were BURNING BURNING BURNING BURNING BURNING BURNING! "So now I finally stand before the rotten Master and the failed son." The woman, the monster walked among the burning burning burning burning- "And he does not care to recognize me."
"I care greatly for all, but you are not one of my father's creations. You are not made of men." Jesus's voice was strong amidst the flames.
"Then not me," she smiled viciously, head lowering until shadows clung about her falling hair. "Then what of the men beside me! Can you no longer name them!? Can you look upon them and see the scars your plan has cast upon them!?"
His Lord did not answer, looking between the two men who stood easily about the flames, enjoying the fear their presence brought, clearly careless or care free of the suffering they wrought. The flames that burned burned burned burned burned did nothing to them. They were cool and calm amongst the flames of hell. So was Jesus.
"I see the Wallachian who slaughtered the many for false proclamation of his kingdom's safety." The long hair man bristled, clenching his lance until liquid dripped from his palm. "I see a beaten man who made his pain his new God, and discounted those who offered him peace." The cloaked man's cloak billowed with darkness and lightning once more. "I see them and for what they want. And I want much the same."
"Do you?" The woman laughed, much like the teenagers Ritsuka could recall in Japan, clamoring past the church and throwing insults for joy. "Then tell me, Son of God, what do you wish of them?"
Hands held out, open and inviting, he answered.
"I wish to speak to them. For them to listen and hear." The answer did not surprise Ritsuka. It was what he had heard in Fuyuki, in the fires, among the burning burning burning burning. His Lord did not sway.
But something blew among the flames, like every wyvern beat their wings at once, and the ash and smoke surrounded him. He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and let the smoke surround him. It lasted for a moment, and he all but threw his hand to clear away the fog. He looked up to see the two men standing before Jesus.
One's lance caught by George's blade, and the other's dark claws pushed back by Longinus's lance.
"Speak!?" The silver haired one roared. "I called to you and your aid when my country was being burned, and you would not answer! Now you wish to speak!?" The man ripped his lance down. George was wise not to follow. He let his blade fall, and then leaned forward with his fist, striking the man. The blow sounded almost like a brick being dropped, colliding with the man's jaw. Yet for all the brutality, it did not phase him. "I have been granted this one moment to finally gain recompense for the horrors you wrought on my people, my nation, and my legacy, and you wish only to speak to me!?"
"Do you believe you deserve more for your suffering? You think the horrors you saw deserve action from my Lord?"
"HAHAHA! That is what you promised!" The other man, the one who had tried to kill him thrice now, spoke. His teeth were sharp as he almost drooled over Longinus. "Those who suffer shall be the first to the Gates of Heaven!" The man ripped his arms down. He overpowered the man who carried the bloody staff of Christ.
Like the lightning that cloaked him, he was behind the roman soldier in a moment rearing his fist back to strike at Jesus. The Lord stood and watched. BOOM! And like the light that he was made from, he held back the crackling shadow of the cloaked man. The same man that had power billowing between them, making the fires wave even as they burned and burning burning burning burning.
"And yet I never saw your gates. I saw only hell!"
"Did you not drag others into hell?" Jesus asked so simply. "Are you surprised that in clinging to a false hope, you fall from my father's grace?"
"Your father's grace abandoned ME!" The man roared again. Then his cloak billowed…
And split. Ritsuka wasn't even srue what he was seeing. He was staring at a man who had been laughing with accusations, now five men, surrounding Jesus Christ. Ritsuka didn't understand anything.
Not even as multiple copies of the man all but took over the air, silhouetted by flames as their emerald garbs shook like a tornado was about them, one that was rising from hell as monsters tore through the skies around them. Ritsuka could only look up in fear as the cry over the wyverns joined the cackling of the flames and the cries of demons and the laughter of the man with the burning burning burning burning burning!
Burning as the men all struck at Jesus. The same man ready to tear into his Lord with shadows gauntlets.
CLANG! BOOM! Longinus, as vowed by his sainthood, pieced one with his infamous lance. His body took the blow of another, having him sputter as he was pushed back. Ritsuka looked up at his Lord. He was unsurprised, and thankful, to see him holding back two with raised fists. But the fifth…
Was being held back by a wall of translucent light. A wall that had Ritsuka shaking for a breath, coughing on nothing and grabbing his throat as he felt it burning. Burning from… from the fire…
No… he realized after a moment. It was burning from Solomon's raised hand, magic coming forth from him.
