The air rumbled with gunshots, their sound deafening the mages who were swept up in the bounded field formed by Assassin's Noble Phantasm. Their fingers turned to rot as the cold took their breath, forcing their allies to watch as they each fell to the White Death.
The cold. The hailing bullets. The darkness. This was the Noble Phantasm of a servant born of a modern war.
...
Archer took aim, periodically firing into the snow, his targets fell to each shot like straw-men. His will to fight had begun to grow in such a world of cold and death. He felt nostalgic, war was not a place for such thoughts, but it brought all else to a halt.
Even still, he was a modern man, his evasiveness was far too behind to not be hit by such an onslaught. Each hit brought him lower and made the cold all the more bitter. Each hit made him lose more of himself to the battle.
In the end, he could only hold onto his contract to his master. He lifted his head time and again, continuing the campaign in the cold winter filled city.
One step at a time.
He took out phantoms to the sound of Saber's slashes.
...
Väinämöinen lifted his blade to block shots from the phantoms. Despite their origin and concept, they were undoubtedly infused with divinity. He understood this, "These are not men, but the fear of them." Each one was filled to the brim with the concept of death, the cold and windy land of Finland, and the sight of comrades dying. The White Death that ravaged the battlefield between the Soviet Union and Finland.
"Even if they were to fall, they would not stay down. Even if I strike them with all my might, they will not stay down or go away. This storm is not a natural one, it cannot be destroyed and it will not relent until I die or Assassin gives in", Väinämöinen thought to wipe-out the city, but not one of his slashes have done permanent damage for quite some time.
Then there was a sense of death. Creeping up behind Väinämöinen and lifting its maw. The swordsman swung, cracking those teeth and forced it to stop. His weapon shined light to the danger, a contraption forged to appear as a demon, infused with magic to kill a demigod. And just as he saw this, he felt dread come up around him, there were more. They piled on-top of him, forming a shell around him, their eyes glowing a hue of red. Their plates clamored against each-other, forming the sound of laughter. They were made in the image of Finnish trolls, made to frighten and confuse.
Saber lifted his blade high, preparing to slash apart the contraption. The sound of flames rushed within the mound of forged steel as Assassin watched from afar, his hammer in hand. "Ugly little things, but I guess that is what must be done for them to hold such magic." He looked as the inferno raged for minutes, waiting for the man inside to be burnt to a crisp.
"Sir", one of the phantoms approached Assassin.
"Yes, what is it", Assassin spoke as-if talking down to a rodent, still he made sure for it sound kind.
"Our- I apologise, the Archer appears to be holding on by a thread. But it seems we might not last much longer."
"Damn, seems that the madman's Noble Phantasm wasn't enough to keep this active in such a large area. Could be that the mana is released in higher density, while being much smaller in me... If only the smith was not such waster..."
"Yes, but it appears our service is beginning to end", the phantom remarked while looking to his comrades. "How I will miss seeing my boys..."
Assassin turned to look to the summon's eyes. "I assure you, for as long as I or that Archer continue to exist in the Throne, you will see each-other again."
The phantom nearly brakes down in tears, "Thank you, sir..."
"Pay it no mind...", his gaze turned back to the coffin. The flames had stopped burning, leaving the smell of burnt rubble. "Good, now that that's done. I think I should handle the ungrateful one."
...
Archer's body crackled, the holes once-more rupturing, soon he would run out of mana. His master would not be able to support such a labor intensive battle. The Mad Archer was still away on a peaceful mission, so he could not blame him for the drain. So he could not relent in anger, only shame and that was unacceptable. "So come, Assassin."
"It is great to see you taking out an army, I truly could not ask for a better contractor. Once more, I must thank you for the chance to use your legend", Assassin stepped forward, dodging bullets as Archer continued to battle each new wave of enemies. The potshots were particularly aggravating to Assassin, as ironic as he himself found the thought.
"Shut up, I have no need for your commentary."
"Yes, I found it tiresome in some of our previous summons, but how wonderful it is to be summoned to an actual Holy Grail War. We don't have many recollections of such an event, even with our expanded resistance to the effects of simply being summoned copies." He watched as Archer ignored him, continuing to kill his men. Assassin felt the drain on his body quickly growing, it was no longer just something the phantoms sensed, but a dread in the back of the servant's mind. "Let us end this", he spoke with malice as he took up arms at Archer and fired a shot of divine wind.
