028 - Flowers and Rainbows

Berserker Assassin

As far as edgy genocidal maniacs hell-bent on revenge go, her Master is a rather boring specimen. No torture, no games, no fun. Just rushing from one goal to another without ever taking the time to indulge in the fruits of her campaign. And, of course, ensuring her Servants can't do it either, constantly tugging at their chains like they're unruly dogs she can't leave out of her sight.

Always so angry, always in a hurry, not a moment to enjoy the havoc she wreaks or the delicious pain she causes. As if she feared that enjoyment would soothe her fire, as if she felt the need to get the deed done before it was too late, as if she didn't trust her emotions to not fade away if she took too long.

In other words, a half-baked excuse for an evil overlord. But a lackluster genocidal maniac is still a genocidal maniac, so she's not inclined to complain.

Or rather, it doesn't matter whether she's inclined to complain or not, because she literally can't. The wonders of being summoned as a rabid dog chained by madness.

Suffice to say, this whole 'burn France to the ground' thing has failed to earn much of her interest. Wanton destruction for the sake of a goal she doesn't care about, under orders from a Master who has failed to earn her respect, is indistinguishable from pointless. You could tell nothing worth her attention was going on when the high point of her day was trading barbs with that fool Berserker Lancer.

That is… Until now.

Berserker Assassin pays no heed to the conversation between her Master and the adorably pure blonde virgin that would've usually had her drooling in anticipation, because something else demands her attention, something far more vexing, far more interesting.

A whimsical, spoiled brat who refuses to see the world except through the lens of her own delusions and suffering from a pathological lack of self-awareness. The person she hates the most in the world. When her Master finally sends them to attack, she steps forward with a smile of anticipation on her lips.

"Seems like fate smiles upon me today. I'm going to enjoy this…" She chuckles throatily as she swaggers towards her chosen opponent, a smile on her lips that doesn't reach her eyes. "My foolish, younger self."

The eyes of the pathetic, naive child who would one day grow up to become the vampire Carmilla widen at these words. An expression of panic and disgust appears on her insufferably youthful face, an expression that fills Berserker Assassin's black, shriveled up heart with joy.

An accusing finger slowly raises towards her, making her smile grow wider and her eyebrow arch in curiosity. What does the child have to say, she wonders? Will she condemn herself? Will she apologize to herself? Will she fall to her knees in despair at the sight of herself?

"You're… No! You are not me! You are a mistake!" At her younger self's pathetic reaction, she can't help but roll her eyes. Of course the craven brat would somehow fall short of her already low expectations. "A mistake after another and another and another! Just an unfortunate future that should've never been!"

"Denial… how quaint. Reality won't change just because you throw a tantrum." Berserker Assassin drawls out with a sneer, feeling the (self-)hatred churn on her stomach. "Truth is, your naivete was what created all these mistakes in the first place, brat! Who do you think is to blame for my existence?"

"It will if I deny it hard enough! It's all because of that fraud Sheridan Le Fanu!" Her younger self whines again, pathetically stomping the ground as if a bad attitude would somehow give her arguments a better chance. "It's not my fault! I didn't do it, so the blame lies fully on the society that led me astray!"

"Look at you, incapable of accepting responsibility even when the consequences of your own mistakes are looking at you right in the eye." She muses disappointedly, getting ready to start the actual fight. "Was there even a point in talking with a failure like you in the first place?"

Much to her surprise, the brat… flinches at that question. Her challenging glare disappears as she lowers her face to stare at the ground instead. Her next words come out as a barely audible mutter. "You are right…"

"Oh?" Is that a tear on the child's face? Just the fact her past self accepted the painfully obvious could be considered a victory on its own, but watching herself cry is the most cathartic thing she's experienced since her summoning. Maybe enough to make this dreadfully dull genocide thing worth it, in the end.

"You are a mistake." The brat continues her muttering, still staring into the ground.

"Oi." Of course, even such a simple admission comes accompanied by petty sniping. That's the nature of the frustrating creature doomed to one day become her.

"But you're… not…" As the young Elizabeth Bathory keeps on talking, she finally looks up again. Much to the older one's disappointment, her face isn't wracked with pain or despair, but set into a determined expression in spite of the tears running down her cheeks, flowing freely from sky blue eyes burning with fury. "MINE!"

The last cry is much more than a mere word lashing out in denial, it's a blast of sound wielded like a weapon. A sudden strike that blows away the ground she's standing on and even manages to ruffle Carmilla's hairdo… for about half a second before the metal form of an iron maiden manifests in front of her to block the rest of the attack.

"Violence it is." Carmilla says with glee once the brat's yell relents. "I suppose things were going to end up like this between us, no matter what."

Preparing herself for what's going to be a very satisfying beatdown, she takes an evaluating glance around her. Not so much out of care for her 'allies', but rather to ensure her own fun won't be unduly interrupted.

To no one's surprise, the blonde virgin is losing quite badly against her Master and the other enemy Servant is struggling to withstand Berserker Rider's assault but, get a load of this, the rest isn't exactly going as planned. The redhead is somehow keeping that uselessly strong old man Berserker Lancer on her own by wielding a weird whip that gives her a very bad feeling. And the albino maids… They seem to be somewhat capable of pushing Berserker Saber back by working in tandem.

