034 - The Witch and the Dragon (Part 1)

Mashu Kyrielight

Wrapping her arms protectively over the wounded form of her Senpai, Mashu watches the Dragon Witch crest the hill and leisurely approach them, followed by her Berserker Servants. Or rather, what remains of them. Berserker Lancer, Berserker Assassin and Berserker Saber, which Chaldea's Command had already identified as Vlad III of Wallachia, Carmilla and the Chevalier D'Eon.

There was apparently a Berserker Archer too? One who had already been defeated and they never got to— Not important. What's important is the black-armored mirror image of Jeanne-san, making her way towards her with a cocky gait and sickly yellow eyes locked on her. Or, rather, on Haku-senpai in her arms.

Fear and hesitation churn on her gut, but she forces herself to push them down. Now isn't the time for doubting herself, Senpai is down and helpless and she might very well become the last defense before their enemy. It doesn't matter the power difference, or how slim her chances, she'll give her all anyway!

"Wow, throwing your trusty steed straight into danger and then dropping them like hot trash. That was cold even for me." The Dragon Witch addresses the knight, eyes locked on the gently fading form of the downed steed and seemingly not even noticing Mashu's presence. "But I guess the church has never cared too much about the sacrifices made along the way, unless they could get good rep by martyrizing them, eh?"

"Say what you will, Witch." The knight retorts without missing a beat, extending his pure-white sword towards the Dragon Witch. "You will find that Bayard will readily risk his life to protect the innocent, and that I am more than willing to do the same myself."

While the two of them trade words, five pairs of feet land all around Mashu, everyone pulling back to take defensive positions around her and Senpai, leaving Siegfried-san to face the dragon alone. (It's a relief that she won't have to protect Senpai all on her own.)

The Dragon Witch eyes them all impassively while her Berserker Servants tense up, clearly eager for violence.

"Yeah, that's what animal abusers always say. I expected better of the legendary Saint Georgios." She finally speaks up again, tone full of dismissal. "But I don't care anymore, I have no time to waste on side-characters. Fafnir will make quick work of you all. Or maybe he'll be an utter disappointment too, then he won't." She continues with an uncaring shrug before pointing a finger at Jeanne-san. "In any case, it's that stereotypical dumb blonde by your side I have a problem with."

"Bold of you to assume I'll tolerate such a one-sided confrontation." The knight challenges. "The difference in power between you two is clear as day to anyone with eyes."

"Oh, but can you really afford not to tolerate it?" The Dragon Witch smirks, her somewhat uncaring behavior from earlier vanishing under the familiar cocksure expression. "That depressed pile of curses over there isn't having a good time on his own, you know? I wonder what will happen if Fafnir finishes his own fight before we're all done here."

Mashu frowns at that thought. Was the Dragon Witch acting.. Out of character earlier? It's not like she has known her for long, and her inadequacies when it comes to understanding people have already been brought up more than once, but… But she doesn't have the luxury of letting her mind wander right now, not when Senpai is depending on her!

Shaking her head, she focuses back on the matter at hand, ready to interpose her shield between Haku-senpai and any sudden ambush or dirty trick!

"You–!" Whatever the knight is about to say, it gets interrupted by an armored hand as Jeanne-san steps in front of him. "Milady?"

"She said she has business with me, so be it. I also have business with her too." Jeanne-san explains with a determined expression on her face. "So please, go help Sir Sigfried. If he fails, we all fail."

The knight remains silent for a moment, clearly unsure about the request, but ultimately nods and rushes away to join Siegfried-san. That seems to be the signal everyone was waiting for to resume combat. The Berserker Servants charge is met by Bathory-san, Marie-san, Bonaparte-san and the two maids.

Meanwhile, Jeanne-san easily slips past them to meet her evil counterpart in singular duel. So cool…

A soft groan draws Mashu's attention down, where Senpai is starting to stir on her lap.

"Ugh… Did anyone catch the plate of that truck that just tried to isekai me?" Senpai muses faintly, before blinking a couple of times and taking a glance around to take stock of the situation. "Ah… Looks like it failed as expected. Nii-san warned me about this."

