Magical energy: 340 out of 340.

Morgana waited for a few short moments before she heard a voice, one that was to be expected. She was 99% sure it was a nobleman purely from his mannerisms but she'd have to inform him of something off that bat in order to prevent it from becoming and issue during future discussions. "Cut the smooth talk. I am the one to be your master to put it bluntly for you. A short little tidbit, I am completely blind so if your completely wretch and ugly or somehow passable I honestly don't know, so me and you are going to have a heart to heart later in order to get to know each other in a manner I can comprehend. Comprehend that?"

Morgana sighed to herself now that important tidbit was out of the way all she had to do was wait as she heard the others begin their chants. She however was standing close to her own servants. Everything seemed to be going just as planned. Soon they would have their revenge against the man that had wronged them so. Using the very thing he have had used. Pure poetic justice. Now that revenge filled thinking was what was making her face contort into a rather sly smile.

So why was it that she felt uneasy? Perhaps it was the paranoia for the fact that they had just made themselves targets or maybe it was the fact that one of them could easily turn on everyone else in order to get a grail wish if they thought even for a moment that it was a conceivable thing to do which is probably why her hand was shaking. There was a problem with the Saber summoning. Morgana had realised what it was extremely fast as she ducked behind her servant.

Then the world was suddenly turned to nothing but a hell.

She could hear the cracking of spells and the screams of students as she stayed behind her servant. "Lancer!" She declared as she got up her ears picking up on the strategy of the other people in their little group. "Lancer, stick with Berserker and Rider. Hold the line..." She said as she began running blindly towards the general sound of the voices, reinforcing her legs so that they didn't hurt from how much she was pounding them against the ground in order to flee. Trying to get as far away as possible. She didn't want to use her eyes if she was trying to escape from people.

Magical energy:340-->338

"Sonja? Albert? Someone! Tell me where the hell we are going!" She said in a fit of desperation as she ran in almost stumbling as she almost ran into a wall. She was still a completely blind individual. Someone would need to help her find an exit, otherwise she'd have to take the most destructive option of making one. She knew her Servant would be smart enough to flee if it got too insane...

---

Richard the Lionheart, great king of Britain now summoned into the class of Saber, approached the battlefield with a relaxed urgency, quietly picking out his targets and prioritizing their immediacy with falcon-like focus. Many children lay dead on the ground before him, some still clinging to just enough life to feel terror at his mere presence. They were priority-zero. His Master and their associates had already dealt with the bulk of them.

He approached one of the dying, a young girl no older than fifteen who looked up at him with wide eyes. Still, the sight of these youths screaming their last upon the bloody castle grounds couldn't help but bring a smile to his face, as he lost himself in the memories of his days charging through the battlefield. This was where he belonged.

Something that sounded like a plea for mercy bubbled out of the girl's throat, which was thick and frothy with blood. She coughed, heaving up more of the precious red liquid that went spilling through the cracks in her hand.

The girl looked up at him silently, begging for him to save her. Richard smiled at her, his gentle expression bringing a momentary glimmer of hope to the girl's eyes. Kneeling down to her level, he carressed her pretty face with his gloved hand, free from the sword.

"Do not fear, child," he whispered. "This is all according to God's plan."

Saber stood, leaving her horrified. Activating his skill, he watched all the hope boil out of her as a simmering red mark in the shape of a stylized crucifix appeared on the back of her neck. Then, he simply severed her head from her body. There was her mercy. The mercy of the battlefield.

"Deus lo vult, in hoc signo vinces."



Hearing a great roar, Saber briefly took heed of the massive bulk trundling towards him from the side at supersonic speed, its movements quick but inelegant. It seems his murder of the child had upset the great beast.

"Berserker, then?" the king said to himself, smiling and raising his sword. "Very well then, monster. Come at me as though you wish to die!"

Allowing the mountainous Berserker to crash into him, Richard held his massive axe at bay with his sword, his Saber-class instincts allowing him to parry and deflect the larger man's blows despite the difference in their strength. Thinking to himself that this must be similar to that judo thing in the East the Grail had informed him of, Saber huffed and immediately switched to a more offensive tactic, freeing Berserker's axe from the grooves of his blade to come crashing apocalyptically down into the moist dirt of the Highlands.

Backing up under the cover of the massive cloud of rock and soil hurled into the air by Berserker's power, the king noticed another Servant entering the fray. Quite obviously Rider, judging by the majestic beast upon which she and her Master rode. What's more, the bow in her hands suggested she was a Rider of the "mounted archer"-type. Richard immediately shifted his stance into a defensive one, ready to parry any incoming projectiles while keeping an eye on Berserker.

Arieh, it appears I am being besieged by both cavalry and infantry tonight. The Rider is easily dealt with, but I fear she may keep her distance and favor that bow whilst Berserker keeps me occupied with that axe in close range. May I request some backup?

---

Ayondale smiled as a small flaming projectile detonated mere feet from his location, killing two magi who hadn't been paying attention. Wiping the blood off his cheek, he responded warmly to his Servant's message.

"Oh very well then, Richard," he said smugly. "I'll see what I can do about lightening your load."

Turning to the hunting party he had assembled, he yelled "That's enough! The children are dead! Focus on Berserker. He's the only offensive class lacking Magic Resistance. Do whatever you can to prevent him from coordinating an attack with Rider!"

The assembled mages offered a racuous affirmative, and shifted the focus of their fire on the golden Berserker-class Servant, raining spells down on him from atop the hill. Meanwhile, Ayondale dipped his saber-cane into the soft ground and prepared an incantation, scattering small bones throughout the field in front of him. The Mystic Code enhanced and amplified his magecraft as he drew greater and greater amounts of mana from the environment to fuel this spell.



Almost immediately after completing the aria, the mana Ayondale had gathered from the Greater Source was released back into the earth, animating the tiny offerings of dead human tissue as clay and dirt formed around them, hardening into fossilized bone. One by one a small army consisting of a few dozen skeletons rose up from the ground, some grabbing on to the legs of Rider's great horse in an attempt to slow her as others broke off parts of their own bodies to use as makeshift daggers and spears.

"That's all I'm willing to spare for a simple distraction, I'm afraid," Ayondale said, communicating with his Servant. "Use them wisely, Richard."

Robbed of their speech, the undead monsters shouted silent battle cries into the cold, uncaring night, and began to attack.

---

Albert watched with wordless horror as an army of the dead clawed their way into formation around them. They were surrounded, ambushed, and about to be killed at the height of their victory. Was this truly the price they had to pay for daring to oppose the Clocktower elite?

"Damn... damn... damn!" he protested weakly, his feet pounding against the ground as he ran. He could hear Morgana yelling something in the distance, but he didn't dare give himself away.

Not watching where he was going, he felt himself hit uneven ground, tripping and falling face-first into the cold, wet grass. Realizing with a start that it wasn't the uneven footing that caused him to fall, as there was none here, he began to panic, thinking one of Ayondale's skeleton soldiers had caught him. Quickly he got back to his feet and looked around amidst the chaos, trying to find what had tripped him.

He wished he hadn't.

It was the arm of a child. A student, barely fifteen years old. One of the underclassmen. His eyes burnt out, his clammy dead hands outstretched, the corpse had latched onto Albert's ankle and tripped him. He felt sick.

Quickly crawling behind one of the remaining sections of wall to retch, Albert heaved, then wiped the tears out of his eyes.

"Enough of zis..." he hissed.

Albert reached into his pack that he'd salvaged with one arm missing from it, retrieving the all-important book. He stopped himself. He had to think first.



Activating Thought Acceleration and engaging four out of his five maximum rooms, Albert went about formulating a strategy.

I can't use Assassin, let's start wiz zat. Zat's rule number one. Zis situation is totally disadvantageous to 'er class, and I need 'er 'ere to protect me. Battle is not my strong suit.

He glanced briefly at a rabbit poking its head out of its warren, just as startled by it as it was by him. It must've heard the commotion and come to check things out. He shoo'd the thing, watching it dart back underground.

"Trust me, my friend," he whispered. "Zis is not a place you want to be."

He returned to his thoughts.

Zat being ze case zen, why not use zat to my advantage? Ayondale knows my pets inside and out. 'E as all my research, and 'e's watched me develop and breed zem for years. I can't use zem in a head-on attack. So what if I attack 'im 'ead-on wiz fairies instead? Zat will confuse him. 'E knows I do not fight in a manner zat will leave me exposed like zat. But if I 'ave Assassin leave me and make it appear as zough I am undefended, it will make me a much juicier target. 'E won't be able to ignore me. Zen...

He disengaged his strategy mode, satisfied with his plan. Reading aloud a quick passage from his book, he placed the item back in his pack, and got ready to run.

Assassin, he communicated telepathically. Relay zis message to ze ozer Masters. Everyone except zat half-masked git up on ze hill. 'The plan has failed. Order your Servants to retreat and get the hell out of here. We'll regroup at the following address. If you have any reason to believe you were followed, do not come find us. Call us from your cellphone or a public landline and we'll arrange a time and a place to pick you up. The war is just beginning. Good luck.'

He gave Assassin the address of a local tavern a few miles away in the town of Inverness.

You got all zat? Use your Presence Concealment to deliver ze message as quickly as possible, zen return to me. I may need your protection if zis doesn't work. He looked over to where he thought Assassin was. Oh, and don't kill anyone! Zose people are our allies. It's complicated, so I'll explain later.

Having said that, he didn't wait any longer to act. Albert didn't trust his body not to chicken out on him if he did.

"Hey, Ayondale!"

Running out into the open, Albert conjured ten fairies, and shot three at Ayondale. The professor just casually deflected them with magecraft of his own, pointing the tip of his cane at the triangular formation of fairies and ripping them apart with a Gandr Finn shot.



The professor lowered the cane, and eyed him critically.

"Ah yes, Mr. Prelati. I was wondering where you'd run off to," Ayondale intoned condescendingly. "May I take a moment to express just how profoundly disappointed I am in you?"

"Heh. Zat makes two of us," Albert replied.

Leon reached the end of his path his breath heavy and ragged as he attempted to find his thoughts as he looked around himself he found himself alone. Trying to figure out what exactly he'd do now he looked around and considered his options. One was to run. Just bail and let them handle anything that would follow. But he wouldn't let himself fall to that level of cowardice. Leon reached out his hand towards the water and tried experimenting and found out he could use the water. He looked towards the sky and decided to hold his ground a bit longer as he waited for the smoke rising into the air to settle. Part of Leon wished he could go back, and help. But he came here with the express purpose of being able to better defend himself. He had the vague memory of that one of the enemy seem to be the other missing servant he failed to summon. If it truly was Saber he was out of his element. Research done onto servants expressed that they could simply speed blitz him, and kill him without a second thought on the matter.

Was all of this just one bloody god damn game? Leon gripped his hand into a fist and the water he had been manipulating on a small scale to test if he could do so twirled around in a more rampant way when Leon noticed he stopped manipulating the currents to make sure he didn't waste his mana on such a trivial thing. He breathed in and out calming himself anger would just do him in on the long run. He couldn't, and wouldn't allow his anger to control him. The raging inferno that burns one's soul was a powerful thing once channeled but if allowed to rage on without restraint meant death, and destruction. Leon had been trained as a young boy to not allow his anger to get ahead of him. Bruises, and even a few broken bones had taught him that he couldn't let his pride come before his own priority as a mage. The pride of a mage was their best asset, but too much pride allowed for one to be destroyed by their enemies. "I'll survive this. I must survive this. I won't be killed by some half baked dead man, and his master's cronies. However there are six servants there, and their masters dedicated to taking down the Saber. I'm sure they can win. They have too...no one is that strong...are they?" Leon said to himself as he questioned how strong the new enemy was.

Caster smiled a little as Olympia nervously confirmed that she was, in fact, his Master in an attempt to mitigate her nerves somewhat. While the idea of being put into a subservient position was cause for a mote of discomfort, his time in Minos's court coming to the forefront of his mind, the demeanour of the girl in front of him felt far from the arrogance of said king. It felt rather more like he was watching his daughter, Icarus, as her curiosity got the better of her and she went around, chasing whatever folly it happened to be at the time. Smiling at the memory, he looked passed Olympia to see the 4 other summoned servants, standing pensively near their Masters but none with any clear indications of an imminent attack.

While the sight of 5 Heroic Spirits within such a close proximity was a rarity on its own, the apparent ceasefire between all the present Masters was even more so. While alliances and temporary suspensions of hostilities did occur, none had happened before the fighting had even begun... It was clear to see to the Grecian inventor that, aside from the change in location, the circumstances of this particular Grail War were far from ordinary.

"Master, I can't help but notice the... unique circumstances of my summoning, and by extension the summoning of the other servants as well. Now may not be the best time, but I hope for an explanation soon."

He turned his head as the sixth servant was summoned, taking careful notice of her class as an Assassin and feeling a vague sense of familiarity as he took in her appearance. Her clothes especially gave a vague reminder of styles he had seen within his own life and not just granted to him by the grail, her robes giving a Grecio-roman feel to them, although definitely more so of the later. Her... rather excitable demeanour was surprising, but he wasn't too surprised by the discrepancy between the Assassin he could see and the any-number of potential roman Assassins he was granted knowledge of by the Grail. History had gotten rather... blurred since his had lived... It remembered his daughter as a boy after all, her energetic personality and boyish look besides the point.

As his Caster called him over to watch the finally summoning, The infamous Saber Class by his reckoning, he walked with the grace that one would expect from a scholar as he followed her through the parting sea of young Magi, unmarked as Masters but present in more of an assisting capacity. He was surprised at the failure of this 'Leon' boy, sensing no inadequacy within the boy's magical talents, but his natural genius soon kicked in as he tried to hypothesise the reason why, very shortly reaching the same conclusion as Albert: Saber had already taken to the stage, at the hand of a Master seemingly independent of the gathered group.

Before he could voice it, however, the sky erupted into light as the cascade of Spells blanketed the area. Flaring his own vast Mana stores, Caster was left unharmed even as the young magi around him were cut down and torn apart. Rage filtered though him as he watched it happen, watched children murdered in cold blood around him, but his focus was broken as Olympia called across the now blood-soaked grounds to deliver an instruction.