It'll all be pointless in the end, of course. The moment Master is done toying with her prey or Berserker Rider finally breaks through the other Servant's defenses, the tables will immediately turn. In other words, she can focus on toying with her own prey to her heart's content, this fight is as good as won and—

An unexpected scent invades her nostrils, causing all her instincts, her very legend to flare up in a demand for attention. Not warning her of a threat, no. Rather, telling her about a treat. Her mouth waters at her eyes start flickering around, searching for the source of that scent that promises to be the most delicious morsel she's ever had the pleasure of tasting!

Is that a… glass rose?

Marie Antoinette

Marie hadn't been scared a single day in her entire life. As someone who loved everyone and was loved by everyone, she never had a reason to. Even after her fall from grace, when her beloved France seemingly turned against her out of nowhere… She never stopped loving them, and thus she never feared them.

She walked up to her own execution with a smile on her lips and her last words were but an effort to comfort her executioner, who looked positively devastated at the role he had to play. Then again, she didn't have to fight or struggle a single day in her entire life, so maybe her lack of fear was born from ignorance rather than any actual merit on her part?

Food for thought.

In any case, her flawless record of fearlessness ends here. As soon as she jumped in between the two Jeannes, determined to stop a bullying session that could hardly be called a fight. As soon as she felt these yellow, baleful eyes full of wrath and pain lock into hers… Her knees buckled, nausea hit her stomach, a shiver ran down her spine and vertigo made her vision swim.

So that's what fear feels like. A rather unpleasant experience, she's quite glad she never had to deal with it before now.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" The dark, ominous voice of the Dragon Witch demands immediately, a naked blade aimed at Marie's face. "And what makes you think you can just prance into here and ruin my fun?"

Marie can feel the fear diminish a couple of shades as a different urge rises to prominence. The urge to offer her advice as a fellow, more experienced performer and public pleaser. The dark ominous voice is way overplayed, the public can feel something wrong when one tries too hard to fit into a role, even if they can't always tell what exactly is going on. Unfortunately, she doesn't think her cute junior would take the honest advice in the spirit it's given and she's supposed to buy time, so that's a non-starter.

Instead, how about a dazzling introduction?

"Well…" She opens with a small twirl, quickly followed by a textbook perfect curtsy. "Some know me as the beautiful flower of the glass palace, some know me as—"

"Ten words or less." The beautiful girl of burning eyes cuts Marie off rather rudely. Unfortunately some flowers have thorns!

"Pooey." She gives her best pout in an attempt to make the restriction go away. She had so many things to say! "That's just not fair!"

But the thorns of the ashen rose remain undeterred. "Five words remain."

"Hey! 'Pooey' isn't even a—!" Marie (rather recklessly) tries to protest.

"Hear that?" The black-clad beauty muses, taking a hand to her ear to mime listening into the distance. "It was your chance flying by. I guess you die now."

B– But! What about her grand entrance? What about her speech about love and justice she had totally prepared and absolutely wasn't about to improvise? What about her chance to make a good impression and maybe make this beautiful girl consumed by grief question her evil ways before it was too late!?

This is the howl of a soul filled with hatred…

… Then again, sometimes arriving just in time still means being too late!

"Ah…Hahahaha…" She chuckles sheepishly, feeling a rather stomach-churning amount of magical energy gather around the thorny rose. She just hopes she managed to buy enough time. "We could use a heroic rescue about now, my dear friend!"

"Oui, Mademoiselle!" Much to her relief, the voice of her staunch new friend echoes through the battlefield, clear, powerful and full of confidence.

O people...make your appeal.
Nothing is impossible.
Why?
Because I am here!
[Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile - Rainbow Arc that Announces His Triumphant Return]

"What the–!?" The Dark Jeanne cuts off her own evocation with a curse to look all around for the source of the new interruption, only for her eyes to widen at the sight of a bright, rainbow light rapidly gaining on them. "What's that!?"

"That's the light of hope, the heartbeat of possibilities, heralding the arrival of a hero born from the expectations of the people!" Marie explained, repeating the words of her new friend verbatim, for they were too hip and cool to ruin with creative reinterpretations. "And also our cue to make an escape!"

"No, wait!" The Dark Jeanne takes an instinctive step towards Marie, arm stretched out as if to call for her, only to freeze halfway as the rapidly approaching attack demands all her attention. "I still haven't–!"

"Worry not, my beautiful ashen rose! For we'll doubtlessly meet again." Marie calls out even as she drags the non-Dark Jeanne away. "For now, though. We must bid you adieu!"

It's funny, under the rainbow brilliance of dear Napoleon's Noble Phantasm, the pale countenance of the Dark Jeanne seems to have gained a rather distinct red hue. What an amusing trick of the light.

Oh, well… That's not important right now. What matters is that they've managed to escape flawlessly during the confusion! She even managed to leave behind some graceful parting words! As expected of her, really~!

Berserker Archer

Even bound by chains of darkness that blind and drown her, forcing her to do the will of another regardless of her own, there are certain things the Chaste Huntress simply cannot miss. Mastery born out of a lifetime of practice, of devotion towards the lunar goddess, has grown into an inextricable part of herself, an instinct so ingrained into her very being that now operates independently of thoughts and sense.

Some things she simply knows, because there's no way she wouldn't. That's why she can tell.

She's being hunted down.

That's not something that should be possible. Nobody remains in this singularity capable of hunting her down. This is, no doubt, the sort of news her 'Master' would like to hear about as soon as possible. How unfortunate she never received instructions on how to deal with such an eventuality.

Even drowning in madness, any hero worth their salt will find ways to rebel against their chains, to spite those who would try and enslave them, no matter how petty.

Status Window Update:

Vampire Killer (Castlevania, Belmont Family): The whip that will destroy all who are related to the kindred of the night.

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