"Senpai! Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah… I'll be. *Cough!* I'll be fine." Senpai's attempts at waving off Mashu's worries away are ruined by the simple fact she's very obviously coughing blood! "I just tried to pull off something I shouldn't. I lack the right mentality to do it properly, you see."

Suddenly, Mashu experiences a horrible, terrible realization. Just because Senpai had always managed to pull off her stupidly risky stunts so far, it doesn't mean she always will! And they are stupidly risky, no matter how cool and amazing they also are! Is this how Olga feels every time, as the person in charge responsible for Senpai's wellbeing?

"Senpai…"

"Ugh, straight in the kokoro." Senpai groans dramatically. "Please, don't look at me with these soulful eyes of yours full of disappointment, Mashu! My frail ego can't take it!"

Ah, another realization hits her as she watches the way her (beloved) Senpai tries to trivialize her wounds with some silly antics. This is going to keep happening. The only way to stop it would be to break Senpai's arms and legs and lock her up in a padded cell somewhere out of the way, and doing that would be the same as forcing Senpai to stop being Senpai.

"Mashu?" Senpai calls for her attention with a nervous laugh. "That's some scary face you're making right now."

"Nevermind that, Senpai." Mashu shakes her head with a defeated smile. "Please, just stay still and try to conserve your energy as much as you can. We are not out of the woods just yet."

Unfortunately, Mashu doesn't have the heart to do something as unilaterally convenient as that. Instead, she'll have to keep being the one who… She's going to have a long conversation with Olga, as soon as they're back from the Singularity, that's for sure.

Siegfried

The cursed wound he suffered at the hands of the Dragon Witch is keeping him from fighting anywhere near his full power. As he feared, there's no way he could stand up to Fafnir. Fortunately, Fafnir isn't at his peak either. Oh, his enormous might and unbreakable defenses are still there. He still fights with the same flame and fury he remembers from that fateful duel, so long ago. And yet…

And yet, Fafnir is missing the most important weapon in his arsenal. The quality that elevated him above a mere rampaging beast and made him into the Wurm of Gnitaheath, the Ultimate Evil Dragon. These slitted eyes of his, once glinting with greedy cunning and twisted guile, are now dulled over by an all-consuming rage that leaves no room for tactics or strategy.

He can manage such a disadvantaged version of his fated foe, even in his own weakened state, at least for a time.

As he weaves past a claw strike and jumps over a tail swipe, only to be forced to block sharp and poison-dripping teeth with Balmung, a pang of pain through his back makes him stumble and nearly lose his footing. Maybe he spoke too soon. Fafnir might be incapable of overwhelming him in direct combat but, in his own sorry state, it's only a matter of time before the paradigm changes.

Siegfried cannot win like this, he cannot even meaningfully wound his opponent like this. Meanwhile, he's growing steadily weaker as he's forced to exert his full power on every clash and his wounds take their toll out of his strength and endurance. He needs… he needs an opening, a chance to end this fight in a single blow before growing too exhausted to do even that and ending up crushed under the unrelenting pace of the frenzied dragon.

Fafnir's next strike isn't parried by Balmung's blade, but by a sword of pure white wielded by a knight in rust-colored armor.

"Not even Ascalon can pierce these black scales." The newcomer hums in a serious, but not particularly concerned tone. "Fafnir is truly as invulnerable as the legends say."

More important than his appearance, is how he feels to Siegfried's senses. An instinct that goes beyond common sense, pinging his soul with a mix of danger and fellowship. This knight is, beyond any shadow of doubt, a fellow dragon slayer.

"You are?"

"History remembers me as Saint Georgios. You, of course, need no introduction." The Knight answers with a respectful nod, before turning his attention fully to Fafnir once again. "From a fellow dragon slayer to another, let's fight well and end this creature quickly!"