He nodded briefly as he moved further away from the hostile Saber servant, a golden-bronze mist coiling around him as his began to channel his Mana into his Noble Phantasm. He stood back, watching as the two pseudo-knight classes made their move and Saber and his Master retaliated. He could feel his Natural Born Genius clash against whatever skill the kingly servant had used, but It was enough to stop the wave of Fear from interfering with his task. Calling forth his Mana reserves, he activated his Noble Phantasm, Axios Architékton.

Mana: 500/2000

All around him, the mist began to coalesce, forming solid shapes of a golden bronze colour. 5 Xiphos swords formed around him in a fan-like formation, glowing softly under his Mana before they span briefly, tips focused towards the ensuing battle. Caster raised his arm, hand limp until his suddenly threw his hand open. In response, the swords shot forward like bronze lightning strikes, two carving into the undead clawing at the Rider's mount and three slamming into lines of Magi hidden among the trees, the D-Rank constructs merciless against the human targets. He would be decimated in a straight fight with Saber, he knew that much as clear as day, be that didn't mean he was just going to sit on the side lines. Rider, Berserker and the two Knight Classes were their best chance against Saber right now, so it was up to Caster to clear away the other threats and make sure they could focus on the strongest servant of the grail war.

As Archer stepped from the circle, weapon forming in his hand, James watched him mutter to himself as if unhappy with the class in which he had been summoned and raised an eyebrow, but didn't press him with a question. It wasn't his business, and as long as it doesn't interfere with his performance he honestly didn't care. Still, he'd rather not have himself or any of the other Masters shot just yet. As the servant stepped close and voiced his concern, James took a long drag of his cigarette before blowing out a long trail of smoke and flicking the loose ash from the end of it.

"Long Story Short, everyone here wants revenge against the same person, so we stole his catalysts and fucked up his plan to orchestrate a grail war to increase his standing in the Magi Community as a show of 'skill'. Once we've summoned the rest of the servants, we'll fight the war as normal and then share the wish equally by group vote, or something like that... That's the plan anyway, but I've got my own. Once the fighting starts, We're gonna track down the masked bastard we stole all of this from and then use your power as a Servant to slaughter him, his allies and anyone else that gets in our way, and then throw their corpses into fucking Loch Ness... If you're cool with that."

His voice ran with aggression and anger towards Ayondale, but he didn't raise his voice at all, instead remaining at an aggressive speaking tone. He turned his head towards Archer as he spoke the last few words, not entirely sure he was even going to give the servant a choice in the matter. He was just a weapon after all, not his friend, although he could be considered his pseudo-partner. Lightly he shook his head to clear the train of thought as he turned his head in the opposite direction to watch the remaining servants being summoned. While they certainly weren't what he had expected of Heroic Spirits, between Rider's unexpected accent and Assassin's hyperactive personality, neither were particularly important compared to the seventh and final Summon: Saber.

Taking a final drag before flicking his still smouldering cigarette into the damp grass of the castle courtyard, James beckoned Archer to follow him as he moved closer to the forming crowd, close enough to see but far enough that he wasn't absorbed by the mass of bodies, only for them both witness a result he hadn't expected, but admittedly hadn't discarded as a possibility. He turned to look at Archer with a raised eyebrow, silently asking for the french assassin's opinion as he began to formulate his own answer. The other circles had worked fine, so it probably wasn't that, and Leon himself couldn't have been the problem, considering even the kid with the burning eyes, Olympia or something, was able to summon her Servant and had she the Od capacity of his left foot. The chant, maybe? No, it was almost identical to the others, with only minor phrasing differences... Had the Saber Class already been summoned? But the other 6 classes were all present and near by, and the only ones that knew about this kind of thing were Albert's contingent and...

"Shit..."

Ayondale. Albert let out a frantic order and then the sky broke into light.

Mana: 198/210

James reacted quickly by throwing up an Armis shield, absorbing a fraction of the onslaught and protecting himself from the grisly fate of those around him, save for a few of the smaller kids that managed to huddle behind him. He held up the shield for around 3 seconds before grabbing a young girl, maybe 15 at most, by the collar and dragging her towards a more sheltered part of the castle. She never made it more than 2 meters. A renewed wave of spells tore the teen Magi apart as James dived to avoid an errant bolt of lightning, kicking up dirt and scorching the ground. Rolling into a low crouch, his eyes settled on the target of his revenge and sword-wielding figure beside him with a seething rage, growling his name lowly to himself. He cast his eyes over to his servant, quickly formulating an order as he watched the other Servants and Masters scramble into action, a voice confirming his worst theory that Ayondale had already summoned the Knight of the Sword.

"Archer, work with the others and see what you can do about the arsehole with the sword from a distance. I'm going to see if I can gather any survivors and move them over to Sonja's position."

A head of white hair caught his attention and he broke into a run as he weaved across the chaotic battlefield, narrowly avoiding both corpses and spells alike. As she called out in desperation, He recognised her as Morgana Ironholdt, a classmate of his even though they had spoken very little. He sprinted closer to her and grabbed onto her arm as she stumbled, speaking quickly as to avoid being struck in retaliation and hoping that she would recognise his voice.

"Morgana, we need to move, Come on!"

Barely giving her time to respond, he half-guided half-dragged her towards where he had seen the Master of Berserker head towards. His expression was stone cold, but his anger hadn't left him as he ran. Mentally letting loose a string of impressive curses, he glanced back at the man standing atop the hill before his feet began to slow, but not out of his own will. The creeping, blackened sensation of Fear began to crawl over him and he felt his eyes being tugged towards where Saber had stepped onto the battle field. He watched as the bastard Servant severed the head of a girl barely halfway through her teen years and something cried out inside of him. No. NO. He would NOT die like that! He was going to get revenge on Amelia's behalf, he was going to burn everything Ayondale had worked for, he was going to put the man down like a diseased, crippled dog and he was going to survive, damn it! With a defiant roar, James started running again, taking the white-haired girl with him.

They managed to get a fair distance closer to their destination until another nightmare made itself known and the fossilised limbs of Ayondale's undead army broke the ground ahead of them. He jerked them both stop, briefly taking a moment to collect his thoughts before he unslung the Mystic Code from his back. Raising the weapon to his shoulder, he pulled the bolt back before, collecting Mana from the surrounding air, sliding it forward again and loading a 'magic bullet' into the chamber. Lining up the scope with the calcified skull of one of the risen corpses, he gently squeezed the trigger. The compressed Mana shattered the bone like an over-charged Finn shot or a sniper's bullet, and the magical energy animating the corpse burst from what would have been an exit would in a shower of silvery-white mist, a metallic ring accompanying it. Realising the effectiveness of his weapon against the animate corpses, he put his hand on Morgana's shoulder and pointed her towards Sonja had taken refuge.

"When I say 'Go', keep moving in that direction until you hit the wall, or until Sonja gives you an instruction."

Lining up another shot, he took out another corpse before pushing her forward.

"Go!"

His rifle returned smoothly to his grip as he began to destroy Ayondale's bony minions with steely eyes and a small but brutal smirk. He wasted no time in shooting them down; Aim, Fire, Load, Repeat. He continued on for several seconds, until Morgana was more or less clear, before finally turning his attention to the man himself, standing on the hill with a thrice-be-damned smile planted on his face. With a brief grunt of anger, he contemplated taking a shot at him with his Mystic Code but was interrupted by the bony hand of one of the corpses reach towards him. Ducking out of the way, he kicked the shambling pile of bones in retaliation, the steel-capped boots he wearing adding a little more weight to his foot and sending the skeleton stumbling. It began to drag itself up onto its feet, only to bump head-first into the business end of Mana Zero. It have a savage snarl and snapped its jaws once, but the Mana exploded out of the new hole in its head before its teeth could snap closed a second time. Chambering a fresh 'magic bullet', he let the weapon hang loosely at his side as be began the short chant to activate a spell from his repertoire. 'Fly forth and sunder in flames the barriers that impede us. Three times let the fire invite and burn open thy path.'

Over his shoulder, three flame-like projectiles flickered to life before shooting off at the speed of a baseball pitch, towards Ayondale and the Magi that had accompanied him. The projectiles were about 5 feet long and about 1 foot in diameter, shaped like the type of missile you'd find mounted onto a fighter jet or helicopter gunship, and with enough explosive force to leave craters about 2m, maybe 3m in diameter. With a wave of his friend hand, the three missiles shot of towards the older magus, intent of taking him out as early as possible.

Mana: 168/210

Olympia crouched behind the crumbling castle wall and quickly stuffed her slingshot back into it. Waiting for the sound of the explosion, she gathered up some pieces of rubble and stashed them away too, as future ammo for her Elemental Arrows.

All she hoped for was that the Mages would be distracted deflecting the projectile, or maybe even it would disperse some of them and catch Ayondale off balance. It was a longshot... the man was ten times - nay, a hundred times - the Mage that Oly was... it'd be a miracle to even make him break a sweat, or blink.

She glanced over to Daedalus, Berserker, and Rider, as they begun their assault on her former Professor. They were powerful, much more powerful than she had ever imagined. It was a wonder to no one that they were worthy of the title Heroic Spirit. Caster was probably pretty confused as to why all the Servants had been summoned at once... she'd just have to explain later; there wasn't any time at the present.

From the tree line, she saw the burst of light, felt the wave of heat, and heard the detonation of her Firestorm Arrow, and peaked over the ridge to survey the aftermath. If she had gotten it right, some of their forces should have been scattered, at the very least.

What she laid her eyes upon, instead, made her sick to her stomach. A small crater sat where the piece of rubble had landed. The area around it was scorched, and the heat had begun to crisp some of the leaves on nearby trees. Her gaze scanned flicked across Ayondale's smiling face, but quickly flicked back to what she had first and only zeroed in on.

The charred, bloodied corpses of the two Magi she had killed, missing limbs, and lifeless. The moment she saw them her body froze, stuck in a paralytic mix of fear and shock intertwined like a cocktail. Her heart stopped, and she fell backwards onto her knees, wide eyed, mouth agape, trembling and utterly, deathly silent.

The thought crossed Olympia's mind once again. She had... she had just killed two people, two real humans, without thinking. It wasn't in cold blood, it wasn't unwarranted. They had killed her comrades. She had friends from Ayondale's classes in the group... people she had personally convinced and recommend to join the fight. People who she had gotten killed...

The moment that thought struck her she doubled over, clutching her stomach with both hands as she bent forth and threw up. She hadn't eaten much at all in the recent hours, just drank, and so what spewed forth was warm, foul tasting liquid that spewed from her mouth and dripped from her lips, accompanied by the sound of retching that made the girls head go numb.

She looked up just in time to see the corpses of the students rise from the dead. Her eyes locked onto someone she knew to be her friend... they clambered to their feet, coated in dirt and blood, partially encased in a fungus of mud that hardened into bone under the Professors abhorrent magic. Olympia had always despised Necromancy, but this... the sight made her reel forward again, and cough up more of her remaining stomach contents onto the floor.

With a cough, the girl glanced to the side, and caught side of another girl, running towards a wall within running distance. That was Morgana... the blind girl of the group. Olympia choked slightly, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. The vomiting hadn't given her time to cry. From her bag she fished out a fresh tshirt, and wiped her mouth with it. She couldn't... let herself become weak now... they could mourn later.

She watched as one of the other Master's grabbed her and pulled her along, and prepared to run after them. She couldn't remember who exactly it was, but if memory served her correctly, he was the Master of Archer. Quickly, she slung her bag around her shoulder, glanced behind herself at the Saber Servant, and took off in a sprint across the field towards the two.

"Caster..." she thought, directing the message to her Servant, "I'm helping one of the other Master's out of here. I'll explain everything later, just do what you can and get out as soon as you can."

Olympia ran up beside James, and turned back to look at the carnage they had left in their wake. The bodies, the zombies, the Servants, the devastation... it was all too much. She hesitated to say something, and instead turned her head and ran past him, towards Morgana, hoping to guide her towards Sonja as best she could.

Beside her, she took hold of her hand, ignoring any issues the girl might have had with it.
"Morgana? I-it's Oly." she said, clasping the girl's hand tightly, "J-just follow me, okay? I'll help you out of here." though Morgana couldn't see it, you could almost hear the smile in her voice, however strained. She wanted to curl up and cry in a ball, but this wasn't the time nor place.

Comrade in hand, she took off in a run, making sure to keep at a pace Morgana could keep up with as to not trip her up, and guided her, to the best of her abilities, to their other compatriot, to make their escape. All she hoped was that the others would be alright...

Ilse Koenig

Opening Act

---

When the light of the circle faded into night, when the roaring winds died into a gently flowing breeze and the courtyard was rendered still and silent for the briefest of moments, Ilse caught her first glimpse of the legend she had made manifest. Once they had readjusted to the dark, Highland night, red eyes took in the image of the figure astride the large white stallion with a grimness that made them seem not unlike pools of blood in their being. Unlike her so-called peers, there was no awestruck babbling or stunned silence; there was simply a single thought that crossed her mind at the sight of such a legendary soul:

The Servant she had summoned was short.

’I had heard that Servants were larger than life, but it appears they were not larger in life,’ Ilse thought, tilting her head to the side to steal a glance at its sides. A single monofilament wire shot out from her clothes, and quickly retracted after aligning itself with Rider, having measured her like it was tape. The Servant was even shorter than Ilse was. ’Evidently the principles of regression do not apply to height,’ she slipped her glove back on, concealing her Command Spells from view, ’Regardless... Let us see what you have to offer, Servant Rider.’

In an instant, her vision was overlaid by her Grail-granted Master’s clairvoyance, visually rendering her Servant’s parameters in a manner personal to her. A statue representing the Rider class Servant appeared in her mind’s eye. The base upon which it stood was divided into six sections, each tier representing a parameter and the constitution of each tier a different metal to represent the strength of that parameter. Though her analysis of her own Servant was largely incomplete and the base parameters, while nothing to scoff at, tended to even out when considered holistically, the average rank of its Noble Phantasms was particularly notable, shining with a brilliant gold rather than the silvers and irons that formed the majority of the foundation. The analytic quickly faded out, replaced by the image of Rider on horseback once more.

