King yawned and rubbed his eyes with the sleeves of his flannel. He tugged at his own collar, allowing air to come in and relieve the sweat between skin and fabric. He scanned the area around him, he was alone.
'That sure was a nice nap.' He thought to himself. He didn't know when it happened, but it seemed like he dozed off just before the show started. Thankfully, no one was around to hear him yawn, so with any luck they hopefully just assumed he was keeping his head down. Hopefully.
'...Wait, where is everybody?' The idol trio, he could understand. Hell, he could hear the rowdiness from all the way back here, and maybe Karna and Seigfried were patrolling for wyverns and what not, but what about Marie, Jeanne, and Amadeus? Did they all just decide to take a break at the same time?
King shook his head and slicked his hair back. No point in pondering right now. He should at least peek through the curtains to see how Elizabeth and the rest are doing.
He walked towards the curtain, then gripped the red fabric with finger. He could already feel the vibrations from it, with an occasional shake of the stage that blew the curtains away slightly. King raised an eyebrow. 'Sure seems like they're going at it.'
He set the curtains aside with his hand.
There were three people on the stage, as he expected.
Elizabeth.
Kiyohime.
…And the masked woman that tried to kill him a few days ago.
Out of those three, two were fighting, namely Elizabeth and the masked woman, Carmilla, if he remembered correctly, her older self.
And Elizabeth was on the losing side.
"Ha! Where did all your bluster go, idol? I thought you were going to 'make an idol out of me'? Or was that just your big mouth?" Carmilla taunted, pushing her scepter against Elizabeth's spear just inches from her face.
"Be more impatient, would you?! This is why we never got visitors in that damned tower!" Elizabeth retorted, blood dripping from her forehead through her eyes, creating a heterochromic pair of eyes. She refused to blink.
Achilles was nowhere to be seen.
…
"...What the f–"
"Oh, President. You're finally here."
King's head turned to Kiyohime, whose eyes were still glued to the clash between the Elizabeths in front of them, gripping the mic in her hand.
"You probably heard from back there already–" No he didn't. "–but we were ambushed by the older version of that girl and some French soldiers. But it seemed that you touched the heart of the soldier's commander–" Who? "–and he decided to give us a chance with a trial by fire, as you can see with those two." Kiyohime finished, pointing to the fighting pair.
"...Okay." King said slowly, attempting to digest the information dump he was showered with not three minutes after he woke up, and failing. How long did he fall asleep for?
"You must've sensed that she was losing, and you came to help. Isn't that right, President?"
There was a rhetorical tone to Kiyohime's question, and it felt like it was holding King's head hostage, denying him the opportunity to shake his head 'no'. And to Kiyohime, no denial means the same as affirmation, as she nodded in agreement to a nonexistent 'Yes, I did' from King.
"...L-look, I–" was all King managed to spit out of his mouth before Kiyohime put her mic in her mouth.
"Attention, our beloved fans!" The berserker announced, catching the crowd's attention, but evidently not the fighting servants', who kept battering and slashing at each other with reckless abandon. "As you can see, the battle has been fierce, exciting, deadly, but what if we introduce another factor. Yes, of course, I'm talking about our very own President!" She said, presenting King with her arms.
"President!"
"Oh. It's you."
King closed his eyes. If a meteor would strike him down now like it almost did City-Z that one time, he wouldn't mind it. He'd probably prefer it, all things considered.
"You need your master to win, do you? And here I thought you were some sort of 'idol'." Carmilla sneered, strutting around Elizabeth confidently.
King was reminded then and there that the assassin was a serial killer and torturer, and for a very brief moment, imagined what would happen if he was caught by her, the slow death as she drank his blood until he was white as snow. The death glare she gave him made it extremely hard to believe that Elizabeth would one day grow up to be like… that.
King crossed his arms, second nature at this point.
He turned his head to Elizabeth, her eyes were still focused on her other self. Good, King thought. If she saw the beads of sweat wetting his collar, he wasn't sure any of them would survive tonight.
"Need my master? No, I don't."
'Phew.'
"But my producer? Hell yeah, I do!"
Ah.
"Now come on, President! Let's show this sadistic weirdo what a true idol looks like!" Elizabeth said, twirling her lance-microphone and turning them to Carmilla, who scowled.
Positives? It was one-on-one this time, less chance for him to be placed in danger like last time. Negatives? Elizabeth was losing, her opponent was a torturer, and of course, the fact that he EVEN HAD TO DO THIS!
"...I'm rooting for you." King said eventually, eyes dead and avoiding the idol. Of course he was. Who wouldn't root for the sole barrier between a painful death and themselves?
Elizabeth grinned. She wiped the blood off her face and licked them clean, a dangerous glint in her eyes and fangs.
"Hmph, no matter. I'll show you just how naive you are." Carmilla said, looking at her scornfully.
"And I'll show you how blind to the greatness of idols you are." Elizabeth retorted.
Then, they rushed towards each other, and King wanted to look away.
But he couldn't, because if he was being really honest? Elizabeth was starting to become his favorite idol.
Because she was responsible for his life now, too.
So he had no choice, but to make her his oshi.
And goddamnit, his oshi better win.
Above France, just a few kilometers away off the shore of Marseille, two shooting stars raced against each other. One blue, the other green, the latter trailing the former. Hunters below would speak of them in the morning as a miracle, a sign from god perhaps.
Of course, the truth was far more mundane.
But for the two stars themselves, it was far more fantastical than even the divine possibilities that people below proposed.
Blue and green flew parallel, always in the same direction, yet never intersecting, and if Atalanta had her way, this would not change.
Achilles could not abide by that.
There was nothing for him to launch himself off, to give him an edge over his opponent. If nothing were to happen, then they would simply fly together at the same pace, with Atalanta reaching Marseille first, and killing whoever she could get her hands on before he could stop her.
Achilles narrowed his eyes. That would not happen.
There was one way for him to accelerate now, but the path to it was thorny, and his heels were not supposed to walk on thorny roads.
But avoiding it would be the convenient way, wouldn't it?
Achilles threw his spear with a yell. Atalanta noticed. She drew her bow and notched several arrows, one hit his spear and delivered it back to him, the others were shot in a volley, aiming at his one weak spot.
Exactly what he was looking for.
Achilles raised his feet, the arrows barely grazing his toes, and stamped on them. Were these any normal arrows, they would have already perished from the force of his legs, but no mere bowman shot them. It was Atalanta.