Once more bullets flew as Archer answered in kind, each shot resonated in the wind.
The shot grew louder as they resonated with each-other.
Like a heartbeat.
Like a drumset.
Like roaring thunder, answered by blitzing lightning.
Each shot resonated Archer's gun. It rung with memories of a distant past.
The nature of heroic spirits is vast. It reaches the very concept of the heroism and legacy.
If one wishes to be rememberd, it is not enough to perform great feats.
If one desieres to be remembered, it is not much for your family to keep record.
One must reach the pinnacle of memories and mastery. One must be imitated, to have fans, to be faked.
Following the deaths of heroes there comes a time in which their legacies are upheld and remembered. After this time passes comes the time of stories. Soon follows legends. To that there comes mystery and imitations. Heroic spirits of the modern age hardly manage to obtain such a reputation and fame, trends pass and flow past.
Assassins killing corruption.
Swordsmen achieving the boundary.
Miraculous shots.
Maddening last stands.
Miraculous discoveries.
All forgotten in the tides of social media. Yet some are still imitated, so their legends grow beyond their deaths. In time they enter the hall of heroism.
One must achieve mastery and fame within the constraints of a time where humanity is at their peak.
In combat, in war.
So now that coldness flows through Archer. His gun holds the legacy of a man whose name is erased in this world for he had signed a contract to end all of that. He is a man of sheer focus, one who did not long for fame. But a hero will obtain such things even if they wish to not, so this is the result.
A reluctant hero.
Just another legend.
The whispers of the cold winter.
Infused mana within the chamber of a metal and wood barrel.
Fired with the might of legends.
A noble phantasm is manifesting in it's truest form.
Not through its particularity, but notability.
Something that cannot be stolen by a contract of exchanging stories.
With each soul that learned of it, a new strand of mana flowed into it.
Now on the hour of midnight, there have come enough of those strands thinking of that weapon.
"Oh old friend... Let this be our last war. Winds of summer pass like memories, let us then be like the chilling snow of the battlefield. Releasing Noble Phantasm, Mosin."
A cracking whip brakes the storm of the battlefield as light flashes, lighting the dark. Assassin stands with his body ripped to shreds by an anti-unit noble phantasm that breaks the concepts of immortality, longevity and skill. Archer speaks, "Speak to me, Ilmarinen", he reaches into the heroic spirits soul. "How does it feel to be mortal?"
Assassin gasps for life, his body feels warm in the midst of a storm. "Why- Where did this storm come from?" He looked down to his body, bleeding out. "Why can't I feel my legs?"
"Are you really going to ask that, oh king of spirits? Are you really going to ask, why you're hurt in a battle? This was normal in times of war, in my war. The war that I wanted to be forgotten by."
Assassin began to gasp for air. "Shut up! Humans die all the time, why is it any different if their glory is remembered then! In fact, I don't get it at all, why would you want everyone to forget you?"
"You are suffering, right? Right? That's exactly why."
"What are you talking about? What does this feeling have anything to do with-" A gunshot breaks through the wind that passes.
"I thought you would have some sense, being incarnated in life and as a heroic spirit. But I guess gods- spirits, I guess, will just be spirits. How disappointing..."
Saber walks forward, his swords cracking along its core. "No hiding it anymore, I guess?"
Archer groaned loudly. "Do you ever get quiet."
"I think I've been plenty quiet, considering my own people abandoned their faith in my gods. Sorry, not really my thing to get mad at useless stuff like that."
"Fair. So I guess you might as well kill me now?"
"Ha! HA! No, I'm not suicidal. YOU just absorbed the fragments of a divine spirit."
"How?"
"Look, there can't be two of the same thing in this world. Even those "copy" machines just replicate the thing their trying to make, but you can tell it's a copy. We can even point to the original document or file", Väinämöinen rambled on. "But what if there were two of those files, named the exact same thing? Well then you're told to delete one or replace the other. In our case, since that bum of a god was walking around with your name, you both couldn't exist. So when the world felt the same thing touching itself, a decision had to be made. Only you did that decision before it would."
Archer held a blank expression, thinking if he should have had one of his friend's children explain such things to him while alive. "I get it."
"Wonderful...", Väinämöinen sighed. He pulled out his sword, "now let us take care of business."