’It will be sufficient, I suppose - though her provincial inflection is irksome,’ Ilse decided after a moment’s thought. The stats were acceptably above average; so as long as the Servant’s skills and Noble Phantasms were useful, there was nothing to complain about - save for the fact that the army summoning function she had been aiming for was clearly not going to be present. How disappointing it was that she couldn’t simply have her Servant activate an unfair and grossly overpowered Noble Phantasm to wipe out all of Arieh Ayondale’s hope and chances of survival. But just as it was the purpose of an alchemist to refine base materials, it seemed she would have to make a point of wringing the potential out of this Servant - no great loss, doing so was always on the itinerary.

“Ah, my apologies Rider,” Ilse curtsied, the tone of her voice suggestive of an experienced courtier. If there had been any surprise that the Genghis Khan she had summoned had emerged from the summoning circle as a woman who spoke like she was a mere street thug, it was not in her tone or bearing. “I seem to have been lost in thought for a moment - I am indeed the one who will serve as your Master for the duration of this Holy Grail War.”

Ilse turned and gestured to the rest of the courtyard, taking the opportunity to view the rest of their number under her clairvoyance. Like diamonds in the rough, scintillating golds and gleaming silvers outshined the base metals, the dull coppers, irons and leads. Most notably, two Servants - Lancer and Caster - bore Noble Phantasm tiers of white stone. Ilse might have considered it unfair, had the former’s Master not been blind, and had the latter not been Caster of all classes - and a Caster who was not even a magus at that.

Ilse’s vision returned to normal as she continued, seamlessly: “Do not mind them. They are no threat to you, or myself.”

Suddenly, light shone and wind filled the courtyard as yet another Servant was called to the fray; this time it was a woman with green hair who reminded Ilse vaguely of her mother. The unhinged expression and murderous impulse were dead ringers for the obsessed Koenig matriarch, and the likeness was only reinforced in her mind by the nitpicking and demands that followed. ’Troublesome,’ Ilse thought, ’But ultimately irrelevant.’

A quick assessment of Assassin’s parameters displayed nothing notable, so Ilse turned her attention to the final candidate, the American with the Round Table shard. Regardless of Regression, if there was a catalyst that she would have preferred, it was the Round Table shard. A Saber Class Servant’s base parameters and highly ranked Magic Resistance would easily annihilate the brunt of Ayondale’s defenses, and the Knights of the Round Table were each powerful heroes - and would no doubt make top-class Servants.

However, the subsequent summoning carried no bright light nor mighty wind - in fact, to call it a summoning at all would be a grave misnomer. ’Hm. Perhaps I should consider this is a lesson in contention?’ Ilse thought, watching the ritual circle fizzle out for the second time. Her expression was blank and nonjudgmental; their failures did not bear on her purpose in the least. ’I should be thankful that my Servant had answered when it did, regardless of her... increasingly evident social issues.‘

Though, the boy’s subsequent crisis of faith gave Ilse pause. She placed a hand to her chin, considering the supposed source of American’s angst with what she had researched of the Grail War’s mechanics.

Unworthy of the Grail? No, impossible. Joining a Holy Grail War was a painfully simple process, one that fools and beasts could accomplish with ease. While the people around her could be considered either of those terms by the standards of Clock Tower magi, Ilse didn’t think that any of them individually could be that pathetic - especially not the appointed Masters. So while the boy’s despair could be considered definitely idiotic, idiocy or “worth” as it were, was not a deciding factor; as long as the Grail considered an individual a potential candidate, they were eligible for a Servant.

But if that was the case, then there was only one reason that this could have occurred.

“...!”

Ilse’s body jerked from side to side, avoiding the hailfire of magical attacks by dint of her Mystic Code’s autonomous reactions. Ten, thirty, seventy, one hundred magi emerged from the treeline, slinging spells with impunity, cutting down students like scythes through wheat. Fortunately, both Master and Servant were largely nonplussed by this ensuing carnage - far less than could be said for the rest of their number. It was almost baffling how ill-prepared they were for these consequences, Hadn’t the Prelati child explained the risks clearly enough? Clearly not, because it appeared everyone was making a big deal over something that couldn’t be changed.

No, the real tragedy here was that these deaths couldn’t be put to use.

There is an old saying that all magi walk with death. For the conventional magi, this refers to the risks associated with their research - unforeseen side effects, cutthroat rivals, Sealing Designation Enforcers, Counter Guardians, and so on. For those learned in the arts of necromancy, it was something else. Not a statement of fact, but a warning.

All would die, all would return to the Spiral of Origin, and the process would repeat itself, ad infinitum. At some point in the process, perhaps a necromancer would harvest your corpse or bind your spirit. Those fortunate enough to serve under a benevolent master may reach some measure of resolution through their new purpose; the unfortunate ones were little more than mindless husks of those they used to be. With such a grim outlook constantly rearing its head, it was all too easy for even necromantic dabblers to fall into a sort of nihilistic despair.

But there was purpose to life, and because there was purpose in life, so too must there be purpose for death. Perhaps it was because of Ilse’s unique situation that she understood and resonated with this fact well. And it was assuredly because of this fact that an existence without “worth” was an offense most detestable.

“Flame Eyes,” Ilse called out across the battlefield, withdrawing her argent Azoth Sword from the confines of her coat, “Cremate the corpses of your fellows, lest they join Ayondale’s ranks in un-life.”

The death of any one of the front-line Servants would disrupt their anti-Saber formation, ergo, to defeat Ayondale meant ensuring the survival of Berserker’s Master, Lancer’s Master and herself. Of those three, the most vulnerable was the Master of Lancer. From atop Rider’s steed, Ilse surveyed the battlefield, seeking out the Blind Ironholdt. She quickly located the patch of stark white. It seemed the Master of Lancer was attempting to negotiate a wall.

…Of course she was. How utterly expected.

At any rate, it seemed as if there were other Masters there to ensure her continued survival, so Ilse would entrust to them the duty of ensuring one of the cornerstones of their strategy did not falter. Clustering so many Masters in one place was just asking for trouble, and loathe as she was to admit it, the framework of the Gunslinger’s modern Mystic Code made for dreadfully efficient killing. It was, of course, still a grossly degenerate piece of work.

“Servant Rider, if you cannot eliminate him at this juncture, locate me, escape, and put offensive pressure on Ayondale’s camp. Your class is the fleetest of them all, Saber will prioritize his Master’s safety, and there are few subtle magical defenses known to modern magi that can fend against an attack from a Servant,” Ilse instructed, lifting her foot up to the seat of the saddle, pulling herself into a crouch supported by Rider’s form, ”I shall leave the responsibility of fending off Saber to you and your ilk. I will strike down the Master.”

She leapt off of Tseneglegch. At the same time, silver wire shot out from the hem of her clothes and embedded themselves into the castle turrets. Though it was not within the autonomous parameters, a simple command made sure that aiming was left to the spiritual system implanted in her Mystic Code; she was confident they would not err from the optimal trajectory. Next, they rapidly reeled her in, removed their makeshift anchors and launched her skywards.

Ascending above the battlefield, a set of wires formed into four magical circles around her and began siphoning mana from the environment.

‘The scales are found wanting.‘

There were a few serene moments as the last of her momentum was expended, as she was suspended, almost weightless above the battlefield. The silver circles twisted inward, forming into a fourfold array of long helix arrows, each hanging above Ayondale’s position by a thread like Damocles swords.
_{The sentence is executed.}
“All processes complete: Component materials, reinforced. Wireframe, altered. Magical energy, charged.“

Ilse directed her Azoth Blade downward; the magic circles followed.
_{Let justice be done.}
“Targets acquired.”

The four arrows, empowered by magical energy, descended upon Ayondale and three of the magi positioned closest to him.

Locusta the Poisoner

Interacting with @Turboshitter

Locusta was breathing steadily. Reinfined and dignified she gave off that hint of professionalism that she wanted. Something that she herself had practiced so many times even before coming to the holy roman empire in order to sell her services. Though she almost burst out laughing to her masters undignified and bewildered response only just barely managing to keep a straight face but she kept her mouth shut. Her mind however was rolling around in hysterics. She was never gonna let her master live this one down. Though she might of let him live it down after she used it once against him... but nope! he just had to go and call her the short straw. Locusta the poisoner.
The short straw.

Locusta.

Short Straw.

Well it could be safe to say that her master wasn't going to be getting any slack from her until he apologised for his actions of calling her esteemed occupation worse then a saber. All a Saber is, is a namby pamby stuck up brat be they male or female that just so happens to be noble or wield a sword well. It was completely unfair to call them good. Since at the end of the day servants are killing machines and no one. No one was a better killer then Locusta except maybe that other poisoner girl... Well they weren't here so it didn't matter.

At the very least the other selection of servants looked passable. She just hoped someone summoned Nero under the class of Saber. That'd be great to see her old friend again in the modern era. They could go drinking and stuff and Locusta could get back to her almost schoolgirl antics of trying to impress her. Ah... That would be heaven.

But Locusta never gets what she wants...

---

When everything had gone to shit in such a short time. Locusta could only smile in a sort of almost psychotic way. Oh she hated fighting, but the spectacle of bloodshed was something she loved to watch perhaps she spent too much time spectating in the Flavian Amphitheatre. Still... This wasn't even choreographed and neither were the victims criminals. It was a pretty disgusting display compared to what she saw. So as quickly as the smile appeared on her face, it faded and was replaced with a look of clear disgust. Not because of the fact people were dying but because of the way they were dying.

She flexed her grip on her hand-held sickle as she was just about to charge in to give the master of Saber a certain lesson on the etiquette of slaughter and she was just about to run in as well and at the very least give the master a certain unbearable amount of pain for as long as he lived. That'd be a fitting punishment for a man so keen to slaughter after all. It's something Locusta would give herself if she had to fight herself at some point.

She brushed away the strands of green hair falling over her eyes as they widened in response to the telepathic order her master had gave her. He wanted her to play the messenger and inform everyone. Oh good that'll be great. Time was off the essence however and as Locustas form appeared to fade into nothingness she began moving under presence concealment. Invisible to all but the keenest observer her translucent form moving throughout the battlefield.

She paused only for a moment to finish of an impaled child who was writhing in agony lightly placing something into the child's mouth in order to grant them a painless death something that acted much faster then any injury could ever kill. She'd make no comment on this. This wasn't a killing, this was a gift to the unnamed child in order to grant them the solace of death.

---

Interacting with @vancexentan
She kept going moving up to the closest master... well failure of a master as she unveiled herself. She toned down the murderous intent just a little, since her master had made it clear she couldn't kill these people. She toned up her show-women nature. Keeping her voice low she began her little recital. "How you doing boy, why the long face? Its a battlefield though I gotta tell you its time to race to a inn in inverness, Here is an address" She said as she quickly whispered the address her master had told her. "Now don't digress get fleeing now and maybe you'll stay alive. Ta-ta~!" She said to the failure of a mage as she backed away back to maneuver through the battlefield and the bodies.

---

Interacting with @Shadow Daedalus

Locusta hummed as she waltzed over under presence concealment granting a swift death to any magus she passed that weren't on the list of people she wasn't allowed to kill as she walked silently behind the master with the gun. "Oh my what a lovely weapon of destruction." Locusta said behind him as she gripped his shoulders in order to make she he was holding his weapon steady while she offloading her information. Inverness, Address, Get the hell out now and after she had finished offloading the details she disappeared back into presence concealment with a "Toodaloo~!"

---

Interacting with: @Vocab,@vFear and Morgana (Myself)

Locusta was finishing up her rounds and the second to last was a group of three masters so lovely wrapped up togather in a package. An obviously blind girl afflicted with albinism, the oldest girl and by extension the oldest master and girl whom looked like she'd almost fit into any crowd due to how plain she looked in appearance.

Locusta unvieled herself in front of all them. "Hey girls, enjoying the bloodbath. I know I am as this isn't my first foray into excessive amounts of bloodshed. Personally this isn't as fun as it could be without a crowd and stuff. Hell if you three existed during my time I would take you all to the amphitheatre for us to all have a good time watching slaves die horribly anywho I am getting distracted. Inverness, This address, Get out now~ See you girls later!" She said as she backed away from the group with a little hair twirl as she didn't even bother with presence concealment as she sprinted over back to the last master.

---

Interacting with @Grey

"Hi, Tavern, Inverness." Locusta said quickly yet only so the master to the side of her heard. Locusta repeated the address a final time before asking a rather interesting question. "Is that rider's natural hair color?" she said staring at the fighting servant alongside the servants master. "Nevermind I'll ask her later. See you at the escape point~" Locusta said with her last florish as she dropped back into presence concealment.

---

Interacting with a certain master of saber.

Pandemonium. The constant twists and turns of the battlefield as Locusta made her way back towards her master though she was making a rather roundabout way moving towards the master of saber from behind him while he was distracted with other servants. As she appeared behind him. "Step away from my master... or I'll have to kill you" She said grinning as she stepped forward with her blade her eyes gleaming with a murderous intent.

Leon froze as suddenly a servant appeared next to him. His immediate thought was to conjure his water hands in an attempt to stay alive but then the servant summoned by Albert stopped and tried to console him. "I failed at summoning anyone. Suffice to say my purpose, and reason for being here is significantly reduced." Leon said bitterly as he looked at the servant with indifference now that he knew that she wasn't here to murder him for the sake of tying up loose ends. "Alright I'll head there take care of yourself servant. I'll make my way there. I suppose I should thank you so yeah thanks." Leon said he breathed in deeply and the servant vanished behind him. He memorized the address, and according to the maps he had read before heading here the location wouldn't be impossible to flee to if he went there with full haste. Leon exhaled as he raised his hands, "Four winds guide me form a path to the world I seek to go to." Leon called out using his wind manipulation spell in order to lift himself off the ground. It burnt through some of his mana, and it would continue to do so until he got to the end of the lake but it would be negligible if he could get there fast enough. The candle the burnt twice as bright did not last as long and the same applied to mana. His instinct drove at him telling him to survive this whole event. He spit on the ground before hovering himself quickly across the lake as fast as he could. It wasn't a fast thing as he was carrying a full adult male rather than a rock, or a book. But if he couldn't hold himself aloft he wouldn't be much of a wind mage.

