The bar. What... Horrible timing. Roland silently cursed himself, having proposed and already having to leave. "Olivier, let me know of your answer when I return." He said, standing up, and making little bounces away as he ran off into the forest. His heart was racing, and in a way he wasn't sure what to think or say. Since after all, he and Olivier had been betrhothed. But that was centuries ago, and since then their time on the throne of heroes had made it difficult to say such things. In truth, he was worried.

Did she still love him? Was she humoring him? He had lost his arm. His honor, and his weapon! He had run off and nearly gotten himself killed. But worse... The time in which he had become engaged to her... Was before their deaths. His own actions had led to her death on that battlefield when he had ignored her advice. His mistake! He was making mistakes again. Did she hate him for that? Of course not, but could she? This was why he didn't think. This is why he acted at all times. He reached up, and with a flick of his wrist, his cloak fluttered away, landing on the forest floor. It would come back to him, but he would not hide his missing arm for now. He had nothing to hide. His bravery made that clear.

_______________________________________________________
@BlueHelix@Paradox Witch - Pelion's Pub

Pelion's Pub... Roland had expected it to at least have a broken sign or something. Probably expecting some servant to have tried attacking it at least once in the current period. As he took another deep drink of the rice wine he had made sure to take with him and his master, he could already feel that slight intoxication. His thoughts became more focused in a way, on the task at hand. Pushing aside his worries of Olivier's love. He passed the bottle over to his master, and let out a belch as his insides churned. Being a heroic spirit at the very least didn't strip away the needs and uses of alcohol. "Drink up master. You have to at least be buzzed before we can enter the pub. Chiron will need to do his work in there most likely." Roland said, giving the bottle a shake. If they needed to drink more at any point, there was another bottle strapped to his belt.

At the door, he could see another servant, hopefully they would all be on nice terms, since they would have to drink. "Pal if you need a drink, I have extra." The one armed paladin said, about ready to reach for his sword at a moment. He covered his mouth with his fist, coughing softly as another belch felt so close. He really shouldn't have been drinking so quickly. He stood by the door, a good few feet from the other servant, so it was clear he wasn't there for any desire to fight. They were both there for a drink, or in Roland's case, his life. "You know, you seem like a nice guy. Some kind of military sort?" Roland said, trying to make idle chatter as they waited for the horse man to arrive.

The door opened, and out came Chiron. All while the world seemed to end.
"Noble horse teacher, I request some help from you. And not just the booze." Roland said, scratching at his neck. "I am dying of poison, and I'm fairly sure you can help with that." He'd probably have been more eloquent, but he was trying to get drunk.

Beaten to the punch, unfortunate but it was a fact of life. The thing was an unidentifiable existence, completely unknown to it's Master despite his vast knowledge. But it didn't matter what it was, Tesla would send another familiar to collect the corpse later. Now all that mattered was getting the spear back from that which sought to claim it first. The draugr opened it's mouth, wider than any human jaw could ever unhinge, a metal barrel peeking out from behind it's rotting gums as it aimed directly at the familiar. Not even a moment later it fired, blasting a bolt of lightning at the thing with such force that the few remaining teeth it had rattled loose.

Two more draugr jumped from the Church towards the Railyard, eager to backup their brother from the following familiars that Tesla had spotted from afar. Let the battle begin.

---

(Ignore previous draugr post*)

---

The lord of Spirits watched as the wicked flames sprung from Avenger's body, incinerating her explosive before it could finish its arc.

"So that's how it is."

Her voice carried across the distance between them, one queen speaking unfalteringly to another.

"I was curious what motivated you to step into that blaze."

It was useful to learn her enemy's abilities, but these flames definitely posed a problem, as they made both melee and magecraft unfavourable options.

"Perhaps you can make yourself useful and burn away that forest, Queen of Carthage.

She gestured over her shoulder to what had sprouted up in Miyama town behind her with her right hand, and cast two rune-stones into the air with her left. If her request for a forest fire was genuine, she wasn't letting up on her offensive to give Avenger time to consider it.

Her concussive stone had been touched by the flames before the rune's effect had completed, but these stones only travelled a few dozen feet from Lancer before discharging. Twin bolts of radiant white electricity burst forth and crossed the remaining distance to Dido at the speed of, well, lightning. The bolts flew unerringly for her torso, but halfway there one abruptly changed course, banking left and flying into the forest before reemerging and making a beeline for Avenger's Master.