"My Lord! Please step back!" He waved his hand, and blew away the copy of the man. His shadows dissipated into light, and his remaining forms retreated back. The action made Ritsuka fall over. "I can only do so much!" He could feel the king's eyes on him.
"You can do little, nearly nothing." The woman… the woman gowned in darkness and surrounded by flames, cheered. Her pale skin with a raised dark jeweled blade, cheered, as she stood above them all. On the same level, but towering about them. "What can a king who worshipped God do against those who have seen the truth of his cruelty!" She waved her sword forward.
The fires, the demons, launched forward.
Ritsuka watched them, watched them race towards him, and he saw the fires of the pit reach out with it. It was fire that was born with wood or ash, without a wick or coal, but it rose and roared with more ferocity than any of the cries before. The screams were deluded beneath the cackles of the demons, and he was looking up a great hand that looked to descend upon him. He saw the visage of Satan behind those flames, and the chorus of fallen angels glowered with loathing and malcontent!
"NO!" Ritsuka felt his body scream again, and his arm convulsed, as another wall of light rose between him and the flaming hand. It slammed against the translucent barrier, cascading like water. It fell apart quickly, but it still had him shaking behind it. "Ritsuka! Get back!"
"AHAHAH! What a useless magician!" The woman screamed. "Your own magic to defend your Master harms him!? How lowly your caste is!"
"AHAHAH! Low as all the others!" The cloaked man joined her chorus. Ritsuka, with a shaking gaze, managed to twist his head and stare at him. He beheld the man with crackling shadows holding the arm of Longinus, as his clawed hand scratched at his helm. Scratched, for he didn't pierce it, but with a blow that rend the stones beneath. "So low that he you cannot hear my words! AHAHA! Like the men who betrayed me for gold! So low they fail to see!"
"So down you cannot understand!" The last yelled, with a volume that had the ground shaking. Ritsuka twisted to see how.
And then he saw that it wasn't his voice that shook the ground. It was the sprouting of spears. The literal growth of weapons, of dark spikes that were surrounded by emulating fires. They each attempted to pierce George, but the soldier of God was backing away from each one. Anyone, from how they ripped cobblestone and toppled homes, would be a terrifying blow.
RAAAAAAGHGH! The cries from above force him to look up. It was only through the smoke that he saw the shadows of the monsters laying above them. The beasts that each sought to tear them. They circled so much like pigeons, but each one looming like a vulture. Any few that came down, Sasaki's blade made two. Were it in any other battle, he would be thanking the Lord for it.
But the samurai was dancing through fires, flames, and the cry of demons. He was saying little as he swung his blade, and did not turn his eyes. He was struggling, battling on uneven ground.
"Do you not see how they struggle? Lord?" The woman mocked with open arms. "Struggle to hold back us alone? And why shouldn't they? It was you who said they must struggle, for so little to gain and nothing to show!" Her golden eyes glowed with the fires.
"I spoke nothing of gains within this world. I promised nothing in these lands." Jesus, however, was unperturbed. Ritsuka strained the depths of his soul to hear. "This life is filled with woes. It is in the next you are rewarded."
"And was I?! Did I gain for my sacrifice and suffering?!" The woman yelled. "How could I when you cannot even name me!?"
"Because you are not of my father's plans, and the woes of this world are not yours."
"YOU LIE!" She slammed her flag pole to the ground. From it, demons rose.
Demons of fire and ash and brimstone that began to crowd the air like the devil's hand. Raising to fight back against the blue sky and paint it gray with smoke and soot. It choked Ritsuka with a plume of toxic air that promised only vice and sin, making his soul and body burn. She howled as the cackling of demons rose above the screams of the others, loving the agony that her deeds brought.
"You lie for I am of this world! I was! I was the one to whom all of these treacherous people owe their lives, and yet felt it necessary to damn me for themselves! Those who threw me away for their own gain!" She flew her arms out, and the wyverns cried above her. "It is my tale and the tale of all those who returned to show the damnation of your works! No different for me, or them!"
Ritsuka, with a chest that felt to be collapsing and lungs that were align like the burning burning burning burning burning fires around him, saw the pair of men rise amongst the flames around her. One, the shadowed man of darkness and lightning, cackling with joy as Longinus was pushed back and away, fruitless to face him. The other, with hair of long silver and birthing spears so little like those of God's Cross, standing to his tallest above George. Far above what any normal man could reach.