A gun clicks, Archer puts on the safety. "You got me, so where is she?"
"Now why would I do that? I ain't a wiseman for nothing."
"I was hoping with you being such a heroic person, you'd have a heart."
"Sorry, but sadly my Master is a bit of schemer. I don't like it, but I too have a wish I want to fulfill", he spoke softly as he lifted his sword.
Archer backed away as a flood of water poured from the sky on Saber. After a brief second, the man was gone. Still, Archer could feel and hear more rushes of water above: Streams of water shot through the sky as a boat road on them. "Damn."
"There you are!" The sound of Berserker pushing through the rubble to face Archer head-on shook the ground immensely.
Archer pulled back, dodging a spear. "Wait-" He dodged again, he could feel it: His capabilities were certainly improved by absorbing the divine spirit.
"Neat trick you got there, let's call it protection from spears!" Berserker launched his punches at the servant with incredible speed, shattering the roads beneath their feet.
"Listen", Archer dodged the attacks while trying to reason with the berserker. "You hunt heroes, right?"
Berserker grinded to a halt, "Of course", he then swung his head down and performed a spinning overhead kick at the servant, sending Archer flying into an underground room. "Damnit, that can't be all, right?"
Archer fired rounds into his face, blasting off chunks.
Berserker turned towards him, grinning with a rapidly healing face. "Don't try that now, my Master decided to give me a boost."
Archer ran back further in, finding an underground complex. Runes, traces of magic circles and the smell of rotting parts made it clear as day what the room was. It was most likely the room where the Berserker servants were summoned into, which meant that the tower in which the Sabers' master ambushed them was in.
Berserker rushed forward, splitting the roof apart with his rampage. "Come here!"
Archer dashed in, the tunnels winded around each-other, there was some illusionary magecraft in use, but it would not be effective against most servants. Sadly he was not one of those servants. Another two strikes from Berserker would shatter his form and so he braced for a hit.
"Partially releasing staged Noble Phantasm, Clochafarmore", Berserker threw his spear into the body of the servant. No effect was triggered, "Damnit", Bersker leaped after the servant who was sent through the walls of the tunnels.
Archer regained his senses, the strike did deal significant damage, but nothing that compared to Assassin. He now could begin moving upward, through the complex building filled with magical traps and beasts. He climbed the mage's tower, hitting each trap along the way to slow-down Berserker. That monster of a servant only continued chasing, enraged by his Noble Phantasm seemingly failing.
Archer took one last look around, he was at the top and Berserker had managed to be taken down far enough. Wind swirled as he held his arm up, his rifle filling with light. "Master, please give me just a bit more time", he steeled his mind before jumping down. "One-hundred percent release! Oh winds of my home, bless me", he descended towards the maws of a beast. "Mosin!"
A shot of light pierced the world as a tower filled to the brim with magecraft exploded in a whirlwind of mana, leaving a servant in an un-usable state in the rubble. During the collapse that stream of light let out a single speck of light dart out and away. It would fall in the heart of the English channel and make its way into an underground cavern beneath London.
Beneath the walls of a modern city of mages there rests a cavern. Within this cavern rests a great beast no modern-world mage could even imagine matching, a monster from over sixty-million years and beyond. Only such a place could be used to hide from phantasmal beasts that could sink nations. And it is here that the master of Saber and Assassin with their servants stand before a young woman in chains, the master of Archer.
Liisa looked up at her captors, but were only met with hidden faces. "What... what's going on." It wouldn't have shocked her to see Assassin's masters face like that, but she felt it odd for a similar effect to be around Saber's master. Only theirs was more of a traditional effect.
"Like that trick", the voice of Assassin's master was warped, like something removed from the world. "Of course your kind would, you're entire population worth a damn abandoned all mystery. You lack conduct and educcation in everything", he slammed the cage and raised his hand. Mana poured around Liisa's neck as it sprung with pain. "Yes... YES! That shall be one of my many wishes: Getting rid of all of your ilk, you worthless, useless runts!"
End of match.
Results:
Spirit Assassin defeated and assimilated
Modern Archer and Väinämöinen survive
Berserker out of commission
Creator's Note
That was fun, writing this battle in multiple parts. Really helps not being able to write with quality due to being AFK.
Hope everyone has had a good start to the year, even if things seem bleak for some others.