"Not that I would expect you to have any drive to be helpful, considering your recent behaviour."

---

---

After some experimentation on the part of the controller, costing less than a dozen worms, they began to move.

Dead animals and vermin slunk through the murderous forest, consuming what they safely could. It was a strange phenomena, but it seemed they were safe from the trees' bloodlust as long as they remained sheltered inside these rancid bodies. A little careful maneuvering and it became possible to absorb healthy amounts of energy from these deadly flora.

Around the outskirts, more animals moved, seemingly in perfect health. Some nibbled on the leaves, while others, having been granted "absorption" by the controller, walked straight through trees, gaining sizeable nourishment for doing so. Apparently merely splitting into groups of two or three bugs and transforming to look like natural wildlife was enough to placate the forest around the edges, although they had to keep moving outward to ensure that the forest's expansion did not leave them stranded too deeply within.

That left the "big fish" at the centre of all this. Regardless of if the incredible bombardment had truly killed it, it still held the mana of this land for the time being. Animal corpses and winged bugs alike made for that place, where they would feed and breed and feed. It would not do to carelessly bunch up and be destroyed so deep into enemy territory, so it was a careful approach towards the protections arranged around the great tree.

A horrible buzz from above, and silent creeping from below.

---

---

It was unreasonably fast, so getting ahold of its movements took some time and focus from the controller.

Once she had a "feel" for it, though, that "feel" could be transferred to the units, at which point tracking this thing became automatic and close to foolproof across the entire network. This being complete, the bugs in the railyard began to move.

All the bugs in the railyard.

Walls were constructed wherever possible. Air superiority was gained. An immediate engagement was joined.

Whether or not the thing carrying the spear survived the lightning from the other group chasing it, it would immediately be beset by an entire caboose, which dissolved into a shifting dark green mass that slumped to one side to engulf it.

Next was the "smoke screen" provided by winged insects against the other interested party. The bladeflies made to block the undead's vision to the spear-holder while also taking every opportunity to cut at their limbs and heads.

Perhaps they would be shaken off quickly or fled from, but the entire area- No, the entire city was full of them.

But this was not the time to waste units and energy chasing one as fast as that, or with firepower such as the draugr wielded, and so the "Binding" began.

Two or three for each undead, five for the one with the spear, insects the the area engaged the spells the controller had implanted into them. It was done without warning, as each one was no more than another bug in the swarm up to that point.

Their movement would be robbed. Their contracts, if weak, would be severed. Those with strong contracts would nonetheless find it difficult to contact their controllers, as if switching from a strategy game to a transistor radio.

They wasted no moment. The spear would be theirs.

The hero of the Trojan War continued to run throughout the city as fast as his legs could carry him, uncaring about any buildings destroyed in his wake, concerned only with reaching his Master’s current base of operations quickly so that he could discuss just why she had not thought to tell him about his teacher, and just how he would be able to deal with him.

Trauma or no, hellish training or no, Chiron was someone ‘dear to Achilles’ heart’. That was an undeniable fact, and he could not bring himself to raise his spear against the man, even if he had thrown his lot in with whoever had called forth Troy. The fact of the matter was — he had always been the kind of idiot that absolutely could not fight those he had already deemed as ‘friends’. Perhaps some would be able to kill that feeling, but the bonds he had formed were not something so easily ignored.

And that was without mentioning the rush of suppressed memories that would have him staring at the ceiling for quite a while following his return. At this point, he just wanted to get back.

However, something caught his attention, and the ‘comet’ shifted its course ever so slightly to pass by the two Servants having a battle so near their base. Perhaps one of those his Master had mentioned, allied to the Matou, or just simple coincidence? Regardless, he did not have time to—

For the second time in the same day, Achilles forgot how to breathe.

That shield.

His legs came to an abrupt stop, the force of the sudden deceleration enough to crush a man, yet not even phasing the greatest Achaean as he beheld a macabre spectacle.

He knew that shield. He knew the man holding it. He had laughed beside that man. He had trained beside that man. He had fought and bled and killed and cried beside that man.

He had been friends with that man.

His cousin, Ajax — another of the great heroes of that War, who had distinguished himself as much as the other, whose name still echoed in eternity as that of a great hero.