Achilles' sole hit an arrow and he launched.
Achilles closed his eyes.
Atlanta did many things when his father would retell her stories to him. She defeated his father in a wrestling match, her arrow was the first and last to hit the Calydonian boar, but there was one part he would always insist his father to repeat.
The footrace.
Achilles stepped onto another arrow, and jumped forward. The distance between the two stars shrank.
She had told her father that she would only accept a suitor that could defeat her in a footrace. And Achilles would always remember his father changing the story, at times she would remain undefeated, others she would lose and wed the winner, but he remembered an anecdote that remained unchanged. She would always shoot arrows at her challengers, whether because she deemed those unable to avoid them unworthy, or because she simply did not want to lose, that too changed night by night. Whatever her intentions were, her potential suitors would balk, panic, and curse her as they succumbed to the arrows they saw as rejection.
Achilles meant no disrespect, but he was different from them.
Because to him, her arrows were his pathways.
Tonight, the tale would end in a way it never did before.
Achilles' foot reached the last arrow she shot, and he thanked his father one last time. Then, he twisted his body and kicked.
Atalanta was now within his reach.
Did the blue comet realize? If she did, then Achilles did not see any signs that would be the case. Her gaze was locked onto the city below, Marseille, near the shores. There were many there, even now, Achilles could see. Honest men and women working nocturnal jobs to simply meet ends.
And Atalanta had her arrows aimed at them, not a shred of mercy in her eyes.
He did this once already, he remembered. She had fallen into madness then, too, but at least she did so because she was chasing her dream. He knew what that felt like, how he felt when Patroclus was slain, how she felt when that little Assassin had to pass. Neither of those were particularly anything to be proud of, it was more appropriate for both of them to feel shame of how they went.
But those were their fault, their mistakes, their shame.
There was honor in that.
There was something right in that.
There was something to be called heroic still.
When Achilles gazed at Atalanta now, there was no such thing.
So now, the responsibility fell to him again. He had to free her of her master's bidding, free her of the madness forced to her, have her die as Atalanta, Slayer of The Calydonian Boar, A member of The Argonauts, The woman he had dreamt of since he was a child.
Achilles leaned forward and drew his spear back.
Atlanta leaned back to shoot her arrows and prepared to fire her noble phantasm.
He scowled and gritted his teeth. Even with the risk he had taken, it was not enough. He would not surpass her tonight.
Yet, just in front of the finish line, the one trailing blue stopped. Her arms slackened and her mouth fell.
Hesitation.
Achilles' gaze quickly followed hers. Children, happily greeting their parents who had come back to work.
Even now, her weakness never changed, but he was glad.
Glad that her love of children could help him reach her now.
It was but a mere thousandths of second, and Atalanta's sneer returned. Her hands drew the arrows once more.
Her body entered the domain of Marseille first
But did she win?
In most races, the winner was determined by whose chest passed the line first.
And this time, Achilles' chest surpassed Atalanta's as his spear cleaved through her arms.
Atalanta only stared at her missing arms, and Achilles overtook her. He turned towards her, and pierced her with his spear. Their eyes met, he pulled her close.
The lines stopped running in parallel.
They converged into one, blue and green spiraling in alternates into Marseille. The citizens murmured, wondered, then ran as the star entered their city. They crashed onto roofs, at times walls, even through a building, but never once did they steer through a person. Achilles would not allow that. No child would lose a family as long as Atalanta was within his arms.
Then, they hit the ground.
They skidded across the grounds of Marseille for a few more distances, the green and blue leaving their bodies with each meter they passed, until eventually, the stars died. And from the quiet supernova, there were only two people.
Heroes.
Competitors.
Racers.
One of them gasped for breath as they pushed themselves up.
The other breathed their last breaths silently.
Achilles looked at Atalanta, sense was returning to her eyes. She looked at him too. There was not much emotion in her eyes, Achilles didn't know if he could say the same about himself.
"...Achilles. I've heard of you." She said, as aloof as he remembered her being. Heard of him, but she didn't know him, not the same way he did her.
"Oh yeah? …Well, you don't remember, obviously, but we already met once. Before this war, I mean." Achilles said, a small sheepish tone accompanied him as he scratched the back of his head.
"Really? Rotten luck for me, then. You had a head start."
Achilles laughed softly. "No, not really. You were… you are still the fastest hero I know of, sis."
Atalanta raised her eyebrow, as much as she could with the blood flowing out of her. "...I know of your legend. You could've easily done this earlier with your chariot."
"Yeah, I know yours too, though. Wouldn't be right if I did."
Atalanta gave a light scoff. "That's why? So you could beat me in a foot race?"
"...Nah, this doesn't count."
Achilles couldn't look at her anymore, whether it was because of the slightly flustered look he had on his face or the surprised look on hers, he didn't want to know.
"...So you don't find me attractive enough."
"W-what? No! In fact, I–" Achilles clamped his mouth.
Atalanta exhaled a single laugh.
Then it was just silent, the shimmering of gold the only ambience in both of their ears.
"...You don't remember, so you probably don't care, but… I was immature, the first time we met, I mean. Forgot what being a hero is all about, I just kinda kept looking for fights. But someone set me straight this time around. So… I'm sorry, and thank you."
Atalanta gave a small chuckle and smiled at him. "Thanking me after saving me? Well, I guess you're not too bad, Achilles."
Achilles gave a small laugh. "I'd like to hear that again, if we meet as allies next time."
There was no response. She was gone.
Achilles exhaled a breath he had suppressed.
It was not as grand as his deeds in Troy, but everything that had transpired for him since he was summoned, meeting Elizabeth, opening his eyes to heroism, performing those shows, and finally, to having a race with his childhood hero whom he already failed once, and now truly seeing her for who she was.
'...So this is how it feels, huh?'
His teacher hoped that he would become a great hero.
Many, then and now, hailed him as a hero.
But only now did Achilles feel that he could call himself a hero.
And he supposed he had his master to thank for that.
"You… You're Achilles! From the shows!" A man said as he approached the Greek hero, who turned to look at him and the crowd that was gathering.
"Why have you come back? Was that… one of the fake saintess' paladins?" A woman asked, the latter question said in a hushed tone.
"Did you defeat her to protect us?" A child asked.