Leon forced himself to maintain focus it was hard but he could not fail and end up wet like a dog. He considered using his water manipulation but that would be even more troublesome to make ice strong enough to hold him, and then disperse when he was done with it. But eventually Leon did reach the other side his clothes disheveled, and dirty. He remembered he had failed to grab his catalyst....that couldn't be right....wait he had it still? Leon stopped and just now noticed he was grasping it firmly in his free hand. He remembered back to the ambush...his first instinct was to run but he supposed he must've also blown the piece of the round table near him when he fled and must've grabbed it by instinct as well. He was lucky that he was so self conscious of his own surroundings. If he had left that thing back there...Leon couldn't even fathom the depth of his failure if he did that. Still with the winds still as his back Leon put his feet on the ground and began the brisk run he would have to endure on his way to the inn.

---

Lancer was rather bemused. Other magi surrounded them, a few of them seeming to be Masters as well. As they began to summon their own Servants, Lancer armed himself with a silvery spear inscribed in religious symbols, glowing faintly with holy power. A beautifully bejeweled helmet appeared on Lancer's head as well, glowing with magic, a shroud of light cloaking Lancer like armor. A piece of armor unique enough to be considered one of his own Noble Phantasms.



If this was all a battle royale, then Lancer had to locate his Master fast, and bring her to safety, and he needed all the protection he could muster.



Due to being summoned with his skill, Lancer had to choose between a set of effects. While he would choose to boost the effects of his holy sacraments in order to increase the power of both his spear and armor, that would also mean that accursed spear would also take hold of him easily, as well... Perhaps if he boosted his Charisma, he will be able to convince the others not to fight eachother? ... No, the situation is far too unique to call for a boost to his already high ranking in the skill. Right now, and especially given the circumstances, there is only one selection that would make sense if he is to fight such a defensive battle so soon...



...

Lancer looked to one that happened to be his Master, a bit annoyed, although keeping his stoic composure. While he would correct her on how one must assure a contract is made in order to ensure that himself, as a Servant, is serving the correct Master, Lancer instead bit his tongue. He'll have to serve his rather... impatient Master for the time being. Her being blind will be quite the problem, as well.

"... Very well. Then I, a Heroic Spirit brought fourth as one of the Knight classes, will fight for you." Lancer simply said, giving a regal bow. While he would normally kneel, the circumstances regarding where he was summoned would require him to keep his guard, standing in front of his Master and watching the other Servants carefully as they each appeared.

Berserker, Caster, Rider, Archer, Assassin. But no Saber?



The Lance spoke to him again, feeding him visions of a battlefield full of corpses. Not of the Servants, but... the magi surrounding the castle?

---

---

The attack happened at an instant. Flashes of light raining down on the group surrounding Lancer and the other Servants. It was no real issue for Lancer, however, especially with how his Master was already brought away to safety by what seemed to be the other Masters. Even then, Lancer's incredible speed and practical immunity to magecraft allowed him to stay relatively safe from this sudden bombardment. All in all, Lancer was not afraid of the attacking magi.

The Saber-class Servant, on the other hand...

---

---

How dare he? How dare he? How dare does this Servant, this knight of the sword, proclaim the word of the Lord, Lancer's own words, committing such a profane act? Saber must be taught a lesson. He must be shown that he cannot simply mince Lancer's own words into his own pagan show of prowess. Saber will be brought down to his knees. Saber will be defeated at this moment. Lancer's... allies have already rushed in, attacking Saber and his army of the dead brought forth by Ayondale, the apparent Master of Saber. Berserker and Rider began to attack Saber himself, with just about everyone including his own Master requesting for Lancer's aide.

And Lancer was happy to oblige.



Lancer zipped through the bone army at extreme speeds, accurate strikes from his spear smashing in to the skulls of whatever was unfortunate enough to stand in his path, the blessings of his weapon possibly empowering his attacks against the undead, whose nature was unnatural to many, and blasphemous to the very Church he served in his lifetime. His movement was unnatural, even for a Servant, as if he was blessed by some sort of higher power, a faint radiance surrounding his body. Using his agility and burst of speed, he dodged through many of the attacks directed at him, his bleseed armor taking the few blows that Lancer wasn't able to avoid, himself. If Lancer were to be fighting against normal humans, his attacks would indeed paint the battlefield scarlet with their splattered remains. In this case, however, only a trail of shattered bones had been made.

And soon, Lancer had thrown his spear for his target. Not for Saber, but for the magus who happened to be Saber's Master. Lancer had cut a path through their summoned army with the goal of finding an opening to attack Saber's Master while Saber was confined by two other Servants. If his spear struck true, then it would have ended the battle then and there. And if not? Then another opening for his allies to attack Saber has been made.

Location: Urquhart Castle, Scotland.
Interacting with: James Hartnet @Shadow Daedalus; Saber of Black @Turboshitter; Arieh Ayondale @Turboshitter.
Magical energy: 600 out of 600 → 592 out of 600.

After the situation was explained to him, Archer was initially silent; his expression was still, offering no visible reaction to his young master. A moment later, his expression cracked into a faint smile, before erupting into a gentle laugh as he eased his stance.
"Oh heavens, you rascals; kidnapping the grail war out of spite." As he eased his stance, he relaxed his hand, his carbine vanishing into thin air as he did. "But it would certainly be a waste not to make the most of it. Yes, I'll help you, boy." He shifted to take a spot besides his master, standing at his flank with a pair of perceptive eyes. If nothing else, the grail war was going to be a unique one, and.. in some ways, he did sympathize with the young magi.

Naturally, due course proceeded. More servants arrived, more masters made their introductions, and each time Archer looked over not only the servants, but their masters. Quietly, he considered his first impressions on each one, occasionally pursing his lips or shifting his weight in thought. Every other time, he reminded himself that it didn't really matter - being more of a protest than a war, by the sounds of it. That is, until the final summoning lingered. As his master quietly glanced towards him, he offered an uncertain 'hmm' in response.
"I can't sense anything, at least..." he explained, closing his eyes as he focused on his perception. All seemed well enough - seven servants, seven masters, everything should be in order-

"Wait, master-!" As Archer shouted his warning, the treeline came to life. From one end to the other, far and wide, several different hues of the rainbow spontaneously appeared before spewing towards them. As he lifted his right hand, his carbine appearing back between his fingers, he cocked his left to throw his master aside; fortunately, it appeared it wasn't needed, as his master was quick enough to respond of his own accord. Throughout the volley, he stood firmly behind his masters shield, training his aim on a nondescript prominent magus throughout. "It appears he has a sense of dramatic timing about him..." he commented, through a set of gritted teeth. It appeared that things wouldn't be that simple.

Archer looked to his master for instruction, and the instruction promptly came.
"Leave it to me." he confirmed simply, before erupting forward in a broad stride. To his right, he noted Berserker rushing to meet Saber, while Caster worked his magic and Rider stormed Saber's other flank. In raw numbers, they had the advantage, although it was a fools mistake to underestimate any Saber - let alone one with an assembly of elite magus at their back. After seizing a spot beneath the ramparts, Archer lifted his carbine to take aim. Berserker dashed and danced with Saber, making a direct shot difficult, where Archer briefly bided his time; until eventually, the opportunity presented itself. As if taking any other shot in the world, the sequence began: twist, burn, and with a cloud of smoke: a thunderous bang.

Archer wasn't particulary worried about the mages; not only was he a servant, but he had some - if minimal - magic resistance. It was when the masked man on the hill began to work, the very same man mentioned by his master, that he got worried. It was as the undead burst from the ground, assembling about the slaughtered fledgling magus, that a seed of horror grew in his gut.
"Abominations..." Archer muttered, shifting his attention to a pair of skeletons before him: "Par la grâce de Dieu, que ces âmes affligées trouvent la miséricorde..." After sending a shot into each one in sequence, he shifted his aim for the necromancer himself: "Accordez-moi le pouvoir de juger les méchants dans votre nom épineux." With that, he fired once again, sending a shot for Ayondale himself: hoping to, if not remove the master of Saber early, stretch him thin enough to allow a better chance of retreat.

---

---

Location: Urquhart Castle, Scotland.
Interacting with: Berserker of Red @MeteorD; the other Masters of Red.
Magical energy: 177 out of 180 → 147 out of 180.

Sonja stood firm as the others began their way towards her. She cast a glance for her blind companion, concerned for her welfare, to find another was guiding her. Her own Berserker slammed into the enemy Saber, to the cast of sparks and fire alike, while both Rider, Archer and Caster engaged as their strengths would dictate. There was no doubt about it: it was a sheer defeat, but they might yet escape with their lives. For now - even as she snuck a glance at Ayondale, feeling wrath burning in the pit of her stomach - that was all that mattered. Some control was returning to them, so the odds were looking good-

Undead burst from the ground, taking up arms from their own corpses. Sonja, eyes initially widening in some form of fear, let out an irritated 'tch'. While the undead were surely no match for a servant, they may very well be a match for a fleeing magus. Pulling back Berserker so early would give Saber room to breathe, so that was out of the question. In this moment, she concluded the time for preserving Od was over. As she pushed up her left sleeve, her command seal coming into plain view, she steeled her expression and pressed herself up against the archway that was her escape route.
"Nepažįsti mano vardo, bet mano darbų, nes tai darbai, kuriuos sukursime šiandien:"

As Sonja began her incantation, she lifted her left arm and presented her palm towards the battlefield. Not unlike the summoning, she lifted her other hand to brace, but this time a light poked out from the cuff of her pushed up sleeve: her family crest, thrumming with a surge of Od.
"Prieš mane stovi priešas, ir aš nekaltuosi vieni."
She muttered the words in almost native Lithuanian, gently twisting her wrist and flexing her fingers as she went. Following on from her fingers, dull blue twirls of Od formed a circle, bearing an aged crest in its center.
"Mano girliandos valia ir apribojimai duok man grifono galią. Laikyk mano valią ir nugalėk mano priešus, ir tai žinau, kad tu esi didis darbas."

The circle created by Sonja's fingers abruptly warped into a ball, not unlike an odd-cut diamond. Abruptly, it expanded in size - as if something was trying to burst out of it, as if it was an egg containing a creature ten times its size - before it expanded again, and yet a third time. Conclusively, with a brilliant shatter, a beast erupted forward: a greater familiar in the shape of a griffin, spreading its wings wide and rearing its head up. After quickly coming to its senses, it began a routine of dashing and speeding about the field in its mindless pursuit of its primal directives: kill the undead, protect the other students, and evade the mages attacks.

"Over here, quickly! Berserker, begin a fighting retreat! We're all leaving!" Sonja called to the others - both those coming towards her and to her servant, holding the front line. As she turned to take a few jogging steps, leading the way from her memory of the castle's layout, her thoughts briefly touched on her command seals. Dread began to settle into the pit of her stomach: if Berserker had gone mad, she would surely have to use a command seal to pull him out. She tried not to think about it - to instead focus on the present, their immediate escape.

---

"My my, what lovely fireworks tonight," Ayondale mused, chuckling as various projectiles blazed a path through the air toward him. He waved a hand. A gaggle of four, perhaps five or six skeletons quickly jumped in their path and exploded, leaving little remaining except severed limbs that continued to crawl and jawbones that clacked and clattered in silent protest.

"You'll have to do better than that, children," he said mockingly.

The Clocktower professor scanned the battlefield around him. Everywhere he cared to look, people were injured or dying. After the latest attack by the Servants, they'd lost nearly a quarter of the magi they'd brought with them, and over half of the skeletons he'd so graciously provided Richard with. Men and women lay crushed, exploded, impaled by giant bronze swords even. Some of them, against all logic, appeared to have been shot with an antique pistol. That'd be Archer's doing then.

Ayondale calmly assessed the battlefield, deciding which of his next moves would be best for forcing the children to retreat. Even with the damage done to their forces, it'd still be all too trivial to drive inexperienced whelps like them off. That all changed when Lancer threw his spear.

Ayondale's eyes widened as he saw the Servant adopting the proper posture and taking aim downhill, his Reinforced reflexes barely catching just the opening move of the Servant's deft surprise attack. The spear flew with incomparable speed like lightning, growing wide in his eyes as it slowly encompassed his field of vision. Soon that brilliant spear was all Ayondale could see, and finally, he panicked.

Saber!

---

Richard's body heeded his Master's command without so much as thinking, teleporting across space and through time in a bout of instantaneous movement. Such was the power of a Command Seal capable of mimicking True Magic. But... he only arrived in time to take the blow for Ayondale.

Lancer's spear plunged deep into Saber's heart, pushing him yards back and forcing him to dig his heels into the dirt just to remain upright after such a blow. Then without pause, magical bullets ripped bloody giblets out of his living flesh, peppering his chest with even more holes than before. Saber doubled over, fighting to remain standing as blood gushed out of him like a river. Coughing, vomiting, bleeding from every hole, he leaked blood like a punctured wineskin.

Everyone went quiet.

---

Arieh Ayondale snarled as one of the crimson Command Seals flared to life, then faded to nought but an ugly bruise on his palm. As he began to realize what had just happened, Albert couldn't help but laugh.

"Heheh... heh..." he giggled nervously. "Hahaha... ahahaha!"

Ayondale's face contorted in fury. "Why you... you damn brats! ... I'll-!"

He suddenly found the curved blade of a sickle mere inches from his throat, held ever so slightly at bay as if to threaten him. The esteemed professor eyed the blade critically, his lip curling into a disgusted sneer.

"Ah yes, Assassin. Of course the boy would summon only the lowliest of classes to fight for him. My dear, I find it difficult to imagine how I might 'back away' from your Master when he and I are nowhere near close to each other. Might I point out as well that he and these other little rats antagonized me first and not the other way around?"

Albert was shocked at Assassin's boldness, even more shocked by the utter annihilation of Saber, but still just about jumped for joy when he saw that she'd somehow managed to get Ayondale dead-to-rights in the midst of the chaos.

Yes! You're amazing, ma chère! he cheered mentally.

He added the little french fancy without meaning to. It was hard to contain his excitement in a moment like this. His heart felt like it could burst out of his chest! They'd actually killed Saber and captured Ayondale! He couldn't have asked for more! Though, he was a little disappointed that his strategy was no longer needed...