He knew that man, and now he was seeing him bisected by the sword of an enemy, his faithful shield powerless to stop it. His grip on his own spear tightened, but that was nothing compared to what came after — the flash that signaled the arrival of a new Servant, and the release of another Noble Phantasm.

His cousin had died, right before his eyes, before he had even known he was here, too stunned to try to save him, too baffled to try to stop them, too absorbed in his own worries to act promptly, too—

—too late to save anyone, again. But that’s a theme with you, isn’t it? Always losing sight of the most important things—

“—And nothing but regrets to show for it.” He muttered, taking a step forward, gaze fixed on the woman that had turned his cousin to ash.

In some dark manner, it must have been amusing. He, the fastest of all heroes, always too late to help those that needed it, always too slow to save those that mattered, always a step short from being able to protect what he loved.

He had never been a hero that saved people. His legend had been built on the corpses of his enemies and his loved ones. However, before he could wander down that path, a memory assaulted him.

A moment, shared on those beaches during a quiet night.

”You’re thinking of what?”

“Hey, Rules Fifteen and Thirty-one, cousin. Besides, it’s not like you can talk about how we use our equipment. I really believe this can work.”

“. . .I suppose. You always did live up to expectations, as well.”

“Heh, well, gotta come up with my own way of keeping up. Teacher’s training can take us far, but what makes or breaks a hero comes afterward, Ach. It’s in what we live, and what we reach at the end of the road. But we’ll manage it. After all—”

“—Rules One-Hundred and One-Hundred and One: Rise, Strive.”

The hellish memories associated with each one were oddly absent — or rather, something he had dismissed as a matter of course due to the situation. How could he afford to care about such petty things now? How could he live with himself if he let that get to him right at this moment?

The answer was that there was no way. Plain and simple. He had failed him, he had failed plenty of people but—

That just meant he would have to fight for what he had left all the harder. That just meant he would have to treasure those memories all the more. That just meant he would have to honor them as best as he was able.

The hero named Achilles was never one that looked at the past, he was not one that pondered about the what-ifs and sighed while endlessly thinking about missing opportunities. He would do what he had always done, the swiftest hero in the world would run forward at full speed, looking at the future.

There was no cocky smirk, there were no taunts. His mouth was set in a thin line, and his gaze was firm, focused and ready.

The traumas would not overcome him. The pain of loss would not hold him back. His regrets would not drown him. His anger would not cloud his mind.

They were things that did not matter. Thus—

“Rule number Ninety-Five: Concentrate.”

What did he have left?

The gifts of the gods.

The skills he had been taught by the greatest teacher in the entire world.

The abilities he had refined over the course of ten years of war.

And a body forged for victory.

Plenty to work with.

A single breath, the eternity between heartbeats, and Achilles had moved. There was no warning, and he offered no quarter — almost as if he had teleported, he had appeared right by the side of the Saber — Yamato Takeru — spear poised to gouge her side with all the quickness that the fastest among heroes could muster.

@addamas

@Manythings @Enterthehero @Paradox Witch



There was an explosion, a conflict.

More importantly there was something of value, something that called out to Berserker. OR was it that he called out to it? Whatever the case there was something to take of value, and in that sense he and his master were united in desire.

But there were other tasks to take care of. The value of what appeared to be up for grabs was certainly high, but it was something far below the value of exposing a servant.

A general could not secure all points, an emperor could not pave every road in his kingdom. For an emperor, a general was but one man and his lands were large, his ambitions and needs even larger.

Yet an empire was only strong because an emperor could take into hand that which was beyond one man. The power of Berserker was not that of the lone hero, no. The power of Berserker was the power, and riches of his nation.

So the emissary of Berserker went in his stead. What blazed through the city with a speed was not the servant himself, even as it sped through with a momentum beyond most creations of the modern age.

No, what passed through the streets was not a servant, nor a beast. Clattering and ringing, it was a chaotic and noisy canopy of noise. It was the sound of an army marching to war, amplified in the mess of a most strange method of transportation. Bones creaked, armor clanged against the ground.

The distance from the church to the railway was devoured, and after traveling on top of the rails to its destination the emissary of the Emperor burst through the wreckage of the already mangled train to fly towards the familiar that had managed to grab the spear. The form of it revealed as a ball, a mass of skeletons wrapped together. A Skeleton Ball

Falling upon the zombies that swarmed, it bounced after crushing the various bodies that had been gathered and then infested. Gore, poison and filth covered the ball as it finally collided with the familiar with the spear without any drop in speed.