Achilles turned back to where Atalanta had been, now only a still smoking crater of both their doings.
Did he? Did he defeat her to be this city's hero? Or the other way around?
'...Neither.' He answered himself.
"Yeah, guess I did, but honestly…"
It was neither by protecting this city nor surpassing her did he become a hero.
"...I was just making an old childhood dream come true."
Achilles supposed that was when he felt most like a hero.
The roar of the crowd, the clanging of metals, the gaze of her producer.
For Elizabeth, there had been no shortage of surprises since tonight's show began. First, there was that archer girl she had only heard about rudely coming to interrupt her show. Though Achilles was taking care of that, so not her problem. Secondly, her bitch of a future self! The nerve of her to come here unannounced and think she could just– crash here! Thankfully, the old guy had way better tastes than her, and allowed the show to go on, albeit with a… twist. Finally, of course, her producer, her president, finally showed up! There was no way Elizabeth Bathory, the idol, could lose now!
…Or that was what she thought, at least.
"Gah!"
A clubbing blow to the head, blood spurted from Elizabeth's head.
"Hmph. I'm almost embarrassed. To think that I was once this frail and idiotic." Carmilla said without much tone in her voice. Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.
"Ahhh!" Elizabeth screamed, swinging her lance towards the assassin, it hit the stage. Elizabeth turned her neck up, and bellowed a scream that rippled waves through the air to the flying Carmilla. A golden visage of a woman appeared right in front of her, blocking the sounds. Carmilla landed, and sent a wave of blood towards Elizabeth, sharp and fast, too fast for Elizabeth who winced as the liquid slashed at her side.
"But I suppose I should be more glad than anything. Now I can kill this part of mine properly." Carmilla continued, uncaring of the state of the lancer as she approached her.
Elizabeth gritted her teeth, her canines digging into her molars, and rushed again. She swung her spear against her enemy. Left, it missed. Right, it missed. Up, down, a stab, all with the same outcome. Elizabeth jumped into the air, and drove her heels on her lance to drive through her other self, that damned golden statue protected her again. But the assassin didn't evade this time, Elizabeth was close. She turned her back towards her, and whipped her tail towards Carmilla.
But Elizabeth did not feel the impact that was supposed to follow.
A tug, then somethings, five things, dug into her tail. Elizabeth screamed.
Carmilla clicked her tongue. "As stupid as I remember."
The things, nails, Elizabeth quickly realized, dragged along her tail and towards its tip, before Carmilla gripped it and swung her like a pendulum towards the ground. The wood broke beneath her back. Elizabeth coughed blood.
Elizabeth was only able to raise her neck before a heel stomped on her stomach, sharp, piercing her belly button. Elizabeth screamed again, but no sound came this time.
Carmilla raised her scepter, and smashed it down on Elizabeth's face, blood spurting out from her cracked skull. The lancer did not even have time to react. Carmilla raised her weapon, revealing the barely conscious face of Elizabeth, and walked away, her eyes feigning disinterest.
"A pity. I almost expected something from this whole… idol endeavor." Carmilla said, her voice ringing in Elizabeth's ears as she pulled herself back up with her spear. There were horrified gasps from the audience too, maybe, she could barely tell as she was. Blood was everywhere, in her mouth, on her dress, over her stage. She knew just as how both Elizabeth Bathorys would know, this was the perfect time for torture.
"But it would seem that this was a mere show, nothing else." Carmilla turned, licking her lips at the broken down sight of her enemy.
"Time to end this." Carmilla said, and Elizabeth knew she was right.
"This is the grave for maidens, and I suppose even myself would do…" Carmilla said, masking an ear-splitting smile with her hands.
"Phantom Maiden!" Phantasmal Iron Maiden
Elizabeth heard the sound of something emerging from behind her. She needn't look to know what it was.
From behind the lancer, the golden iron maiden opened its maws, and clamped on its victim with earth-shattering speed, but it stopped just short of clamping shut.
Elizabeth gritted her teeth and held her spear against the doors horizontally. The lance held the doors apart, like a mere toothpick in a dragon's maw.
But this toothpick belonged to an idol, and idols don't lose.
Not in front of their fans.
"Haaaaah!" Elizabeth screamed, forcefully moving forward while her arms shook with her lance at the sheer force of the closing torture device. Slowly, the spikes began to pierce her arms, dragging through it diagonally as she kept moving forward.
"Just give up, you naive girl!"
"Never! Either I win or you die, you old bitch!"
Elizabeth grunted in pain. She could wax bravado as much as she wanted to, it didn't stop the spikes from going deeper. She could start to feel it scrape the bone of her arms, carving it. A feeling she was familiar with, just not on the receiving end.
A sigh. "Enough of this charade."
Elizabeth only had the chance to crane her neck up before she saw Carmilla's scepter falling towards her head. Blood shot out her nose. Then another swing to her head, then another, and another, until the golden shine of the iron maiden around her head was covered crimson. Her arms that previously shook in defiance against the door now shaky, like twigs against the harsh storm.
She heard screams of terror, concern, anxiety, all coming from her audience down below. It was all starting to melt into a single black sludge of a noise, undecipherable. Going to sleep sounded nice right about now, Elizabeth thought.
"...Elizabeth, please…"
Elizabeth jolted back awake.
Who was that? The voice was familiar, no, she knew whose voice it was. Her master, her president, her producer, but the tone was strange, pleading, like she never heard him be before.
Was she that close to death? To the point that she was hallucinating? The metallic sharpness that continued to pierce her bones told her that yeah, pretty much.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Yes, it was just a hallucination.
…But for fuck's sake, it was a hallucination of her biggest fan.
The idol's eyes snapped open.
Who gives a shit if it was a hallucination?
Elizabeth Bathory needed to get herself together.
She was a goddamned idol!
Carmilla's staff smashed Elizabeth's head one more time to the horrified gasps of the crowd. For a moment, she took a step back, admiring her handiwork as blood pooled under the lancer, though her lance still stubbornly clung to life as it prevented her noble phantasm from closing shut. Carmilla scoffed. Admirable persistence, but it only took her so far. The idol's head lulled with life for a few more seconds, before snapping back, unmoving, exposing her neck. Carmilla smiled.
Carmilla pulled back her weapon and thrusted. The scepter pierced Elizabeth's throat. Carmilla smirked, and yanked her staff back. Or she tried to, anyway.
Her smirk fell.