"They who you denied for your false father's plans, they who worked and worshipped you in life and were offered nothing but torments for their deeds! They are like me, and yet you care not know them!?"
"I know of them." Jesus spoke calmly even as the fires raged, as they raged, the people around them screamed, and Solomon continued to use his supply of Prana to keep them safe from fires and torments. "I will not forget Vlad Tepes or Edmond Dantes."
The names made the men stare. Eyes of cold blue and burning flames, both stared. The fires, for a small moment, dipped. It was not a moment that lasted.
"Aha… AhahahahAHAHA! You do know of me! But by a name that is longer mine! By a name that no one may call me!" The cloaked men roared, the shadows of his cloak billowing out like spilt water. Caustic and harmful water. "Edmond was the name I used when I worshipped your name! Before I had the man killed and thrown from the cliffs I was held against! He is dead! And from him came I, the Count of Monte Cristo!"
Longinus, with a jut of his lance, beat back a hand that Ritsuka didn't even see begin to strike. It mattered little, as the Roman Soldier was slammed back again. Through walls of already collapsed buildings and flames that followed them. Wyverns descended after, and the man, the Count laughed with them.
"You use my name as if it isn't a cursed thing." The other man spoke, with his lance leveled at Jesus. The very act twisted the little of Ritsuka that wasn't already writhing in pain. "Pain that I have been cursed with beyond my death. Where my name is now akin to the sources of evil in the dark. To creatures and monsters that I never joined with. I may not have buried myself at the foot of your cross, but I never joined the demons that you fought again. So why, Lord of Heaven, why am I made akin to them!?" He reeled back and threw his lance.
TWANG! George took it from the air with a silver swing of his blade, ripping through the air like it was paper. His sword rang, but the cry of the silver haired man… the man named Vlad, roared above hit. And more spears ascended from the ground. They could have been matted in blood for how they appeared. And the fires did nothing to help it.
"And then me!" The woman roared again. The fires truly grew with her. The people hollered against it, behind Jesus and Solomon. They were protected, and it agonized the body of Ritsuka. "I who saw the injustice of his land and listened to your father! I heard him call my name and I took to the war as a boy to ensure his Word would spread and the commands he gave be fruitful. I did all that was asked. And for it? I was burned!"
The fires grew, the burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning burning!
"Look on me, King of Men! Look upon the Saint who fell when she saw the truth of your horrible plans!" Her pale skin glowed with her glowering gaze, and teeth were sharp as the wyverns that circled above her. "If you will not name me, then I will myself!"
The beasts, keeping Sasaki at bay, retreated. The samurai watched them depart with a careful eye, not lowering his guard as he took his place near Ritsuka. His purple cloak and hair billowed in the storming fire, and the Master watched as the woman made a monsoon of scales, smoke, and hate.
"I am Jeanne D'Arc! The former Maid of these Lands!"
He knew he heard her wrong.
She could not be Jeanne.
"You are not, no matter how you claim to be." His Lord's words were truth.
But the woman, the witch, laughed at the idea.
"What reason have I to lie!? I am no different than the others here, only further offended! They worshipped you, I listened to you!" Her crusted blade pointed at him. "And my reward was a torturous death! Well now I live again to spread the truth, my truth!"
Her staff embedded itself in the ground, and she spread her arms.
"And that is that God is dead, and monsters now rule this Earth! Monsters of scales and flesh, beasts of mind and body. All that remains and all that will remain. So say I!" Her laughter roared with the flames. Ritsuka's eyes wet.
It could have been the pain, the smoke, the agony in his soul. All of them ripped at his conscious. A thing swiftly fading. Into a slow gray fog.
One that let him see Longinus pushing out of a hole the Count laughed at him from crawling from. One that saw St. George destroying lances Vlad grew from the broken ground. One that saw Sasaki battling away at the wyverns, reenergized from the mad cry of the false Jeanne. One that saw him staring up at his lord, Jesus Christ, as he watched the world turn and burn around him.
Ritsuka looked for Solomon, sure the man was helping, the coldness and fatigue warping over him proof that he had to be working. His eyes shifted with empty lungs to find him.