Touching the tip of the sickle with a cautious, prickling finger, Ayondale lightly pushed the weapon away with his gloved hand. Just enough to make it comfortable to breathe.

"Well, I applaud you for at least having the sense to not just try and kill me immediately like these other fools, as I'm afraid that would have had some rather... unfortunate consequences for everyone involved. You and the boy would've almost certainly lost your lives by Richard's blade before his time on this Earth ceased, and I of course would be dead. Hardly ideal for any of us," he said, pushing the blade back and forth as if it were little more than a toy to distract himself with.

"Pffft," Albert snorted dismissively. "I find zat 'ard to believe, now zat 'e's been turned into a human pincushion."

"Of course, you will still die," Ayondale said, ignoring him, "but I'm offering you the chance to extend that deadline by a few days. Certainly someone who's died once already can appreciate the value of that offer? Now then, remove your blade and back away slowly, and perhaps Richard and I will let the two of you live."

Albert sneered back at him. "You should take a closer look at where you stand before you start making 'ollow threats. We killed your Servant. What could you possibly..."

He trailed off as his eyes caught movement happening just out of sight. Had Saber just twitched?

Suddenly, everyone eyed the upright corpse suspiciously. It shifted suddenly, spasming the way most corpses do. Blood shook off it in thick, congealing clumps. Pregnant moments passed as they all watched carefully, trying to determine just how dead this Servant really was. He hadn't disappeared yet...

"James," Albert said, gulping. "'Ave Archer shoot 'im again? Just to make sure-"

Saber disappeared. Not peacefully, not in a shower of sparkles or technicolor particle effects. The space where he used to be seemed to just explode. Suddenly, the Servant appeared behind Lancer. With a kick too swift to follow with human eyes, the zombie Servant's leg crashed into Lancer's ribs and sent the weaponless man flying into the brick and mortar of the castle walls.

Firmly grasping the shaft of Lancer's spear, Richard pulled the massive weapon from his chest with a pained grunt and a shout of exertion. The weapon clanged to the ground, leaving a hole a thumb's width across in Saber's chest that you could almost see right through.

"I think you'll find..." the blood-soaked man gasped, panting as he leaned over to pick up the spear, "... that this was very ill-advised."



A sudden weight descended on the battlefield, forcing Ayondale's magical legion to their knees. Red marks burned into the necks of every Association magi present, leaving them breathless and choking. Their eyes seemed fixated on Saber. Now wielding both weapons, Richard moved in to resume his attack.

---

Assassin continued to hold her blade steady at Ayondale's throat, despite Saber's miraculous revival. What the hell had just happened?! Ayondale turned his head ever so slightly, just enough to look back at her.

"I'd suggest 'backing off' if I was you," he said casually, seemingly unconcerned for his own safety.

A renewed threat started to grow on Assassin's lips, something like "tell him to stand down" or "it's Saber's head or yours", but her attention was quickly refocused elsewhere as a rustling sound at the edge of the forest made itself heard. The leaves and the trees just behind where Ayondale and his mages had appeared shook slightly, as if disturbed by something. Some animal or hidden attacker. There was no doubt that as a trained killer herself, Assassin's eyes would be there.

They would find, once the tree branches parted, a pale teenage girl (one of many that evening it seemed) walking timidly out of the forest. She looked small in the evening light, and she carried in her arms a large teddy bear, one nearly the same size she was, clinging to it like a child with their security blanket.



"Please... get away from him," she said emotionlessly, her voice lacking much inflection. "Please."

Without waiting for any signs of assent or dissent on Assassin's part, the girl rushed at her with astonishing speed for a human, and swung the oversized teddy bear like she was flinging a sack of potatoes. It was heavy, and rock solid, smashing into Assassin like a bludgeon and shaking her loose from Ayondale. The green-haired Servant came tumbling down the hill, dropping her weapons.

"Father, I'm... sorry I took so long," the girl said robotically, dropping the teddy bear on the ground. "What should I do now?"

Ayondale rubbed his neck where Assassin had kept her blade pointed, breathing deeply and sighing. "Did you bring the zombies?"

"Yes, but... I told them to stay back... unless ordered."

"That's a good girl," Ayondale said, patting the girl on the head. "I want them to know I settled this myself."

She had white hair just like her "father", but her eyes were the same color as Morgana's. Barring the exceptional circumstance of two albinos meeting in such a place, the girl was plainly and clearly a homunculus.

"Now, why don't you get out your toys and play for a little while?" Ayondale suggested. "I'm sure our guests would be happy to see to it that you're... entertained."

The girl nodded, and dropped to her knees without a word. She grasped the raggedy fabric of the teddy bear she'd let fall to the ground and began tearing at it, ripping the defenseless toy open at the back. The teddy bear, it seemed, was stuffed with weapons. Small knives, shortswords, and throwing stars, mostly. And one enormous, "fuck off" axe.

Hoisting the massive weapon over her shoulder with strength that was unnatural for her size, she eyed all the Masters and other potential targets gathered before her. She briefly focused on Ilse, meeting her gaze with an unblinking stare, before deciding the girl was too high up for her to reach. Eventually, her wandering eyes found Daedalus. She took off in a dead run towards the Caster-class Servant, raising the axe high over her head.

Her "father" dusted himself off, returning to his former dignified posture (albeit with a certain restrained anger his stance had previously lacked). All around Ayondale, the magi who'd been stunned into silence by fear, by the Servant's counterattack and the supposed slaying of Richard, moved back into action, raising their hands in preparation to fire off more spells. In total, there seemed to still be at least sixty of them.

"I'll say this again, since you all seem to be hard of hearing," Ayondale said, adjusting his neck. "Run. If not..."

Ayondale reached into his coat pocket, revealing something he had kept hidden there. Something that glowed with a light so bright as to be repugnant. Albert flinched and closed his eyes against it. The light made it impossible to see, but there was no mistaking the nature of the object once you had been touched by that light. The feeling it gave off was that of a Noble Phantasm.

"I'll be forced to use this on you," Ayondale said menacingly. "And we wouldn't want that, would we? Especially not him, I'd imagine."

He let the implied threat speak for itself, letting it linger in the air. What was it? A bomb? Some kind of cursed object or a weapon that could strike instantly while ignoring both speed and distance? Servants could have Noble Phantasms like that. Either way, it seemed lethal, and the aura it gave off was that of a high-class Noble Phantasm. If only they could see what it was...

Only Constantine, in his faith, could have seen what it was. Though he had not the time or the words to express it to everyone else, the object Ayondale held in his hand was a still-beating, human heart. A shape like the cross appeared to be stitched in fabric across its slick surface, and a nail pierced it in the middle. The organ was the source of the light being given off by Ayondale, and it seemed to him in his wisdom to be nothing less than a holy sacrament.

Albert felt his stomach sink as the situation became clear to him. The uncertainty was too great. They couldn't risk it, not without knowing what it was.

Why?Albert thought to himself. Why does 'e 'ave somezing like zat? Where did a man like 'im acquire a Noble Phantasm?!

His mouth dry, swallowing nothing but his words, he quietly told his Servant: Assassin. We need to go. Now.

Wordlessly accepting the professor's offer, shame burning his cheeks, Albert ran to catch up with Morgana, Oly and Sonja. But not before he got one last word in.

"Bind."

The creature that had slowly been forcing its tremendous mass through the underground rabbit's warren burst out from underneath Ayondale, many-eyed tentacles screeching and flailing. They wrapped around him, tightening like steel cable. The professor reacted with shock.

"What?!" He squirmed. "Disgusting little-!"

Any boneless animal could fit through spaces as small as their largest hard body parts. For cephalopods like Albert's Horrors, that meant the teeth and beak. It had taken some time, but eventually his creature had managed to circumnavigate the battlefield unnoticed using the tunnels and dens made by smaller animals.

The thing screamed in an otherworldly voice as it attempted to consume Ayondale in one piece, constricting and inflating around him like a snake crossed with a balloon animal. The mage's Reinforced physique kept it momentarily at bay.

"You think one of these... things is a match for me?!" he yelled, enraged.

"No," Albert said mournfully. "I don't."

The creature puffed up even farther before exploding into a cloud of red mist, a poisonous substance that was part blood, part flesh-corroding toxin. Ayondale coughed loudly, becoming lost in the mist as he and his comrades all disappeared.

"Au revoir..." Albert whispered before addressing his comrades. "Everybody! Run!"

---

The great Berserker sped across the battlefield, his eyes solely set on the Saber before him, the Saber that would threaten even this great a number of Servants. Watching the man however, was a far crueler fate to submit the Golden Boy to than an actual fight. He had to watch wordlessly as the man took the life of a child begging for her life. He had to watch as the man seemed to bear the expression of a 'kind', yet 'merciless' man when committing an act that could never be forgiven.

"GRUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"

A bloodcurling roar was released from the beast, not even remotely attempting to catch him off-guard. Getting the attention of Saber when it was 'unideal' for lowering his defenses was entirely based on his own desires. He wanted the man to feel the weight of one who opposed him, one who wouldn't accept his acts or allegiance. With his axe clutched firmly in his hands, his eyes burned with hatred towards the man. This, this was a Berserker.

It was at this point, that the man invoked the Crusade against him. Resembling an unending wave of terror, it washed over the battlefield with the influence that 'they could not win'. The great power invoked by the Servant would inflict all that seeked to oppose him. It didn't work. No, not only did it not work, it didn't even slow him down at all. However legendary the man may be, an animal like Kintaro cared not for anything that didn't involve brute force, and as such, he would simply overpower the wave without a second thought. Moving faster than expected at the end, he took forth with an instantaneous spurt, swinging the great Golden Axe from above his right shoulder, slamming it down towards the man. He was prepared. His sword was raised, and held to parry the blow. The first impact of the battle had occured, and it could be heard all around them. The sheer strength of Sakata Kintoki would make even the earth itself cave in fear, and so it did. Beneath Saber's feet, the ground had gone concave, as if forced down by the shockwave alone. For half an instant, the battlefield stopped, stunned by the sound and impact before continuing in a dreamlike haze of the occurence.

The Heroic Spirit wasn't weak however, and managed to successfully deflect the blow down to the ground and moving out of the way himself. A pillar filled with nothing but dirt exploded into the air, partially covering the vision between the two close combatants. He dragged the axe up from the ground, and swung it to the side. An obvious miss, the man simply moved back to avoid it. However, contrary to the attitude held against him, the man was acting on both through thought and instinct. Even in circumstances like this, he had fully avoided being inflicted by madness, carrying himself with the golden radiance of a man who sought not to kill, but to save. Fighting against Saber in circumstances like this wasn't ideal for either of them, the chaotic situation surrounding their Summoning being far too volatile. If he was to die, then his Master, and the young ones she wished to save, would likely lose their life. He was the one thing that would keep all of the other Servants from turning on her, so he had to live. Gritting his teeth in frustration, the enraged expression had still yet to fade.

From out of seemingly nowhere, a rain of multicolored spells rained down upon him, all with the clear intent of taking his life. Weak. A sudden manuever like that, regardless of his complete lack of resistance towards magic, would still be completely ignored. The level of the spells wasn't nearly sufficient to reliably wound him, and more just served as a minor annoyance. It tore on his clothes, but as much as he loved the gold that adorned him, his priority would never shift. As long as he was Sakata Kintoki, he would have his eyes on the singular noble objective. Little to no marks were left from each and every one of the spells, instilling a primal fear into the casters who had rained down upon him and being completely ignored. He was out of their league, perhaps he truly was a...

"Been called a monster plenty o' times in my life, but to have such things told to me by another chosen by the Grail as a Hero..."

- One more step. It didn't take more than that to close the distance between them, his axe broke into the blade once more. He was keeping an eye on him certainly, did it even matter? The high-roller of the battlefield didn't seem to think so, as he carried on his next attack as if the first one had never happened, carrying the same unearthly vigor and terror. He stared down into the eyes of Saber, the widened eyes being just barely visible beneath the sunglasses. -

"Maybe it ain't all that wise after all if it's willin' to summon actual Monster."

A Hero. It was easy to interpret what he had said as referring to himself as a monster, but his eyes conveyed another part to the message. In this battle, Saber was the one who was serving a wrongful purpose. An unshaken resolve, held only by those who 'knew' that their actions were just. All Heroes in all tales knew the expression held on Berserker's face. While it never looked the same on any two people, the emotions it carried were always the same. Each and everyone one who had accomplished a great selfless deed that gave them a seat upon the Throne of Heroes had felt it at one point in their life. 'I am the hero, and you are the villan.' He wanted it to be cemented into the mind of wrongdoers, there was no tale in which he was the bad guy. He had felt guilt for his actions only once, and rather than bringing uncertainty, it made him even more relentless in his pursuit to always 'do good'.

---

"Over here, quickly! Berserker, begin a fighting retreat! We're all leaving!"

The voice echoed in his mind. He wasn't paying much attention to the rest of the battlefield, but the words of his Master was loud in his ears. Before letting Saber deflect his blow once more, he sneered at him. His motion hadn't as much been 'recognized', as he decided to do the only thing that would always work. Rather than seeking to get his axe to connect with the body of the Servant, he pushed. Even the word itself felt miniscule compared to the action. Saber's sword moved elegantly to escape the connection between their two weapons, but Berserker would just use the time remaining to fling Saber backwards with sheer force. Not too close, not too far, Saber would land ever so slightly off-balance. No, that was an overstatement. If an 'instant' wasn't fast enough for Servants, Saber would correct his landing in a way that wasn't percieved at all. However, it was expected. An arrogant assumption, but it was the only kind that this meathead knew. If he couldn't hit the opponent, then he would simply find new ways to wail on him until his opponent had no choice but to get hit. Kintoki didn't as much 'follow after' as he simply moved in that direction at the same time, bracing himself for another attack. There was no way he would be able to deflect the blow entirely, but there was no way he would get hit. So, his weapon would just have to start 'getting hit' instead. What was the purpose behind it? Was he disobeying his Master?