"Hah, got you, idiot." Elizabeth said lowly, her voice gurgled and rough unlike the idol that the audience knew, colored by the scent of iron no doubt caused by the attack.
Elizabeth took a deep breath.
The crowd waited with bated breath.
Carmilla could do nothing but watch.
Elizabeth could feel the air in her lungs bubbling like lava, wings once again sprouting from her back and through the spikes of the maiden, her throat, pierced and drowned in blood contracted in response. The stage was set, and this time, the only audience was herself.
She screamed, yelled, shouted, whatever words would usually be able to describe the action paled in comparison to the pure volume Elizabeth expelled from her lungs.
Kilenc Sarkany: Dragon Cry Thundering Voice. That was the noble phantasm bestowed upon by the years of killing she did, the embodiment of Hungary's enemies, as she was in life. Now, it had manifested in a terrible voice, even she knew that.
Yet, the only one that would hear this tune was 'her', Elizabeth Bathory, both young and old. And for once she was grateful for it.
Sound was vibration.
And now, the much maligned voice of Elizabeth Bathory was connected not to air, but to one, mere weapon.
Carmilla's staff shook violently.
Enough that her arm shook too, enough that the bones in that arm shattered and jutted out of her skin. She screamed. The assassin quickly grabbed her scepter with her left arm and forcefully took it out the idol's throat with a sickening squelch. She felt her weapon crack in her left hand, and her grip on her own noble phantasm lessened.
All from one girl's voice.
"You play with your food too much." Elizabeth chuckled, a horrible grumble. "Nothing wrong with that, but… you gotta know when to end your climaxes for the fans, y'know?"
Elizabeth felt the maws on her weaken, and though the damage to her lance was already done if the cracking sound she heard was any indication, it was enough. She wrenched herself from the position the torture device had forced her in, but backwards. The lance bent as she pulled it with her, shrapnels piercing her skin as it began to break in half.
Then, she kicked. Her lance-microphone broke in two. She held onto the sharp end.
Elizabeth flew in the air, right to Carmilla.
"You! You'd go that far?!"
"My mic, my arms, my voice, what use do they have if I can't please my one fan, huh?! You BIG IDIOT!" Elizabeth yelled, voice crackling like a demon's, pointing down the sharp, broken half of her lance-microphone to Carmilla as she fell down.
"Tch!" Carmilla clicked her tongue and held her staff to block her past's body. At this angle, the lancer could not possibly go through with her attack.
Which is why Elizabeth craned her neck down, and bit hard on the staff.
"You–!"
"Zizn ah dell yuw?" Elizabeth said through muffled teeth, her teeth cracked against the metal, some pieces breaking through her lips, but Carmilla saw no hesitation in her eyes. The idol used momentum to drag her teeth across the scepter, uncaring of the ugly sound it made both on metal and bone. "Fow ah idol, there's nothing too hard for her fans!" She yelled, spinning through her fall, snatching and throwing Carmilla's staff with her mouth, and plunged down the remnants of her microphone, deep into the assassin's torso. It went through her shoulder, broke her ribs, pierced her lungs. Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, so did Carmilla's. The assassin's claws went into Elizabeth's wings, and her teeth sunk deep into her calf, but she did not budge.
None of the pain compared to what she would feel if she failed her fan.
So Elizabeth pulled her lance, splattering fragments of bone and viscera on her face, and stabbed again with a yell, deeper, more forceful, aiming to kill.
"Gah!"
This time, they both knew it struck her heart.
Elizabeth withdrew her weapon from Carmilla, blood spurted out the hole she made like a fountain. She stumbled backwards, and barely got up as she used her lance as a walking stick. The idol turned towards the assassin, through the various blood, sweat, and fatigue in her eyes, she saw the assassin covering her neck, her feet wobbly. She knew just as well as she did, this was the time a maiden would die.
But Elizabeth couldn't accept that.
There was still one thing she had yet to prove to be better at than her 'future'.
"Hey, old hag."
Carmilla only acknowledged her with a glance.
"We're not done yet. This show is still going on. Don't you dare clock out before the job's done."
"...Hmph. And how do you suppose we continue?" Carmilla asked. Elizabeth somehow knew that she would gesture with either of her hands if they were both still capable of moving.
Elizabeth looked down on herself too. Her arms are in ruins, barely holding on to the upper half of her lance-microphone, and her throat was destroyed, both from Carmilla's scepter, and her own noble phantasm. Even speaking quietly only netted her a growl that more resembled a thundering cloud than a girl's voice.
So neither of them could sing, but–
Elizabeth turned towards the curtains, where Kiyohime was standing, a slight, miniscule worry on her face.
–they weren't out of options.
The idol smirked. "Let's dance."
"...I suppose."
Elizabeth motioned to Kiyohime with her hands to her mouth. She understood immediately.
A soft, distinctly eastern melody began to play.
"To bask in the light of such majesty
Who could compare? Do you know?
Give all you can to the lord, give all you can to the land
Leave me to drown beneath the undertow"
Kiyohime began to sing, slow and controlled emotion bubbling under the surface. The anxious crowd slowly had their worries soothed by the song. Enka, Elizabeth remembered what Kiyohime called it. The song arrived just this morning, from Murasaki, who did extensive research on old Japanese genres to fit Kiyohime, delivered via Olga.
And Elizabeth had to admit, it was enchanting. She supposed Kiyohime wasn't half bad.
It would seem that her counterpart agreed with her, as they both found themselves dancing to the tune. Slow and controlled steps as they occasionally passed each other, neither offering the other a glance as they did. This was a contest, and their attention was only reserved for the audience.
"Lost within Enma's gaze
Oh, how you write your letter to me
Cast me away, never to be free"
One step, two steps, then Elizabeth twirled with her hands, uncaring of the blood that poured down from them and colored the stage in a circle of sanguine.
One step, two steps, then Carmilla turned to face the crowd, bold and brash with the same fiery look in her eyes as she held before. The blood that traveled her pure, snow white skin did not detract her beauty. The blood red rivers seemed a natural part of her body.
It was nothing like the carnage that had preceded it, but in truth this was the only form of dance that both of them were educated in, as opposed to Elizabeth's wild attempts at flailing on stage. Many balls did she attend for her image, but only this once did Elizabeth find a way to use it to her liking.