"I just need an opening to deploy my Noble Phantasm fully." He informs his fellow. His whole legend orbits around felling this particular foe, so… "Sorry, but if you could just buy me some time…"

"So my role shall be that of a distraction? A refreshing novelty if nothing else." He chuckles, not sounding offended in the least by Siegfried's words. "Very well, I may be incapable of harming this creature. But that doesn't mean my blade will be useless!"

The knight -Saint Georgios- seizes the initiative, charging straight at Fafnir with a fearlessness that would put most warriors Seigfried knew in life to shame. He becomes an orange and white comet, bouncing around the black mountain, from claw to tail to snout and back to claw again. The Dragonslaying Saint pre-empting each blow by striking the offending part while it was still winding up for an attack, before it could properly gain momentum. Even when Fafnir doesn't suffer wounds, his blows are still knocked away by sheer force, stealing the initiative and throwing off his pace.

The theory behind such an approach is simple. The skill required to actually pull it off? To perfectly read a dragon's body language to completely preempt each and every single attack of a phantasmal beast that exists for violence? That's a breathtaking sight to witness.

Of course, he doesn't have the time to appreciate it properly. There's a role only he can perform. Gripping the handle of Balmung with both hands, Siegfried raises it above his head.

"Awaken from the golden dream...
Release yourself from its cradle.
The evil dragon shall fall,
And the world will reach its sunset."

"[Balmung - Felling of the Sky Demon]"

The Phantasmal Greatsword cleaves, tearing down the skies on its way down and barely giving time for Saint Georgios to dodge at the very last second before it falls upon Fafnir. Siegfried's old foe roars in challenge, invincible scales clashing against the legend of its own defeat, crazed bloodlust pushing the dragon to challenge its own end head on, to pour everything it is and has against the old-truth.

It fails, of course. After the briefest of struggles, the swing is completed, utterly disintegrating the black dragon alongside a frankly obscene trench of gouged earth along the way. Nothing seems to remain as the dust starts settling and the day's… Wait.

Fafnir is indeed gone, his body cleanly bisected from the mighty strike but, from the still-standing halves of the creature, something else is—!

Leysritt von Einzbern

Ah, here they go fighting again. What a pain.

She doesn't dislike fighting, not like she dislikes cleaning, shopping, cooking, working, studying, training or thinking. Fighting is something she's good at and it makes her feel useful. But that doesn't mean she enjoys it. Fighting takes a lot of effort and leaves you all sweaty and sticky. And, half the time, your clothes get ruined. Then you need to go find new clothes to wear, sometimes even shop for them.

Eurgh.

If only Sella was up for their secret power-up super-mode, then she could cheat her way out of fighting while technically still doing her part, that would be nice. Stealing a glance behind herself, she finds her more serious -and less endowed- partner with her eyes narrowed in a rictus of concentration as she weaves spell after spell with a skill and grace that makes Leysritt feel tired just by watching. It doesn't look like they'll be using their secret power-up super-mode anytime soon.

Pooey.

Though, that's probably for the best. It doesn't make much sense to become a magical powerhouse when fighting Servants with Magic Resistance. That's not how type advantage works. Even if it would be nice to sit back and leave others to do all the work.

Instead, she has to fight properly. The goth dommy-mommy is busy yelling at the useless newt and All Might (French Ver.) is keeping the futa musketeer occupied by swinging his cannon around like a homerun bat. That leaves the rest of them to dogpile the scary old man with the Freudian thrusting implements. Which isn't going nearly as well as it should because he's actually pretty damn tough. Handling him without the Head Wife around to do all the hard work is going to be a pain.

Uuuugh!

Why can't life be easy? Why can't she retire? Why can't she live in a big single-family house on the outskirts? With a green garden and a white picket fence that someone else will be in charge of maintaining? And maybe have one-and-a-half cute daughters whose raising duties she totally wouldn't be dumping on the father and Sella?

Life is so unfair!

And then the dumb dragon kicks the bucket and suddenly an incel sore-loser basement-dweller nobody cares about decides to make things objectively worse for everyone for no good reason whatsoever. Worse yet, she's expected to do something about it, because of course she is.

Life sure is unfair for a super-maid homunculus.

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