Falling upon the familiar, a dozen hands reached out for the spear while another dozen grabbed at it, seeking to halt the momentum of that familiar and pull the spear along with it to pry it into its grasp.

Well, he had nearly stepped back in.

On his way in, someone new arrived. No, not someone new, but someone old. The one who he'd gotten the horse wine out for, the second one he'd gotten the horse wine out for, and his Servant.

Archer's eyes flitted over to the Saber, pausing for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, I can see that. Someone did a numbah on ya, huh?"

His gaze tore into Roland, dissecting him with a clarity that was difficult to reconcile with the rotund balding figure he possessed.

"...now that's interestin'. The poison smashin' ya up is some potent stuff, but ya spiritual foundation's just gettin' stronger. One a' those 'more stacked the odds, higher the power' types, huh? Yeah, yeah I feel ya. Lesse, just healin' ya ta full'd help ya, sure, but it'd also mean that continuous strengthenin' ya got'll stop on the spot. Feels like a shame ta just get rid a'that, don't ya think?"

A bemused grin spread on his lips, as he manifested and handed the Master and Servant the standard gallon-sized bottle of booze.

"Come on in. I'll hook ya up with somethin' special. We value repeat customers."

---

Lightning from the draugrs raced forth, slicing through the air, and met it.

Take.

-And without warning, the lightning vanished, its target unfazed by its presence, as though nothing had ever happened.

The insects came. A swarm came to cover it, attempting to engulf it. Insects chittered, attempting to utilize magecraft to disrupt its connection with its master.

Of course, precautions had already been taken, on several levels.

Take.

Something burst out of it.

Those insects in its immediate area were lost in a moment, their "everything" taken from them. Those that remained at a distance found their spells faltering, unable to even affect it, as though the spells were barred from entering its very reality. And yet, there was something else there too, something deeper. A prayer for death. What was-

Something else arrived. A mangled sphere of bones and poison. The bones reached out to stop it, to steal its prize and to continue on its way, however...

The moment that skeleton amalgam touched it, it found itself pinned to the spot by an unknown force.

Something tore into the bones of the new arrival. A crushing iciness, a searing heat, and then nothing. The bones fell apart, the power animating them fell apart, the poison coating them fell apart.

No, it was not that they merely fell apart, but that it had torn their nature from them. This profane thing, whatever it was, had treated the creation of a Servant's Noble Phantasm in the same way as it had the familiars of modern magi.

Take.

And so, not even a few scant seconds having passed since it first acquired its target, it darted away, exiting the railyard. In the first place, none of the beings here were sufficient in ability to follow it directly.

All the while, the presence of the spear in its grip was weakening.

...No, not merely that.

The spear itself was fading away, receding into the body of the one who held it.

Take.

It was good to know the chubby horse man could see his woes. And while Roland would normally turn down another drink, since he had been drinking in preparation, he wasn't about to turn down another thing of booze. He stepped in, checking back on his master, who he needed to protect more than any other. Satisfied that the bar was safe, he took a seat, turning his focus to Chiron now that he didn't need to worry so much about standing straight.

"You see... Chiron. I have been hit with a numbah 10." He glanced at the bartender, who had already begun work on a Number 10 (With a side of fries). "No, that's not what I meant." He said, correcting the man as quickly as possible. His uncle would kill him if he started spending money recklessly. "I cannot fight like this. My body moves fasta' than reflexes let me go. This poison, in my body... I can survive it. I can. But it's done something to my body. It's degrading me." He wasn't sure how he could really explain it. "If you can lessen the poison, to a point where my body can safely ignore it, without the degrading of my self, that would be... Very very very-" Roland did at least ten more 'very's before he was stopped by a member of the staff lightly tapping him on the back of the head. "Thank you... Very nice of you."

Leaning back, Roland clutched his temples. "Chiron, we are willing to make a trade. I do not need a new arm. I will find my sword on my own terms. But while my body is fighting this poison to the degree it is, I cannot be certain I can help anybody. And worse, I cannot look upon my love in this state I am." Tears began to collect around his cheeks. "Olivier means so much to me. I can't use words to describe her beauty. She makes a puddle of my thoughts when I look at her. I..." He choked. "I have to fight. There are others who would take her from me. They are Saracens, they are all thieves!" His hand gripped the table, as his drunken mind snapped to a sudden focus. The other heroes in the war. They were all thieves, and images of that green one flashed through his mind like fireworks. "It cannot continue like this."