"If you would pity these tears that I cry
See the truth in my eyes
Distant shores, waters between, love that never returns
If only a thread would descend, if only I might see an end
A foolish heart to endlessly spurn
Asura's Beloved"
Three steps, four steps, Elizabeth's spins grew more wild, erratic with the peaking intensity of Kiyohime's voice–
Three steps, four steps, Carmilla's steps grew more forceful, dominant as she strutted along the stage–
–And then they met.
Elizabeth stopped, her carved up arms across her chest, gazing up to Carmilla.
Carmilla stopped, her heel landing just beyond the idol's, gazing down to Elizabeth.
Silence. The show ended.
Then, a clap, two more, tens more, the audience fell into applause. Cheering, whoopings, calling their names–
–because they were idols.
There was applause coming from afar too, and Elizabeth was sure that if she squinted her eyes, she would see those soldiers and that old man cheering them on too.
But that didn't particularly matter to her, and right now, the crowd wasn't the biggest thing on her mind either. What overtook her mind was the rhythmic sound coming not from below the stage, but on it, behind her.
He clapped along too.
Elizabeth smiled. She couldn't tell how it looked, maybe her teeth were bloody, maybe there was an ugly scar running down her lips, or maybe her face just wasn't fit for such a smile in the first place.
But somehow, she knew that he would still call it pretty. And that was enough for her.
"So, everyone! Who do you think won? Whoever it is, the winner will be decided by a vote. Those who think Elizabeth won, cheer her name!" Kiyohime announced, her voice booming through the speakers.
Loud, loud chants for her name, as Elizabeth had expected. At this very moment, she was the greatest idol in the world, not only throughout France in 1431, but in the world, all throughout time. She knew this in her heart, she knew this from the eyes looking at her through three lines of scarred tissue.
"And for those who think Carmilla won, shout her name!"
Surprisingly, there were many for her too. Carmilla's eyes glanced at the audience slightly. Only Elizabeth noticed.
"Well, that was really close! However, there could only be one winner, and the winner is… Elizabeth Bathory!"
The crowd cheered, and shouted her name over and over. "Eli! Eli! Eli!". She wasn't surprised. Neither was her counterpart.
Seeing the results, Carmilla took a small bow and walked off, fighting her dying breaths as she did. Elizabeth could see the gold starting to shimmer around her body. Eventually, she was out of the sight of the crowd, her feet stepping off the stage.
"Well? That was… kinda fun, huh?"
'Carmilla' said nothing, only offering a light scoff, but Elizabeth swore that she saw a faint smile creeping up her ears as her future self turned to golden light.
Elizabeth turned back to the crowd and took her own, deep bow. The crowd cheered her on even louder, and that was how their night ended.
Carmilla and Elizabeth Bathory were two sides of the same coin, both in life and even now, after their legends outlasted them both.
But tonight, they were idols.
An idol who won to the thunderous ovation of the audience.
An idol who lost and took a bow off the stage with grace.
On that stage had been two Elizabeth Bathorys, and they put on a hell of a show.
Kiyohime's eyes were glued to the action.
King's were too, but he'd rather they weren't.
Because who in their right minds wanted to watch a girl, and the idol they had 'produced' for, be slaughtered in cold blood?
He knew he didn't want to, but damn it, he couldn't tear his eyes away!
King heard a crack. Whether that was her weapon that held the door together or the bones in her arms snapping, he felt he was better off not knowing.
Then the woman opposite Elizabeth approached her, and whacked her head with her staff. Over and over, until the stage beneath the idol was painted red.
"Elizabeth, please…" King whispered. It was useless at best and idiotic at worst. How could she even hear him? and what good would it do if she did anyway?
But he simply couldn't help but beg. Beg for what? Her victory, or her survival?
The strikes continued, and finally, King managed to tear his eyes away. His neck was pulled down to the ground. He looked at his feet, clad in the sneakers he hadn't even bothered to take off when he got home from his shopping spree back in his world, that he still wore even now in a blood soaked battlefield.
…Maybe, maybe he could help?
His feet did move when he had to help Olga, back then, didn't they? and he did manage to (momentarily) convince Carmilla that he was a big deal back in their very first meeting. So maybe, just maybe… he could… distract her?
King looked back at the grizzly scene, it was still going. If he was to distract her, then he had to do it now, fast.
His body leaned forward.
But his feet didn't. His calves cramped. It was fear.
King closed his eyes and bit his lip. He knew, from the start he knew that this would be the case! Why did he ever think otherwise? There was no rush of adrenaline this time, saving grace if he decided to intervene. No Saitama, no Karna, hell, not even Ritsuka. A hero of his title should be able to run now, uncaring of the pain and damage it would cause him, because that is what a hero does!
But he couldn't.
Because he was a coward. He had always and would always be a coward.
Squelch
King looked up. The woman's scepter pierced Elizabeth, right in her throat.
His body lurched–
A yell.
–He stopped moving.
The tide of the battle turned, Elizabeth escaped the clutches of Carmilla's noble phantasm, and pierced her with her weapon, ending the fight.
It was a miracle, or maybe not. Maybe Elizabeth had this in her all along, just like with her singing.
'...I guess I just didn't believe in her enough.'
"To bask in the light of such majesty
Who could compare? Do you know?"
King looked towards his right. Kiyohime was singing a slow, melodic tune. Huh, didn't know she had that in her. Maybe he should stop assuming things from servants from now on. To the tune of her song, both Elizabeth and Carmilla started dancing, even through their broken bones and bleeding scars. '...So Elizabeth wanted to finish the idol way no matter what, huh?'
Eventually, Kiyohime's singing reached its crescendo, and so did the dance duel between Elizabeth and Carmilla, ending with them staring at each other.
The crowd started cheering them on, and he supposed he did too, as he started clapping before he even knew it in a daze.
His eyes met with Elizabeth, she smiled.
…Yeah, she'd be fine without him.
A girl that could smile after all that… compared to him that couldn't even move to help the idol he was supposed to be 'producing'?
Yeah, she was just fine. More than fine really.
She might just be the greatest idol he had ever seen. His oshi.
And if she really was his oshi, then he had no choice but to clap along with the crowd.
'Well, less work for me, I guess.' King thought, deadpanned. If she was this good, then his title was mere formality, which caused him to breathe a sigh of relief. There was that one silver lining, he supposed.
Elizabeth tapped the broken half of her lance-microphone. It still worked, she nodded.