Trust. Any direct attempt at retreating would leave him more vunerable, so he simply depended on Lancer and Rider to find a way to make Saber retreat. He wasn't good at making plans, but he was good at trusting people, almost to a fault. If they weren't able to accomplish it or simply planned on leaving him for dead, then he would surely be just that. But at the very least, this time he was rewarded for it. Just as the heavy blow to Saber's weapon was about to be dished out, he immediately disappeared. Berserker had expected him to leave, but even his expectations had taken been leaped over. That was faster than he could ever have hoped for. For a quick moment, he looked around before spotting the sight taking place before the Master of Saber. Impaled. What a merciless Master, the Servant had been used as a plain meatshield for the great spear Lancer had thrown. And now, he was seeing the punishment for it. Assassin was behind him, holding a deathgrip on the Master of Saber. Was... Was the battle won? Was it safe to tell his Master that they were no longer in danger? The situation was so odd, he couldn't help but feel uneasy.

---

Force. Overwhelming force descended upon the battlefield. His lungs used the remaining air from the seconds of relief to immediately shout out.

"RUN!"

Intimidate, startle, alert. It didn't matter what effect his words were going to have, as long as it was 'something'. He was too far from the scene to stop anything that was going to happen, so all he could hope is that those who had just fought alongside him would gain something, anything from him calling out to them before the inevitable disastrous outcome that was going to occur. No man would hold such confidence with a sharpened edge to his neck and his Servant dead if he wasn't certain that the danger was 'non-existant'.

Saber had 'moved', no 'appeared'. Lancer was hit by a blow sending him flying into a building, and a young girl came out of the woodworks to begin conversing with the Master of Saber. She was safe. She didn't know who it was, if it was an ally or enemy, but that question would soon be answered regardless. His attention didn't need to be on her to protect her, and neither did the other Servants on 'his side'. Quickly and desperately, he scouted his eyes across the battlefield amidst the chaos, and saw that one boy, the one who seemed to be the leader of their current group, and the Master of Assassin.

"Sorry Master, I'll be right there, but I first have to take care of something! Don't stop running, head as far away from here as possible, I'll meet up with ya in a bit!"

It wasn't much, but Berserker wanted her not to worry, and indirectly confirmed that his own sanity was intact even during circumstances like this. Assassin had been knocked away by the young girl that just entered the battlefield, so Berserker found only one immediate priority objective. He began running across the highlands. This time, for the sole purpose of gaining speed, as while the ground beneath him certainly had trouble keeping his weight, it wasn't tearing up in the same manner as before. His axe dematerialized, as he moved in towards the Master of Assassin. The boy seemed to be talking to the Master of Saber, though calling it 'talking' after his final action would probably be rude. It wasn't as much a display of 'strength' as it was trickery, and when lacking strength, that was all one could really resort to. The scene gave put a momentary grin on his face, as he swooped in grab the Master of Assassin mid-run. His muscled arms weren't 'comfortable' but the strength in them was reassuring. He wouldn't let any other child die on this battlefield.

"Assassin's Master right? Is there anyone you've left behind that we can still save?! We don't have much time!"

He curved his path and ran with the speed of a galloping horse, holding the child in a powerful grip while shielding his figure from any incoming spells that would be fired their way, a big smile on his face. The situation didn't call for it, but when around those in terror, the only thing he could do is smile to give them even the slightest security in him.

---

Albert felt his spine crack under the force of the blow which lifted him off his feet. Had he been hit? Had Saber caught up to him?

Panicked, he looked up and saw the awesome golden figure from before. Berserker. He was one of theirs, but he wasn't sure if he'd been more comfortable staring down Ayondale than he was cradled in the arms of a madman. Still, it seemed he could speak. Perhaps he was still a little bit sane.

"No," Albert coughed. "No I don't zink so. Zey're-"

Dead.

The idea of it hit him almost as hard as Berserker had. Suddenly, he couldn't find any words to say. It was just...

"Over..." Albert whispered. "It's over, Berserker. We're making a full retreat. Zere's... nozing else we can do."

---

Coughing uncontrollably at the stinging sensation in his lungs that was no doubt the product of inhaling the noxious gas, Ayondale slashed at the red mist with his saber-cane, trying to part it like smoke at a campfire. Eventually he wandered out, a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth a reminder of how close he'd just come to death.

Ayondale watched the receding figures of the students and their Servants as they went, his fingers clenched tight around his right hand in a bone-crushing rictus grip. He bit his lip hard. Every action, every bit of body langauge projecting off of him at that moment screamed "KILL KILL KILL I'LL KILL THOSE SHITTY KIDS!"

Two dual rationalities were at war inside him. The first was a perfectionist. He wouldn't accept failure. Even an inch, even a centimeter of ground lost because of these stupid little roadbumps was an unacceptable loss that cost him dearly. And a Command Seal... to lose a Command Seal... he'd kill them. He'd track them all down and kill them. Slowly, violently, mutilating and defiling every inch of their flesh before reviving them to do it all over again, then turning the resultant lump of destroyed meat into yet more cannon fodder for his legions of the Dead. He'd extract every last bit of pain and remorse he could from them before he'd let them rest. That part of him wanted to send Richard after them right now, to finish what he'd started. He'd kill them now, and make things right again.

The other part of him was a realist who knew that was a mistake. It knew that he was lucky to have completed their objective having only lost a single Command Seal, given the odds they faced. It knew sending Richard after them was a suicide mission. He had them scared. They wouldn't interfere again, at least not tonight. Sending Richard after them to intentionally provoke them again would end with the illusion of his invincibility being shattered, and Richard being overpowered. That would be the end of Ayondale's Grail War, regardless of whether or not they succeeded in activating the backup.

The two clashing ideals bounced around in his head, colliding furiously. But in the end, only one could win. And Arieh Ayondale hadn't gotten to where he was now by letting his baser impulses rule him like he was some sort of wild animal. The children could wait. He could focus on his personal pleasures another time. Right now he had a job to do, something that would need to be done if he was to ascend to even greater heights of prestige, power and esteem. Feelings could not be allowed to interfere with what was necessary for him to succeed in the world.

But still, he kept that dark idea tucked away, just in case. There wasn't any time for it now, but later, perhaps. Maybe later.

Richard, battered and broken, walked nonetheless confidently up the hill towards Ayondale, planting the spear he'd stolen from Lancer into the ground. It disappeared in a wisp of smoke or perhaps mist, particles dissolving into nothing as the spiritual body of the weapon returned to its rightful owner. Richard grinned, perhaps his way of saying "I'd bow if I could, but..."

"My apologies, Arieh. It appears my negligence has forced you to waste a Command Seal," he said.

"Bah," Ayondale said, dismissing the thought. "It wasn't your fault, Richard. It was those damn kids. Filthy little rats made me waste something so precious..."

The professor sighed.

"I suppose it's an acceptable price to pay, given what we've accomplished here tonight. You fought off six Servants all at once and you still forced them to flee. Not many could claim that, Richard. You did well."

"Your words honor me, Arieh," Saber said, attempting a bow. More blood leaked from the gaping hole in his chest, splashing to the ground at his feet. "... Could I possibly ask you to help fix me up? This state of affairs is rather embarrassing."

Ayondale nodded at the homunculus, just now returning from her assigned task. She dutifully hurried over to Richard, and began to heal him. The wound showed no obvious signs of closing (that would take time), but it at least stopped bleeding. That would do, for now.

Richard squirmed, obviously discomforted by the homunculus' presence. Ayondale, on the other hand, observed the results of the battle.

Groans could be heard coming from the Clocktower's scattered forces, along with many cries of pain and requests for medical assistance. Mutilated corpses in various states of dismemberment were littered about like autumn leaves, coloring the grounds a bright red. Many of the magi who had not died in the attack or from exposure to the filth-creature's toxic gas were now examining the red marks on the backs of their necks, poking and prodding at them as they attempted to analyze what kind of magic was at work. Their voices were high-pitched and quiet. The presence of the crosses clearly frightened them.

Ayondale sighed. "Richard, one more thing. Before you take your well-deserved rest, could you do me a favor and help... clean this place up? These men have served their purpose."

The few who heard him looked up in fear and outrage, realizing immediately what he meant. Ayondale didn't care. The simple fact of the matter was, no one but him could be allowed to know the true location of the Greater Grail which they had come here to seek, nor could they become privvy to some of its many additional functions, a few of which had been added by Ayondale himself.

Richard rose, walking gratefully away from the homunculus. The crowd of wounded magi backed away as the Saber-class Servant drew his sword, but none ran. They didn't want to die, but what other choice did they have? In their hearts and minds they'd already given up on fighting him. Climbing a wall like that was like trying to stop the sun from setting. What was the point?

"Watch and witness. This is the folly of your pride."

The mysterious cross-shaped marks on the back of their necks glowed briefly with bright red light. Without so much as a single flick of his sword, the heads of every magi in the vicinity rolled to the ground, severely neatly at the base of the neck. Richard tucked his sword away back into his sheath, and Ayondale sighed, exasperated.

"Must it always be the head? Can't you kill them in some other way? It makes fashioning zombies out of them much more difficult."

"I'm afraid not," Richard said as he sat next to the homunculus again, ready to resume his healing. "That is simply the nature of my skill, King's Crusade. My Noble Phantasm wouldn't work without it. You could say it serves as a... reminder, of sorts."

"Of the massacre?"

"Of my place in history. This is what I am remembered for, Arieh. And for good reason."

That answer seeming to satisfy him, Arieh Ayondale turned away from his Servant and approached the water's edge. He stared at his own reflection in the peaty water and issued an order to what little remained of his skeletal forces.

"Begin removing the bodies from the site at once. That includes the security guards, if they aren't still alive. If they are, kill them, and get their bodies ready for processing just like the others. I need... four, five, six, seven... eight of you to form a raft. Ferry me out to the middle of the loch, approximately fifty meters from the banks of the castle."

They obeyed him without question, as they hadn't even the most basic components of a mind with which to question his orders. Unlike the Dead, these creatures were more like golems, inanimate things given life by magic. They had a human shape, but they'd never once been truly alive.

Bones cracked as the skeletons piled on top of each other, dislocating and shifting their constituent pieces to fit into new and more useful shapes. Eventually they formed the caricature of a raft, a basic construct with room and bouyancy enough to hold one person. Ayondale stepped aboard their backs and snapped his fingers. The raft departed outwards, its arms pushing it through the water like the swimming motions of a giant turtle.

The emergency backup was one of many functions Ayondale had considered ditching when he was busy repairing and making alterations to the Grail. After all, fourteen Servants? Really? It had seemed superfluous and unnecessary back then, even if you could arrange the conditions necessary to use it, but now that he needed it, he appreciated his own foresight in keeping it around. Just in case just such a thing were to happen.

The raft halted its sudden, jerky movements and drifted to a stop, the skeletons all chattering in the cold loch water like a man in desperate need of a sweater. This wasn't a reaction to the temperature however, but the concentration of ambient mana in the water. It was beneath them now.

Ayondale held out his hand, and a massive object from deep beneath the loch's placid waters began to rise, the surface swelling as it ascended. The skeletons had to grip his legs just to keep him from falling off the raft once the gargantuan thing broke the surface, sending waves cascading all the way back to the shoreline as it settled in the water. The object, held aloft by a small island of bog zombies, was roughly spherical, and covered in peat, measuring ten meters across at least. While it appeared static in its construction, it glowed in the dark like a dim lightbulb, and seemed to pulse with a twisted sort of life all its own, like an egg kept permanently on the verge of hatching. In fact a crack had already appeared on its surface, leaking some of the brilliant light that was being kept hidden inside by its thick shell.

Ayondale removed his glove, and the crack widened fractionally, the spiderweb pattern of fractures growing slightly more complex as it did so. A hole, a tiny hole, opened at the center, and an arm emerged from within, clawing its way out through the tiny aperture. But perhaps the word "arm" could be taken as a bit misleading. It had the appearance of a human limb, yes, but it had been blackened like charcoal, its dark shape outlined by a silhouette of light that seemed to come from within, and its every feature seemed grotesquely exaggerated. The length of the arm, the wizened, claw-like fingernails, the spiderlike digits that had more joints than any human hand should. They all combined to give this thing an air of Frankensteinian horror, like it had been mangled, smashed, and inexpertly stitched back together by a madman with no knowledge of human anatomy.

At first it floundered, slapping the walls of its prison like a newborn trying to escape, before it took notice of Ayondale's presence through some sort of invisible eye or other sense and slowly stretched out across the water to offer its hand to him. The two touched, Ayondale's fingers clasping the gangly phalanges of the phantom limb. He began to speak.

"Invoke Greater Grail summoning system. Accessing files... request access to Heaven's Feel subroutines 1-999. Authorization code: ASWANG. Authorization code... accepted. Begin activation of Holy Grail emergency backup system. The seven must now become fourteen. Allocating additional Command Seals... selecting additional Masters. Cancel. Manually input the seven new Masters. Input accepted... Holy Grail emergency backup system engaged. Dispatching observer. Process complete. Would you like to access any other files Y/N? Now closing Greater Grail admin control panel. Your new settings will come into effect in 10, 9, 8-"

Ayondale pulled his hand back, and the grotesque black limb retracted back into the Holy Grail's shell-like exterior. The artifact, still counting down, began to sink back into the water, accompanied by the groans of the accursed damned souls condemned to carry its weight. Arieh Ayondale and his craft retreated, making their way back to the loch's edge, and the comfort of solid ground.

Sighing, Ayondale covered the hand bearing his Command Seals with its glove once more, and tapped the small white trinket he wore as an earring. The item was a small communication type Mystic Code, an Inuit charm made of carved bone meant to communicate with those in possession of the item's matching partner or partners.

"This is Ayondale. Are you all on standby? Yes, the recovery operation was a success. You may now proceed. Summon your Servants at once, and meet me at Aldourie Castle by sunrise. I expect you all to be punctual. That includes you, Orval. Ayondale out."

The professor stepped off the raft and let the skeletons simply sink to the bottom, releasing his control over them. Back on shore, Richard and the girl homunculus were waiting for him.

---

---

Albert rinsed his face off underneath the cold tap, dried blood mixing with the water. His dirty, blood-speckled shirt hung on the rack just a few feet away, waiting to be cleansed of incriminating evidence. Of any reminders of what they'd just been through. Not that he needed one.