He saw the wise king using shields to hold back the wyverns as they attempted to strike at the crowd of people, and the French natives who clamored behind Jesus and away from the flames. The beasts were descending towards them with talons sharp enough to rip flesh from bone and cleave stone in two, but the shield of the king, from a glowing ring upon his hand, kept them at bay.
Them at bay as he was left sucking in dry air fruitlessly, unable to swallow what he needed.
He could do nothing… he was doing nothing. And he fell into nothing, staring at the light of his Lord.
The world was burning, but that wasn't anything new. Mozart thought on that as he stared at empty hands. Nothing new there as well.
Empty hands that had never made a new bridge, hammer, blade, gun or tool for craft. Hands that had held paper all his life, and ended with him clutching the same scribbled notes. Notes that were worth more than many men's lives, but notes nonetheless. Notes, bars, and the odd paragraph about how to make the instruments of a symphony dance.
But nothing on how to save a life.
A life that he wished to save.
But only lost again. Slipped through his fingers, with the same sad smile he had seen before.
He had not seen her die, but he saw her off when news came. He remembered how she had last said farewell to him, and now she left him with the same image that he had imagined. One of peace, one of a ruler, giving a final decree for another to live a life of love. And he had to be the one to see them off. He was asked to do it, but he only knew of one way.
He was a musician, and a musician could only say farewell in the tune of a dirge.
The last time he had written a dirge, it was the final song of his creation before his death. Written by the request of another man, masked an anonymous, but one that still took from his time before it stole his life. That was the final memoire of Amadeus Wolfgang Mozart.
One who was loved by God, and left for his kingdom after constructing an unheard dirge.
That same famed, and other times infamous, musician looked around at the hell that rose around him. It could have been the romantic in him playing the destruction to a new level, but there were few alive who could see the soiling of the land as anything but hellish. Fires were raging, monsters crying, and the mad Servants who believed their spite equivalent to God's love thrashed at the Servants who knew what it meant to love and protect.
Laughter rose above slaughter, and screams of pain were reduced by cries for violence. His hands clenched at nothing, no dear friend to give him direction or praise. Just a baton to play the instruments God had settled in his mind. That, and the last request of that said friend.
"A song…" Mozart hummed, dulled to an unheard voice. Not even his Master, the poor boy all but convulsing on the ground as the Wise King of the East used his incomparable magic. "Write him a song. Him…" With an empty smile, he looked at the man.
The simple robed, yet still immaculately colored, Son of God holding his hands up and brushing away at the wind. A say of his hand that had the fires encroaching on them being swept away. This was met by the hollers of the pale woman who commanded those demonic fires. For more than a few moments, Mozart was sure that he could see the hands of demons in there, stretching up and smoke colored to match. He had to smile at it.
And then the man turned to look at him. How odd. Not looking at Mozart himself. He was a genius of a man who had more than a few nobles and finer members of life coming to find him for tea, crumpets, or to be chased off with a good joke. No, it was odd because usually those same people would turn down the day if there was so much as a sprinkle of rain. Yet here was the Son of God enduring literal fire and flames, yet choosing to look at him.
Look at him, give off a serene smile, nothing but a twist of his lips, and Mozart found himself staring as if he wasn't the pride of the world.
No, it was like looking at the princess again. A girl who was chased to hell for words she never said and actions she never even thought of. A man who was pushing back the cascade of war, and saw no guilt in those who committed it. What a man that was. What a sight he was! Enough to have Wolfgang's fingers unflex, relax, and stare.
The people were still crying, the others were still fighting, and he was still staring. Staring, as Jesus Christ smiled upon him. Truly it was a god given sign.
"What a song…" It truly was such great inspiration for a song. Perhaps not comparable to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, but one that would earn the praise of stars. One that would encourage those who saw the myriad of horrors to brush them away. To do that, he would need a strong cello, perhaps even an octo-bass, to give the shake of terror, before a rising flute would clear the mind. Oh yes, that could work.
Wolfgang hummed as he raised his baton, flitting with the stick. The air trembled with the deep bass, not a trombone to his unfortunate realization for a good pun, but enough to make the cobblestone shake and a few of the nasty wyverns to fall from the sky. He gave a nice dip of his large hat towards Sasaki as the skilled swordsman took the wings from them. He continued on, letting the deep chords shake the air back and forth, making even the fast a flitty laughing Count shake. It let the Roman lay into him with a good thwack of his lance.