"Sorry that we got so violent, everyone!" She said into the mic, a hand covering the hole that the scepter made. Violent? That was a damn near torture film! "But it was exciting, right?" The crowd yelled in agreement, and to his horror, King realized he didn't truly understand the people of this world as much as he thought he did.
'They just saw a young girl get damn near mutilated… and they're cheering for it?' He asked internally, dumbfounded. Maybe constant monsters weren't so bad if the people didn't get this bloodthirsty.
"Thank you for voting for me! But this show is over! Don't worry though, DragonFever still had one more show! Bordeaux, tomorrow, same time. Don't miss it, alright~? See you again, my boars~"
With that, Elizabeth returned to him and Kiyohime, blood still dripping from some of her wounds, particularly her arms. The crowd cheered still, even to the empty stage.
"Elizabeth!" Someone cried out as a white blur passed King by. It was Marie. As quickly as Marie appeared, a blue light enveloped Elizabeth, closing her wounds almost in an instant. "Sorry I couldn't do this earlier. My hands were tied with wyverns." Marie said in an apologetic tone.
"Whew, I'm beat! Thanks, Marie." Elizabeth said, her voice returning to normal.
'...Beat? You just got your arms carved up, your head treated like a baseball, and your throat stabbed, and you're 'beat'?!' King wanted to yell/ask his idol, but he kept it in. Any more revelations of the kinds of people from this world were and he might call it a day for the rest of the week.
"We came just as you plunged your spear into Assassin. That was a magnificent performance, Elizabeth. Much better than what you did the last time we met." Karna said, approaching the idol.
"Last time? I think I would remember a guy like you."
Karna chuckled. "I suppose you simply don't remember."
Elizabeth eyed Karna with more scrutiny, before shrugging.
'Oh yeah, didn't Da Vinci say something about that? Most servants don't remember their past summonings, but ours do, for some reason.' There was a lot the caster revealed to him and Ritsuka on the day of their operation, mostly to Ritsuka, but keeping his ears open had been proving to be beneficial. He remembered there was something about the servants using Chaldea's magic reserves to keep the servants existing too, so he supposed that was a nice enough cover for his lack of, uh, 'magic circuits', right.
'...Huh, it's pretty lucky that I got teleported here, now that I think about it.' King imagined for a moment if he was a 'normal' master and had to face Carmilla. He shivered at the mere thought. 'Nope.'
"Yo! How's it going here?"
"Achilles?" King blurted out. He turned towards the source of the voice, and there was Achilles indeed. Where had he been?
"Achilles. Did you defeat that archer?" Siegfried asked.
Oh, so that was where he had been.
"Yeah, I did… All thanks to master, here." Achilles said, patting King on the shoulder with a surprising amount of heft. The scarred master had to actively prevent himself from stumbling down.
"...You're welcome?" King said, unsure. Thank him for what?
Achilles only responded with a laugh as he passed King and went to Elizabeth, who he shared a quiet high five with.
'O…kay…?' That was… something.
"...So the rumors were true."
King's head turned towards Siegfried. "Rumors?" What now?
"I've heard from Lady Antoinette and Lord Amadeus that you are a most magnificent strategist and master. I have to admit, I thought you were merely sleeping when you kept your head down–" He was. "–but I see now that you were simply biding your time so you could help Miss Bathory and Achilles with their enemies, even from far away. My apologies for my rudeness when we first met." Siegfried finished, bowing his head slightly.
"...No, I didn't do any of that. I just… watched over them." King replied with whatever sense he could make from Siegfried. The conversations around him were becoming more and more incomprehensible as time went on.
"I see, humble as well, just as Karna said."
'No.' "No, really, I–"
"No need, King. You are a formidable warrior in your own way, I see that now. I'm proud to be able to fight by your side." The saber said, not even giving King a chance to reply further as he left.
'...God, I hope that doesn't become anything.' King thought. Could at least one servant listen to what he actually had to say?!
"Monsieur King? Someone wants to talk to you." Amadeus informed, coming from just outside the stage.
Please, just let this night end.
King walked towards the direction Amadeus pointed, with Olga popping out from her communicator as she requested for some reason. He didn't know anymore, he was on autopilot.
"Monsieur King." An old man greeted him as he got outside the backstage area from the back. Platoons of soldiers followed him just behind. "It is my pleasure to finally learn of your name."
'My name? Who–?' Then it all clicked. That disheveled clothing, the pieces of food stuck on his graying facial hair, the falsely misplaced napkin–
"You?" King asked, now realizing that he had never caught his name.
He saluted King. "Commander of Fort Vaucouleurs, John le Corbeau. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
"...Likewise." King said. Why did a Fort Commander want to– wait, the military was under the other Jeanne's control, right? Did they come to arrest him? King's legs shook. He didn't want to hurt innocents, but this night was insane enough as it was! He didn't need to add to it by going to jail!
"I am here to pledge my allegiance to you, with all the troops that have agreed to join me."
"Look I can– Huh?" 'Pledge his what now?'
"Greetings and good evening, Commander Le Corbeau." Olga said suddenly.
"Evening, and I am talking with…?"
"Olga Marie Animusphere. I suppose you could say that I am the leader of King's group, Chaldea, though I am unable to assist them directly." She explained.
"...I see that you are talking out of a… disc. I will not question it. France has seen enough for me to still hold doubts."
"Yes, it's… hard to explain. Well, back to business. Can you elaborate more about this rebellion that you are inciting? How many are with you?"
"Well, Madame. I think it would be foolhardy to call it a rebellion anymore with our numbers…"
The two then talked about the condition of France's military. Apparently, what Kojiro did spread rumors amongst the Saintess' forces. The rumors ranged from a simple "one of her paladins were actually in cohort with the wyverns" to outright "The actual Jeanne d'Arc was the enemy all along". The rumor spread like wildfire, which led to some even seceding from the impostor's forces, though that had yet to make it official.
Which led the Fort Commander here, to make it official under a banner.
"...You still haven't answered one thing. How many are actually with you?" Olga asked.
"...Out of the twenty thousand left from His Majesty's forces when he passed, fifteen thousand had shown interest."
"More than half?!" Olga asked, slamming her hands on her table.
"I've only verified about half of those who showed interest, but I have little doubts they will come to us once we have proof." The old man said.
"...I see. Very well. Ruler, if you will?" Olga said.