He turned the knob on the faucet, stopping the flow. For a moment he did nothing but stare at the retreating trails of red stain seeping slowly into the drainpipes. Then he lashed out, slamming his fist into the wall next to the medicine cabinet. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. How had he not noticed? How had none of them noticed?! Had it never occurred to him that a mage as experienced as Ayondale might have a way to hide himself from familiars? Stupid! He was so freaking stupid!

And... he'd gotten those kids killed.

Stop it, he reprimanded himself harshly. Zat was not your fault. Zey knew the risks. Blaming yourself for somezing zat bastard did is only going to distract you. Zis changes nozing. We are still going to fight. And we are still going to make Ayondale pay for what 'e's done. Zis just adding more fuel to ze fire.

He looked at himself in the mirror, his wet, night-black hair stuck to his face. But the others might not see it that way. They might still want to back out, as if any of them had that option anymore. That Servant... he had a presence that terrified the living piss out of you. It was easy to ask yourself when looking at him "can we really win?" The man had died and come back like a zombie, for chrissakes! He wouldn't be surprised if that had caused any of their number to give up hope of beating him. Albert was not of that same mindset, but it was easy to see why someone might be.

He dried himself off and picked up the spare shirt he'd brought into the bathroom with him. They were all waiting for him out there, silently conversing with their Servants in their respective rooms. It had been quite a stroke of luck for them to have found a hotel in Inverness owned by one of Leon's family friends. Well, it was more like a bar and tavern than a proper hotel, but it served their purposes adequately. It was a small, hard-to-find hole in the wall run by a man on the inside who had ears everywhere, and knowledge of mage society. At least that's what Leon had assured him back in England. The man he'd met just an hour ago seemed barely cognizant of his surroundings through the haze of cigar smoke and cheap liquor that surrounded him. He'd promised them they could have their run of the place, and had even closed up shop early for them, but it was the kind of hospitality that made you wonder if they'd still be in such a generous and giving mood the next morning.

Which is why he needed to speak to Leon. Albert had to talk with him about what had happened during the summoning, to reassure him it hadn't been anything he'd done. Knowing Leon, that was probably what he was thinking right now. That it was a failure on his part. Albert would need to sternly correct him on that. That, and he needed his assurance that this man was worth trusting. He'd been given that promise once, but after seeing what he had of the owner, he felt like he needed it again.

Albert stuck his head into the new shirt, wriggling to see through the hole, before he paused with the shirt halfway down his midriff. He decided instead to take off the shirt, and started running a hot bath. He doubted any one of them would complain. After what had happened to them tonight, they'd all want a little time to themselves to think, and to connect with their new Servants.

Speaking of which...

Oi, Assassin, he said, somewhat sullenly. You zere? Zere are some zings I zink we need to discuss.

Leon had been the first one to arrive at the tavern called Deacon Arms owned by someone dear, and close to his own family. He hardly could understand what had happened today it was supposed to be simple...it was suppose to be clear, and too the point. But Leon still felt all the worse for the events even with his mind getting out panic mode. he had a heavy wool coat draped around his shoulders that smelt like cigarettes, and cologne. He hated that smell but it was comforting as the man who sat next to him drank from a bottle of gin with little hesitation on the matter. The man patted his back roughly, and looked down at him with drunk but worried eyes. He normally was the direct opposite but Leon had known him his entire life. Even before he was born this man had been a family friend. He held his hands out in front of him trying to put the pieces back together...He figured it would be best to recap how things went down for himself.

===
Earlier:

Leon ran down the street it was dark still, and he could feel the sweat on his brow drip down his body as he ran. He hadn't seen anyone yet Leon had made sure that he hadn't been followed, or seen by non-magi using his wind magic to run faster than most normal humans could with the wind at his back giving him a push. Blood was covering his cut uniform, and his cheeks the wounds were minor but they stung. Leon was talented but he had still gotten injured by decent enough shots. He wasn't some infallible wizard like the maelstrom his father was capable of creating. He wasn't as dexterous, and cunning as his grand father who taught him a lot but not enough. He was still to young, and inexperienced to learn all of the Winchester secrets. Still despite the lights flashing all around him he didn't especially care what happened next he just needed to move forward. Towards that location he had given to his friend Albert...he couldn't believe he had thrown his own kin under the bus like this but...who else could he turn to?

Leon ran down the street huffing, and puff his chest killing him as pain shot through his ankles from the running. He wasn't exactly willing to admit it but he was not meant for marathon running like this. He did his best in controlled bursts. Nothing more short of this situation had even made Leon run full out like this before. His body almost gave up on him a few times already but his iron will power refused to let him go down. Leon almost tripped, and fell in front of the door to the tavern he looked up...Deacon Arms was the name of the tavern. Leon sat there on the ground as pain shot through his ankle as he must've twisted it a little after stopping so suddenly. Leon hoped to god this worked...this situation would resolve in only two ways...Leon mustered his courage and pushed open the door. Instantly he was met with the smell of smoke, heavy cologne, and alcohol. There was the sound of pool being played somewhere, and the sound of a television radiated through the room. It was a man talking about the latest football game, or rather Soccer, being a complete blowout for the home team. There was some talking around the room as Leon entered. "Oi! Hey there we're clo-" came the gruff voice of an Irishman. The voice was familiar, and bizarre to hear in Scotland of all places but it felt comforting to Leon to hear it despite the clear annoyance initially in it. However the annoyance quickly faded as he heard a gasp following it. There was the sound of a glass being dropped on the hard willow wood counter and the sound of a man rushing back from behind the bar. The man rushed over fast nearly scrambling after a moment or two of hesitation.

"WHAT IN THE BLOODY FUCKING GOD DAMN HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE!? LEON THE FUCK LAD!? WHAT THE BLOODY BLIMEY WHORE FILLED HELL HAPPENED TO YOU!? SHIT KID FUCKING HELL SHIT!" the man shouted in panic as the employees, and other remaining tenants looked around as the man frantically looked over Leon. Leon smiled at the man. He war wearing Tweed hat on his head, and a dark brown jacket covered his arms. Underneath it was a stained white button shirt with two buttons on the top undone, and one at the bottom. He had tanned white skin but even then he looked a bit paler than he should. A bizarre looking watch was on his hand it seemed to be of ancient design Leon couldn't understand what it was actually. His pants were light brown, and he was wearing black leather shoes. The man had messy, and short cut brown hair that hung around his hat and his breath smelled of booze. His dark brown eyes were mixed with fear, confusion, and anger which told Leon all he needed to know. His teeth were yellow from years of smoking, and drinking. His facial hair was there but there was not much of it covering just his jaw leading to a soul patch that clung to his chin. "FUCKING TALK TO ME YOU BLOODY YANKEE DUMBASS! YOU'RE OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT MESSING AROUND WITH SHIT LIKE THIS PISSES ME THE FUCK OFF!" The man shouted further as he grabbed Leon and jerked him forward putting his arm around him and shoving him into a chair. "On look out anyone coming here look suspicious fucking tell me got it Billy?" The man told one of the employees who nodded. The man took off his jacket and put it around Leon.

"Sorry Great Uncle...I...I fucked up. It's a long story...but I kind of pissed off one of the teachers at the clocktower." Leon said tiredly as Leon's great uncle looked down at him. He growled, and spit in a nearby bucket. "This was the only place I could turn too...I'm so sorry. I know this is a pain in the ass for you Uncle but please don't rail on me too hard." Leon said he tried his best to avoid pissing off his uncle. It wasn't hard to do but the man had always had a soft spot for Leon, and kids in general. The man was honest, and crude but he meant well. He wasn't really a blood relative but he was family none the less. This man was called Mason O'brian Collins. Or rather Uncle Collins to Leon. A alchemist, a world class trickster, and one of Leon's closest family members. The man grumbled, and cursed under his breath for a minute or two. "Balls fucking shit Leon you for real? I thought you had a good head on your shoulders?! Fucking with those preachy cock sucking pencil pushing goat fuckers at the clock tower ain't exactly easy stuff to deal with!?...What the fuck did you do exactly? Can't help ya if you don't tell me the details." Collins said as he looked down at Leon serious despite clearly being half drunk. He was looking over Leon's cuts and bruises and he reached over the counter to grab some strange green stuff that he rubbed on Leon's cuts. "Least you don't look like a blind cobbler’s thumb. You'll be ok for now." Collins continued as he made sure the kid was fine. He was pissed but he was the worried kind of pissed.

"There was a man there...trying to make stuff happen...a holy war...he was abusing his students, and his authority. He was constantly parading around his accomplishments...demeaning students. We had enough of it and we took action." Leon stated as he quietly began to recount the story of how they got to this point in time. "Holy war? Fucking protestants can't keep their hands in their pants can they? Crusades are done..." Collins stated as he drunk from a nearby bottle. Leon was pretty sure that his uncle didn't care if he should be doing that, or not. "No not that kind of war...the holy grail war..." Leon said quietly as Collins nearly choked on his drink coughing and shaking his head. "Blimey fucking hell...Holy Grail War? That shit is bad mojo Leon. You shouldn't be getting involved in that...looks like you don't got any command seals just yet...good on you. You didn't cock fuck yourself into a corner. Alright who's the swindling cow licker that started this?" Collins asked seriously as Leon told him it was that bastard Arieh Ayondale. A small grin appeared on Collins's face. "Arieh Ayondale? That Rawny Ponce Himbo who dresses like a dandy? Figured it would be someone like him..." Collins stated with a chuckle. "You're safe now though...I'll put up barriers, and runes to make sure he doesn't come knocking on the door-" Collins stated with a cocky smile as Leon grabbed his shoulder. "You know him?" Leon asked as Collins shook his head, "Heard his name a few time. Didn't care to meet him." Collins told him as Leon continued. "There were others like me...trying to stop him...can you let them in-" Leon started as Collins groaned as he rubbed his eyes.

"Should've figured...no way you'd be dumb enough to do it on your own. Thought for a moment you were as balling as me, and your grandpa use to be. You're too much like you daddy to do that...alright I'll do it-" Collins started as Leon told him to hold on a moment, "They have...heroic spirits with them." that was enough to make Collins choke and spit up his liquor as he glared at Leon. "You be taking the piss right out of me Leon...fuck....Heroic spirits? Fucking shit those assholes don't do nothin' but cause issues...look I'll cut ya a bargain...they'll be allowed to stay, for a bit not very long, long as they don't fuck up my business got it? They do that all of them out on the street. I got a business to run. I'm only doing this because you're me lad Leon. Can't be throwing you, and your folks out in the cold." Collins said but his face turned sour as he glared around, and then out the window near the door. "They're going to be here soon...thank you uncle" Leon said as he nodded at his great uncle. "You're fucking lucky I love you like a son you little shit. I wouldn't do this for anyone other than you, and your grandpa...fucking balls...I need a drink..." Collins grumbled as he drank even more.

====

Now Leon sat next to the man he wanted to go lay down but he wanted to make sure that everything was alright before he passed out. He couldn't be messing around any further. Uncle Collins had told Leon that he was going to be shipped back to grand pappy Winchester as soon as shit cleared up. Leon didn't doubt it he knew he was no longer a viable ally in this war. He could help but he wasn't a lackey to be used, and thrown aside. As much as he hated to let Ayondale possibly win the war there was too much risk, and little reward on his end for continuing through all of this. He'd tell Albert in the morning.

Magical energy: 338 out of 340.

Interacting with: @Vocab@vFear

---

Morgana had never before felt so envious of people with sight. What with her on a battlefield blinded and unable to find an exit as she heard nothing but the screams and death throes of other people around her. Unable to tap into any of her more powerful skills in order to prevent herself from dying due to the amount of mana she would end up giving off to the point she would effectively get them all killed. So it was safe to say that she was very much peeved at the professors intrusions though the other emotion she was feeling was heavy amounts of fear due to having lost her walking stick somewhere on the battlefield. A cost of war perhaps? No matter she had her servant to use as a walking stick instead.

She crawled to her feet as someone grabbed her arm, a calming influence in the whirring storm of blood and death. She was about to break said arm but James was luckily fast enough to speak before she began any action against him. She guessed he was dragging her somewhere safe and not into further conflict in order to perform a certain coup in order to get that grail wish... How dastardly well if he did drop her in the middle of it he'd have a very angry Morgana after his neck but she knew her classmate better then that. After all she wouldn't betray someone until after she earned their trust... So she knew she was safe because she didn't completely trust him just yet. Who would when they figured what James special little gun did. Yes she did her profiling on her classmates before this entire grail war. An Ironholdt is always prepared.

Though James soon pushed her away causing her to stumble again only for her to this time into the grip of fellow person with special eyes. The way Olympia spoke with such a frantic tone seemed to show that she was shocked. Shouldn't Olympia be the one receiving aid in that case. "Olympia, whenever the hell we get out of this if we do. If you need to talk about anything ask. I might not be able to see the bloodshed but I can hear the screams. It might be best for both of our mentalities to get this horrendous night out of our systems as early as possible." Morgana said in a tone that seemed almost motherly though it also felt restrained and controlled like Morgana's usual speech pattern.

Then they were still moving on without cease. A march that felt like miles even though it was mere moments. The screams of the children around them unlocking some inner weakness within Morgana that just made her want to collapse and give up. But she couldn't fall to her knees while Olympia was holding her, so even during Morgana's contemplation of letting whatever Ayondale had planned for her happen. She was still marched over to Sonja without delay.

"We need to go..." She said quietly even before a female voice likely belonging to one of the servants told them to get leaving. "Sonja. Olympia. We need to fall back." She said picking up her voice as she held her hands together to stop them shaking from the noises she was hearing and how her mind pictured a living hellscape of nothing but damnation. "Lancer... Retreat to this location, I am going to need you if I am going to even be a contender in this grail war." Morgana said with a rather commanding tone as she attempt to get a grip of herself showing an uncharacteristic weakness. She was trained for combat, she knew how to defend herself but she never pictured such audible agony. Why were so many non-threats dying.

Ayondale must pay with more then his life. its the only way she'd get peace from the events of tonight.

"Sonja, Olympia lead the way and help me get the god forsaken hell out of here! Please!" Morgana said as she gripped hold of Olympia's arm in the way a dying patient grips hold of a doctor searching for a lifeline.