He laughed as he raise his hand, commanding the flute to rise, listening as it made the fires dip, the note like a robbing of its coal and kindling. It was a grand sight to see, especially as the golden eyes of that demonic like woman stared at him. He made sure to give her a strong look back in return. As appropriate as it would be for the conductor to face the play and crew, he could smile at the looks of adoration and appreciation.
The deep scowl and shout were surely a sign of admiration, after all. How could one not admire what stoked their anger?
"Don't despise my gift," Mozart called with no lacking of joy. "I'm offering it to you!"
"Keep your curses to yourself!" The musician blinked as spires rose from his feet. Colored boots stepped back, in time with drums that he had beating. Had to have drums in a war. War drums were a staple. "You make a mockery of our plights!"
"Of course I am!" He laughed as the long-haired man screamed at him. He had some sharp teeth. "What else am I to do with such a hilarious sight?" The same man threw his arm to the side, like Mozart imagined he'd throw a plate. Instead, the lance ripped forth with darkness. How rude was that? It wasn't time for the curtain call.
He raised his hands up, letting the baton carry the strings with him. The octo-bass, the terror, was lowered as the violins and cellos rose. As the strings turned the terror of a fight into a cry to carry on! And the cry was met with the Saint of Dragon Slayers ripping his blade up. The air danced with his blade, and the similarly long-haired, but far more clean man, pushed the madman back. What a show! Mozart laughed.
Shadows rippled under him, in time with the crackle of lightning. It was a grand tempo, though with a quicker pace then appropriate for his song. It carried the count, with long black claws and a sharp grin to match. Mozart did not let his dip, as he weaved his baton through the air. Any good symphony needed to focus on harmony, just as this man was working with shadows and lightning. How very very frightening!
Thus it only made sense to have the cymbals clash, shaking the man's stance, and letting Mozart skip away. Just as the great Longinus pushed in against, the head of his spear striking the man, and pushing him into shadows. There were another three of him, unfortunately. Such a shame when there was more than a single sour note in a song.
But, it wasn't time for him to stop. He could see that the main observers of his symphony were watching with open mouthed adoration. The French that the beloved Marie danced and sung with, the Wise King, kneeling beside their Master with his long hair cascading, and, of course, the Son of God. How perpetual his smile was.
And just like Marie asked of him, he had to ensure his song was one that matched that brilliance!
"If you're all paying attention, let us reach out for the next verse!" He raised his arms up. "Your attention is mandatory~." Then threw them down.
In a way that only the gifts from God could instruct him to do, every string, brass, and percussion of the grand symphony let loose, pushing the flames like a gout of water and making the Servants shrivel back. The humans behind him gasped, but held their footing even as the ground shook. Oh it shook and rattled, and though Mozart whished he could have said that it was the brilliance of his own piece making him shake, he knew he could not.
The swipe of sweat from his forehead was proof enough of a contrary point.
"Now Solomon!" He called out, a bit disappointed he could direct with his baton. "Be sure to align the next actors!" The man looked at him for a moment before rising and nodding, the Master of Chaldea in his arms. George and Longinus were not far behind, both picking up civilians that appeared to have been to careless amidst the fighting. Such a shame, losing track of where they were in a song.
How fortunate for him then, blessed by God, that he had the uncanny ability to never dip or trip in the chords he commanded!
"NO! You will not escape!" The Jeanne-appearing woman cried. Her sword raised and pointed at him. "You'll burn before you turn!"
"I'd wager their heels will be burning!" Mozart yelled back. "Though I hope they can be calm about it. I'd hate to have to smell a burning shit!"
He roared with laughter at the blush of color on the pale woman's face. Just in time for him to swipe his hands to the side, letting the crescendo slam into her. It didn't make her knees bend, but at least she had to plant her flag. For any man, that was an accomplishment.
"Enough!" The lightning crackled again, and Mozart bent to see the Count glowering down at him. "You are laughing at folly over reality." How odd to see the man without a smile.
"Oh no, I'm laughing at reality." Mozart countered, twist his baton. The instruments in the crescendo grew, and the man's cloak billowed violently in the growing storm of noise. "Afterall, I hear real life is a real shit show." Over the crackles of fire and ruin, he swore he could hear the samurai laughing at his remarks.