King looked behind him, and sure enough, Jeanne was there. She walked towards him and the Fort Commander.
"Good evening, Commander."
"Evening as well, Madame Arc."
There was a silence between them, an awkward one, and the soldiers behind the man started murmuring between themselves.
Then, the commander bowed. "I deeply apologize for any offense we have caused you."
Jeanne shook her head. "No, what you did was commendable. You acted quickly on The King's death and made the best of the situation. Hold your head high, commander. You and your soldiers were models of the French military." She said reassuringly.
"...I see. You really are Jeanne d'Arc."
"Eh?"
"I'm sorry. I fought with you two years ago. We did not even talk with each other, but I saw what your visage did to the men, the morale you brought, and if I am being honest… I saw none of those in 'The Saintess'. I've always had a strange feeling about her, but seeing you here now, I know that we have been misled." He said. He looked Jeanne in the eye. "The military will have your back against The Witch, Jeanne d'Arc, you have my word."
"Thank you."
As if on cue, the soldiers let out a hurrah to their new alliance.
And King… was glad. Maybe.
If he counted correctly, all of the impostor's servants besides that one guy who was always by her side were gone, right? So with the military, it's now, what? Ten thousand plus against two? He might be able to get away without risking his limb for once.
So… they were set! No more looking behind his back to check for servants! Not like the head honcho herself would show up in front of him in the middle of the night.
"King." A female voice said, breaking King out of his stupor. It was Jeanne. "Thank you. For everything. I was prepared to fight against the military on the way to my impostor, but… I'm glad I don't have to."
"...You're welcome." He didn't have it in him anymore to argue.
Jeanne smiled, and then went back to the backstage area.
"One last thing, commander. Tomorrow we shall hold one last show in Bordeaux. The morning after, we plan to launch an all out scale assault on Orleans. Will you be prepared?"
"I shall do my best."
"Thank you. Let's go, King. We have more to discuss about tomorrow."
Finally, the last thing before he could finally greet a bed, King thought as he, and by extension, Olga, went back to the gathering place. The crowd had dispersed, so did the soldiers, and Marie's palace and Amadeus' stage were gone. It was just them now, with some chairs and benches here and there.
"I don't have much to say. In fact, with all the servants but one on the impostor's forces gone, you could say that this last concert is only a formality. There's no need for another show–"
Elizabeth sulked.
"–But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep up our momentum."
Elizabeth let out a "Hell yeah!"
"There is one more thing, but… just leave it to us here at Chaldea. Good night." Olga finished, and flickered out of sight.
"Well, that's it, I guess. One last show. Well, I'm retiring early, then. Need to save my energy for tomorrow." Achilles said, before walking back to the inn they had bought before.
"So do I." Amadeus said, and eventually everyone left.
Everyone but King and Elizabeth.
"Good job. You were great out there." King said. It was the least he could say, after everything she put herself through. Hell, most heroes from his world wouldn't go that far, but this teenage girl did.
"Hmph, of course! I am the greatest idol in the world after all!" She said smugly.
"Yeah, you sure are." King just barely noticed the pink smudges on Elizabeth's cheeks. Weak to compliments, huh?
"Still, you're fine after all that?" King asked, concerned. It wasn't everyday you see a girl get her head clubbed, throat stabbed, and teeth cracked all in one fight.
"Yeah. Marie already did enough, but that doesn't matter! For you, I can do anything!"
'For me? For the idol group, she means, huh?' King thought. A black company mindset like that wasn't good, and he should try to steer her away from it, but…
Elizabeth twirled around, as if she wasn't covered in dried blood and hummed happily.
…He supposed he could let it slide for now. For his favorite idol.
"...I said this before, but… I'm a fan of yours, I really am. Thanks for everything, Eli." King said. It was only because of her that he could see idol shows again, three times, no less! Regardless of the difficulties being her 'producer' had brought him, he would always thank her for that.
Then again, that meant he had to compete with her 'biggest fan', didn't he? Well, whoever they were, hopefully they could be friends. Been a while since he could talk otaku with someone.
Elizabeth giggled. "You sure are! Well, see you later, President!" And with that, King was now alone. He supposed he should get back too.
So, two more days, huh? One last show tomorrow, and the final battle the day after, which hopefully he wasn't going to be too involved in. That was it, he supposed. A somewhat anticlimactic end to his first foray into singularities, in his favor. To be honest, the whole ordeal had been exhausting for him, and he could count the amount of things that were 'positives' on one hand, and have fingers left over. Still, he supposed it wasn't the worst thing he had been through, aside from the fact that he was stranded in a world not his own. At least he was only in the direct line of danger some three times in the past seven days, instead of the once per day quota he had almost expected in his hero 'career'.
So he was ready to call this singularity done, all in all. The only regret he had was that he was no closer to finding a way home, but that could wait until he was in a safer place, Chaldea, preferably.
Was there something he was missing, though?
'...I haven't called Jean in a while, have I?'
Romani wanted to sleep.
Of course, the pricking sensation of the director's glare put an end to whatever plans he had to make that a reality. Why was she focusing so much on him, though? Couldn't she spread out her glare somewhat?
Romani sighed. 'Her dad wasn't like this.' In a way, that was unfortunate, like how strict she was being, but in many, many more ways, he supposed that was a relief.
He understood, honestly. He was the second in command after her after all, but he was human too! He had limits! He hadn't slept in the last thirty hours! Something that was limited to only three people in the command room, and if he glanced back at Olga, he could see bags under Olga's eyes, which she stubbornly kept open even now. The sight did motivate him to do better. Almost as much as he would be if Magi Mari told him to fight the sleepiness.
'Ah, idols…' Romani thought wistfully. One of the best inventions of modern humanity. The effect of Elizabeth's concert was proof enough of that. Much better than the other things they had invented in the twentieth century, if you ask him.
…Though as much as those sights would motivate him, the sight just happening a few meters to his right puzzled him more.
It was James. Writing (or drawing?) on a piece of paper.
It shouldn't be so puzzling. Everyone in the command room was in a sort of brainstorming session, courtesy of both him and Olga. Namely, to find a way to hurt the reputation of the other Jeanne for that final push to make her public enemy no. 1.
They were stumped, mostly. Him and Olga probably due to sleep deprivation, while the others because it was such a high task.