Location: Urquhart Castle -> The Deacon Arms Tavern.
Interacting with: Morgana Ironholdt @1Charak2; Olympia Whitehall @Vocab; the Masters of Red.
Magical energy: 147 out of 180.

"Sorry Master, I'll be right there, but I first have to take care of something!"

The words, for a reason she couldn't really explain to herself, sat heavy in her gut. Well, that wasn't fair to say: she knew why it make her so uncomfortable, but the reason itself made her uncomfortable again.

"Sonja, Olympia lead the way and help me get the god forsaken hell out of here! Please!"
While she did briefly hesitate, the cry for help helped her focus on the present. She was older than most if not all of the surviving students; while they didn't probably mind too much if she sank or swam, her own pride certainly did.
"Quick, through here-" Sonja called as she pressed on, grasping at a door handle while simultaneously driving her shoulder into the door to drive it open. In a split-second decision, she decided to take a more obscure route than one staying in the open; while close quarters worked well for a Saber class, she instinctively felt better odds with breaking line of sight, with the scattering students about.

If memory served her correctly, Sonja recalled a small flight of stairs going down the ramparts leading through to the other side. In the back of her mind, she updated her greater familiars directives: protect the retreat, and once we're safe, attack the surviving enemy magi. While a pang of guilt did strike her for sentencing a familiar to their death, she did make a note of reminding herself that it was just that: a mindless familiar.

After pressing down and about the stairs, Sonja found herself staring at another door. Just as before, she grasped the handle and forced it open, pressing out to the fresh air beyond. It turns out memory did serve her correctly: not too far beyond was the exit, where they could escape to the the Deacon Arms.
"This way." she called to the other two as she pressed her way forward. As she moved on, she snuck a glance over her shoulder, towards the site of the battle itself. Without Berserker at arms length after such a catastrophic loss, she felt vulnerable. Trust, she quietly reminded herself: she needed to trust him.

---

After making the journey to the tavern, constantly looking over her own shoulder for any unfamiliar or concerning faces, she quietly slipped in the back door. It appeared that it was still the lively time of night: patrons still sipped at their drinks and few enjoyed their cigar variety of choice. A brief conversation with the bartender got her a schooner of water, with which she sat down quietly to one side of the tavern's bar. While she didn't think much of alcohol, she did have vices of her own, although she did like to hide them from all but a select few. After a half-hearted effort to look for other faces in the tavern, she gave in. Her hand snuck off into her coat to return with a nondescript packet of Gold-strength cigarettes, from which she produced a single cigarette and a plain lighter stuffed into the vacant space. As she lifted the flame to the tip of the cigarette, habitually using her other hand to shield it from the non-existent wind, she had a moment of honesty with herself: she was worried. She was scared. She'd only just summoned Berserker, only just started to succeed in her last stand against Ayondale, before many of her friends were murdered and she lost Berserker just as quick as she got him.

After taking in a first breath of tobacco and nicotine, she lowered the cigarette towards the ash tray with her right hand and thwacked the butt with her thumb to ash off the tip. She glanced over towards her left arm, to the command seals concealed beneath her jacket. As far as she could tell, he was alive, but all she had to go to get him back was to use one. The thought sat in her mind, tempting her, until she eventually lifted her left arm to grab her glass of water. Trust, she reminded herself yet again. After having a mouthful of water, she glanced over towards the rest of the tavern as she lifted her cigarette back to her mouth. As much as she wanted to try and sleep, she knew she wouldn't be able until she was more assured, so she decided to quietly enjoy the atmosphere of the tavern and wait.

---

Open fields and clean air was all the little girl ever wanted in her life scurrying not unlike the field mice through the overgrowth in order to explore her territory that she had grown up with. A young daughter of a farmer couple. Her short green hair clinging tightly to her skin, slightly matted due to her adventurous nature. Life was simply the way things always was and why would the young girl ever want to change that? Though unbeknown to her then that day would be the first major leap towards her growth as a poisoner.

She was playing further and further away from her home each day, eventually she had finally mustered the courage to play in the woods and so treading carefully in her crudely wrapped feet cause her family couldn't afford proper footwear. She explored this new domain where her mother entered every so often to pick up those herb things. So imagine a young girl of around 6-7 tiptoeing on the edge of a steep slope where the bottom had either trees or mushrooms. That was exactly how it was. Ahead of her she spotted a rather steep incline that she felt she should climb. It seemed stable enough from how she was looking at it and so she ran up to it, determined to conqueror what was in actuality only really a short mound but to the little girl it was a obstacle until it was climbed.

She clambered up it gripping onto the roots for a bit of support in order to get up onto the mound. As she made a mess of her cloths from rubbing against the dirt. It didn't make much difference really since hygiene was not really a thing a peasant could afford beyond the occasional washing in the stream which even then wasn't a completely good way to wash yourself. Her eyes widened with self gratification as she stood atop the mound looking down at all the insects crawling on the forest floor. She was the empress now~ She giggled as she stepped back in order to hop down only to catch herself on the very same root she used to climb up. She tipped backwards as her mind suddenly went numb with fear in the few moments of suspense as she continued tilting back further and further.

She tumbled down the mound and into the ditch brushing past all manner of things and crushing even more beneath her. As her head collided with a tree leaving her dazed and bruised. She groaned as she held her head, cursing herself for her foolishness as she tried to get to her feet only for alot of pain to shoot through her right arm. It was dead smack in the middle of a congregation of nettles. Most girls her age would start crying but not this girl. In fact as she slowly pulled her arm out of the nettles, said arm now throbbing from the stings. She began to poke and prod them with the same arm so as to not hurt her good arm. Analysing the plant with almost excessive curiosity. If such an item could cause so much pain... maybe she could use it to become better then all the other boys and girls! Yes, while they were busy fighting with sticks and things in order to be like their barbaric fathers she could slip a bunch of nettles into their shoes.

The girl giggled at the thought. Maybe this is why her mother liked to work with plants so much. They could heal and hurt... They were natures little tools for either giving the gift of life or death. She grabbed a few big leaves from a tree as she wrapped up her light devilish toys into them as she grabbed as many as she could fit into one hand. Her eyes filled with sort of glee that could only be seen in a child finding the biggest best toy in the supermarket.

She scampered home eventually reaching her villages location. The group of girls helping their mothers shot her a rather dirty look as if they were looking at the most petty imitation of a woman they could ever conceive. She just shook her head at them and ignored them as she walked up to her hut her mother standing at the open door frame tapping her foot as she stared down at her child. Her mothers dark green hair swaying from the slight spring breeze. "Locusta. Your late I was so worried!" She said her stern face cracking down into one of concern as she doted on her child hugging her close as the young girl squirmed in her mothers grip as her mom dragged her inside...

---

Locusta ran from rooftop to rooftop. She had vanished from that fight the moment she saw Berserker take her master away. Simply put since she was still here her master was okay. She was simply taking this time to reflect on how the world had changed. The air wasn't as clean as she remembered but the cursing in the streets was still the same even after all this time. There was no magical artefact or anything. Just people with devices called telephones that could communicate over extra long distances. How selfish of them to put all messengers out of jobs now who could she kill if someone sent her a terrible message. Honestly people were just forgetting about the real quality of life.

She stopped on top of the Inn from her rooftop running as she made sure nothing and nobody was present in the streets below as she crept through the window behind Albert. Hoping he won't get annoyed. Her green hair was loose again because well, she wasn't really needing to kill anyone and she wanted to relax a bit in this downtime between fights. She was herself 'Locusta of Gaul' instead of that other moniker that she liked to used so much.

She tapped his shoulder as he used the mental connection to signify he wanted to talk to her. "You know words work so much better then using a vocal connection which might I add is really really annoying when your trying to think about things Master but I forgive you" She said with a grin as she slide in front of him flicking his nose gently. "So what is it you want to say? Talk and I shall listen though I'll have to warn you I get distracted easily." She said twirling her finger in her hair as she said so. Her mind wondering if this place had any gardens or gardening supplies nearby.

Leon felt a strong pat on his back as he looked over to his Uncle Collins the made smiled and chuckled at him. "So how's things going besides this whole grail war debacle..." Collins asked Leon as he took as swig of his gin. The man was as tactful as ever at least he cared enough to ask more than some people Leon had known in his life. A lot of stuff was expected of the presently sole heir to a mage family. Even as one as recent as Leon's. He had been having issues at the clocktower. He didn't understand why he couldn't just stay at his father's college. His old man had told him it was for diversity's sake He wondered if that was the truth. "You want some? It's on me." Collins offered him a shot glass full of the gin he had been drinking with a wry grin as he eyed Leon. Leon frowned at his uncle and shook his head. "Uncle. I'm nineteen what the hell would you do if we got caught in this situation?" Leon told him off as the man frowned at him and drank the shot himself. "Fuck the police, and fuck the men behind them. Don't get me wrong some are good people. But they're a pain when you're a man like me. Makes life hard to peddle off your stuff. Besides I own the staff here, and I got a gun in my pocket. Also stop acting all righteous and trash like it. When I was your age I lost my v-card to a Taiwanese girl, got shot in the arm by a nazi, and drank myself into a stupor in which I found a holy relic which I vomited on." Collins said with disapproval as he reached in his pocket and pulled out another cigarette but it looked custom made by the looks of it. Leon figured it must've been some sort of marijuana, or other drug. Leon's uncle, while trust worthy, had a troubling history with stuff like this. Collins saw the disapproval on Leon's face and put it down with a sigh. "How much of that is actually true?" Leon questioned as Collins shrugged, "Fuck if I know. I did my best work when I was drunk, and high. One day I woke up next to ten golems, two mages, and a literal Spider Monkey. Your old man, and our pals told me that I had apparently killed two yakuza mages who made fun of my lucky charms. Fucks had it coming." Collins stated as Leon gave his uncle an incredulous look. "Lucky charms?" Leon asked as Collins once again shrugged, "Leon...do you have any remote idea of how hammered I got when we went hunting for shit to take? I did some weird stuff when I was a kid." the man said as he took another shot of gin.

---

Berserker was in a full sprint away from the scene, awaiting a response from the Master of Assassin. No, right now, he couldn't be called that. If his thoughts had been voiced aloud, then there is no question that they would be insulting, but the circumstances had broken the child. Still, just one more. There had to be more he could save from their fate...
In response to his words, the boy finally raised his voice, at least as much as he could.

"It's over, Berserker. We're making a full retreat. Zere's... nozing else we can do."

'Clear your mind.' An old memory echoed loudly in his head. He couldn't let himself be shaken by this. No matter how much his instincts screamed out for him to turn around and face the merciless beast that took pride in executing the many students, he had to stay in control of himself. His wishes meant nothing, his priority had to stay the same. It had to. The great man resisted every urge to even just tighten his grip of the boy in frustration.

"There is plenty that can be done, just not right now. Make sure to take action when the time comes."

He wasn't good with words, but he wanted to comfort the boy. However, he knew that abolishing whatever responsibility that the Master of Assassin had put on himself would be completely wrong. Not all of the details were known to Berserker, but he had seen and experienced enough tragedies to know the burden a man. The only thing the Golden Boy should do, is hope that he walks the right path from now on, whatever that may entail.

Having been informed by now of the location that they were supposed to meet up in, he didn't head there straight away. In fact, he took a rather roundabout route, running around the area and creating intentional markings to throw off whoever would come after their tracks. Sakata Kintoki wasn't what you would call intelligent, but 'outside' was his forte. If there are trees to be found, then he felt at home. Acting like an animal in the wild came as natural to him as breathing, and after the lengthy detour, he finally found himself satisfied, and went for the Deacon Arms Tavern.

---

The door to the tavern flung open loudly, drawing the attention of those inside almost instantly. He was a fair bit late by now, with most others probably having arrived by now. At the very least, the Masters who went together with Sonja. While everyone was staring, he let the exhausted Master of Assassin down, giving him a reassuring smile before sending him on his way. The boy seemed to know his way around, so there wasn't much else for the Golden Boy to do but accept the thanks and go to face his Master. Though, he wasn't given too much time to collect himself afterwards, as one of the few patreons still staring at him now, was in fact his Master. It should have been fairly easy for him to notice, but with his mind scattered, anything that wasn't either an immediate danger or intentionally sought-out had been overlooked. Still, even with the cuts and tears in his shirt, there was no real damage done to his actual body. The skin revealed beneath the clothes still held its natural glamour. His body had to be made of steel or something for cuts that big in his clothes to not even pierce into his flesh. No matter how many times he would recieve thiz gaze from others; One of both wonder and amazement, he would always enjoy it in a rather child-like manner.

"Yo, Master! I made it back like I said, sorry for havin' to leave ya behind, I couldn't let that kid just stand around and get himself killed!"

He sounded laid-back over the whole incident, but that was just the role of a Hero. Downplay the suffering so that others can feel safe. Still, in a tavern, there was only one thing to do. Or rather, two in his case. He walked through the bar, his massive figure making even making the most brave stumbling drunkards try to get out of his way as he was headed towards his Master. One fat short fellow bumped into him, almost falling over before being caught by one of the heavy arms, rebalancing him. A quick exchange of apologies and standard courtesy happened between the two in a rather semi-awkward way, but at the very least, it made the atmosphere a bit lighter. It could be considered rude to his Master for him to waste time like this before speaking with her properly, but it was simply the type of person that Kintoki was. After a few more seconds of teasing from other patreons, he went to sit besides Sonja, his massive presence almost entirely overshadowing the young girl.

"Ah, bartender! Gimme a beer- No wait, two! One for the young lady here." He hadn't yet turned to face her, instead slouching against the bar before exhaling loudly. It felt like the air within his lungs had been kept there for days. Even if drinking wasn't exactly his favorite thing in the world, it would always be something that reminded him of better times. He could feel his Master's prying eyes on him still. Ah, this was no good. "I'm really sorry Master. 'Always obey your General on the battlefield.' That was a lesson I had to learn in life, and I disobeyed it on the first day." The drinks were poured and sent across the table to him. For the first time since he sat down, he turned his head her way, sliding the second beer her way. "It ain't the most Golden of drinks, but it will have to do for now."