Such a pity he couldn't see the critic giving him praises, and instead had to bear the sight of the infuriated pair of men. The adoration was appreciated, but perhaps with a bit less violence. It was starting to wear on him, jumping about and letting the strings carry him while tying up the pair of other Servants. It wasn't in his nature to be so active
Then again, if this was a song for God, it made sense to do things a little different. A little more than what was expected, a little less than what they believed was needed, and getting across what was needed without spelling it out. Yes, that sounded like a song fit for Jesus.
"Be skewered!" Vlad yelled at him, throwing his lance at him this time. It missed, by the interference of brass bands, but the pikes that followed his path had Mozart stumbling. The ruin of buildings didn't offer a lot of room to move.
Neither did the trail of smoke and ruin left by the Count as he tried to follow up. A pity that he quick actions were always countered by uneven ground. It was almost as if God had a preference in this fight. The idea made Mozart grin.
"I will not be skewered. I'd rather raise myself with the Lord's help." The response had all three of the Servants howling. He laughed in return.
"Mozart!" The Wise King shouted to him. "We're leaving! We can go!" The musician tilted his head in bafflement.
"Leaving?" He repeated, before chuckling. "Why would I leave?" The king gave him the same look of astonishment. What praise that was from the King of Israel! "I'm playing a song for God's honor to those who need it most. I'd be literally damned if I gave half a performance."
"If you stay you'll die!"
"Again?" He laughed at the man's shocked expression. "What's another death when I already passed on before. Now I get to go while constructing a grand piece like this. So much brighter than the final dirge." He turned and whipped his baton, ensuring the cymbals clashed as the triumphant song rose. The wyverns that were scouring overhead writhed with the sound, just before the beat of the growing war drums, the retaliation of the enemy, rose with the same spears as Vlad. Such a sad man, able to make such perfect mounts for the large strings and still sought to use them for bloody purposes.
Wolfgang pulled his baton back and forth, letting the volume drift from the strings to the brass to the percussion. It shook the spires and shadows of the pair of men, as the brass dulled the flames of the mad woman. And the grand beat of the drums and cymbals had them shouting to match his volume. It was fun to see them try, struggling against God's plan. Children were fun like that.
"Wolfgang!" He looked back, spine bending and hat nearly falling off, to see Solomon still there, and the hordes of people about him. Even Master flung over his shoulder. "Stop it and come!"
"Come now, your highness. I'm not about to leave a score half done, I told you that." He twisted, righting himself as he struck a pose for the group. He could see George, Longinus, and Sasaki staring at him, weapons up and discerning looks. That was doable, though a bit boring. Critics often were until they heard the end of his songs.
A pity they'd be the ones to judge him the harshest, leaving half-way through. At least Jesus looked to be smiling upon him. Hand on the shoulder of the red-robed king.
"I have a performance to finish, and you have a court to lead. Best let us work with the talents God gave us." He stamped his foot, letting the grand bass shake the ground. "For I can't imagine any other time I'd had to use these gifts like this."
He watched Jesus raise his hand, and wave. The same perfect smile.
Oh yes, it was perfect. That was the love he saw in that man. A perfect smile offered with a send-off to match. Amid ruin and desolation, he smiled as if he was returning home for the evening, to meet again at a latter time. That was the sense he got from the son of God. It was enough to have Mozart mimic the action. Hopefully it was taken not as plagiarism. Heaven help him if he was accused like Shakespeare.
The music swelled as Solomon, with grit teeth, waved his hand about. Oh that cascading light was a thing of beauty, as much as the fires that were failing to encroach! It was a sight that had him waving his hands, lifting his arms, getting the naysayers to call out in retaliation, and failing to do a thing to the magic! Oh the magic of music and God's craft. It raised with trumpets, it had the people looking up into the light as the cackles of fires turned into cries of rage.
And then, like the lifting of bows from strings, they vanished. The music ending with them.
Mozart pulled his arms back, letting the song drift into the air, filled with smoke, consumed by fire. The three Servants raged and regarded him, but he didn't stare too long at them. He was never meant to, and there was little point in trying to rebut those who's only goal was to interfere and rage.
No, his purpose was clear now.
With a raise of his hand, other at his waste, he leaned forward and gave a forward bow.
Even as shadows joined around him, he was sure he heard the applause from heaven.