But James was… working! He was working diligently for once! The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. Romani supposed the man did point out that crucial info of the saint graphs of the servants under the impostor's control, but he was honestly starting to think he made a mistake by promoting him when he did very little after.
Thinking back on it, James' resume was definitely… strange. He was a mage, and he was American. Those were the only two things that Romani could reliably get out of when he read his files. He performed well enough, if under the radar, in the last four years he had been part of Chaldea's rayshift simulations team. Other than that? Physically fit but nothing exceptional, no history of chronic illnesses, even his history as a mage was pretty vague, with only a few jobs under his belt as a freelancer before being hired by Chaldea.
The real reason he was picked was because he was even hired in the first place. The old director had a good eye for talent, if nothing else. So the fact that he was here should mean that he had something. Of course, the fact that he would be sharing his duties with him and Olga during the most critical points of the Grand Order made him a safe pick in case he really was as unremarkable as he was on paper.
Now that he was the only one whose head was working in this important time, those doubts had been put to rest.
Slide
Romani stared at his desk. A paper had been slid there.
"O-oh, you want me to read this, James?" Romani asked his coworker, who gave him the barest of nods as he picked up the paper to see just what James had been doing.
'Oh wow, that's… bold handwriting.'
Flip
'Drawings?' Very simplistic ones, almost stickman-like. The opposite of that girl that designed the merch.
Flip
'The fake Jeanne?' How James was able to convey that it was specifically the 'fake' Jeanne through simple stick figures, Romani didn't know, but he knew that it was the fake Jeanne somehow. '...and some… huh?!'
Flip
…
Romani stood up from his seat suddenly. "D-director. You need to read this." He said as he turned to Olga, offering the papers. "It's from James."
Olga raised an eyebrow, but complied nonetheless. She first responded with confusion on her face at the first page, then slight annoyance coupled with amusement, then she wrinkled her eyebrows to confirm that what she really saw really was what was drawn, then she turned her nose in disgust, before closing her eyes and nodding.
"...Send this to the team at Bordeaux and tell them to spread it. Stat." She ordered a nearby operator, who did so while reacting in a similar manner as he read the contents of the pages.
Romani, in his part, could only turn to James, half in confusion and half in horror.
"B-but she didn't actually do that, right?" Romani asked.
"No." He answered nonchalantly, with about as much emotion as Romani had always seen him with. James' glasses were pressed deep against his face, and his blue eyes were shadowed by it, but Romani was sure of one thing.
"But I want to see her deny it."
Under those Ray Bans was someone you wouldn't want to mess with.
'It's over.'
"What is over, my lady?" Gilles asked, calm as ever somehow.
"...Did I say that out loud?"
"You did."
'...I want to kill Marie I want to kill that dark haired boy I want to kill the inferiot me I want to kill that scarred FUCK!' So 'Jeanne' thought in repeat, like a mantra so that she didn't just start killing every single one of her soldiers who were still spouting off the bullshit they got from those FUCKING! IDOL! SHOWS!
"It would do you good to think forward, my lady. Victory is still within reach in my eyes." Gilles said, and 'Jeanne' couldn't help but be slightly amazed. All their servants gone and somehow he was still in control of himself instead of slaughtering the soldiers like he did back when they killed The King? Impressive, Gilles.
And also incredibly, incredibly frustrating.
"We still have our secret weapon, if you would remember."
Right, that dragon. She supposed she could at least try to feign being calm. Lest she fed even more to the rumors going around the soldiers.
Speaking of, she did catch whispers of a new rumor somehow, though she had not properly listened to it.
So, 'Jeanne' opened her ears as two soldiers walked by her.
"Hey, did you hear? Apparently The Saintess…"
…
'I what?'
'Jeanne' snapped.
"My lady, wait–"
"I DID NOT FUCK ANY GOATS!"
…
…
…
The silence was deafening.
The two soldiers scooted away from her, and just about every soldier in the damn fort looked at her in a way that made her want to burn them all alive.
"...Say, Saintess? I, uh, I hear that there are some dragons off to the west. Might I take some with me to investigate?" One of the two soldiers said nervously.
"..." 'Jeanne' didn't, couldn't respond.
"T-thank you, Saintess! N-now, anyone with me?"
"M-me!"
"Me too!"
"Don't leave me behind!"
And soon, in a fort meant to hold two hundred, there were only two.
"...Gilles."
"...Yes, my lady?"
"Are they gone?"
"Should be a few hundred paces by now."
Good. Very good.
Because what she was about to do would eliminate any chance of the soldiers coming back.
Not that she cared anymore.
Not when they thought she was a goat fucker.
'Jeanne' screamed a shrill and shriek yell, and before one could blink, the entire fort had been set on fire.
Pillars of flames kept bursting out of the ground, even after every tower, barracks, and whatever fucking else the soldiers left on their way to that motherfucking rebellion were already set aflame as they slowly turned to dust and cinders.
"...Who?" 'Jeanne' asked calmly, belying the inferno around, below, and inside her.
Gilles didn't answer, but he didn't need to.
She knew who she needed to kill.
A ping on her waist. Her eyes shifted towards the disc as she brought it to her face.
"It's been a while. Meet me in Bordeaux tonight."
It took her all her might to not set the disc aflame, but then she smiled an honest, happy smile.
Destroying France could wait. An invitation by her greatest enemy to come kill him had come.
"King… I hope you're ready."
'Jeanne' giggled, then laughed, and she continued to laugh until there was only char where she stood.
Hey
This, uh, this was supposed to go on longer. This chapter, I mean. For one, I was going to keep writing it until the Bordeaux show and some parts of its aftermath, but I kept getting more ideas and sentences to write to both the buildup and the show itself that it was going to be way too much if I wrote it in this chapter (at least 15k). So I decided to split it.
Well, I was pretty happy with how the fights turned out, Elizabeth/Carmilla specifically, even if it got very long in the process. And yeah, as Olga said, we got the Bordeaux show in the next chapter, and the final battle the following morning. Seems too heavy in Chaldea's favor, doesn't it? Well, you'll see what I have in store for them.
I got nothing much interesting to say, to be honest. It's only been 5 days since the last chapter. Maybe I want to add that I feel embarrassment whenever I write anything regarding my OCs. I am very not confident in them, but I still think their addition is more of a positive than a negative if I do it correctly. I dunno, you tell me.
As always, tell me what you think about the chapter itself.
Later