"I need to prove to Olivier that I am capable of being the man she loved. That I am not the fool who led her to a meaningless death!" Roland stood, banging a hand against the table. "I realize this may all sound small. That it may sound like a mortal squabble to a man who raised a generation of heroes. But however meaningless in the grand scheme of things, it is the sun and sky and heavens to me!"

Roland fell back down, as overdramatic as they came. "Please, help me protect Olivier. To be finally married to Olivier... I would defeat every hero in this war, and the next hundred."

---

She thought she had been doing the right thing. She really had. When she had appeared in the stranger's arms, she had felt so... sure. So certain. So in love. Something like this couldn't possibly be wrong, could it? It felt safe, and right, even when Vlado had a hole punched in his chest. She'd been sick to see it, sure, but she and her father were master bone-crafters. With enough time and effort, and quick enough reflexes, the boy would be right as rain. When her father's rage consumed him, she had stepped forth, taking on the sparks of his Noble Phantasm, taking the Breath of Life into herself. She had opened her mouth, to speak, to reassure. She was all right, she would say. Vlado would be all right. And Jack? Jack was a friend. More than a friend. Surely he could help them, surely they could come to a mutual arrangement? Surely--

And then Jack cleaved her father in two. Without a word. Without negotiation. Without any hope of resolution at all. In an instant, her father's corpse lay at her feet. Dead. Gone. Her brothers and sisters collapsing, like puppets loosed from their strings. The Igors shook their heads, as though shaking off some horrible dream, and left. And Franziska was left alone with a murderer.

He turned, regret in his eyes. As though he had the right to feel regret after what he'd done. She opened her mouth again. To scream? To rage and cry? To rip his throat out?

And then he spoke. Hells, that voice... her anger shattered, like spun glass before a sledgehammer. She couldn't be angry. She loved him, didn't she?

A shard of wrath lingered. And she tucked it away, somewhere deep inside her. Right next to the place she could feel thrumming with power- her father's last, unintentional gift to her. She looked up into his eyes- her beloved? Her most hated foe? She wasn't sure. But she would be. Soon. Or soon enough. She focused on the words he spoke, rather than that damned voice he spoke them in.

“I promise to make you happy.”

She felt the rage. She felt the lightning in her breast.

And she smiled.

I'll hold you to that promise... Jack.

---

@floodtalon@Reflection@Scallop@Yukitamas@Kyoka

---

Suzaku shook his head as he looked at the hole in the stained glass window his Servant's... paramour (Christ, just imagining it made his stomach turn) had left on their hasty exit. He grit his teeth, trying to think of calming things, trying to quell the rage and the anxiety that swelled in his chest. Unfortunately, his usual method of calming himself would be to go out and kill things. Considering the only targets within range were all allies... that avenue was counterproductive to the extreme. So, he compromised, and went for a joke.

"Waste of damn good art," he mused, ruefully lighting up another cigarette. "She did see that the door was open, didn't she?"

It helped. Marginally.

...Up until Xerxes came up from behind and started addressing some... very accurate assessments that Suzaku himself had made about his Servant. Suzaku took a long drag on his cigarette, sighing out the smoke with frustration.

"I don't like this. I don't like her. Tesla isn't likely to be caught off guard by her again, but... damn it all, this isn't right. It's not sane. I don't think we have anything to worry about from Tesla himself- he's been loyal, so far. But that..." He grit his teeth, searching for words he didn't have. "...That... thing... if he loses control of her again, we're done for. She's too powerful for us to stop on our own. Conventionally, anyhow. But I have a plan. All I have to do is look at this from a... different angle."

He turned to Xerxes, a grim fire in his eyes. "I don't relish being so underhanded, but I am a hunter. And a hunter must hunt with wits and cleverness, not brute strength. Tesla may not enjoy what I'm planning, but I have to keep my options open. So, I need a favor from you- keep an eye, an ear out, for the Master of... that one. Should Tesla's leash on her loosen... we will do what we must. He can have his dalliance for now, but I am not about to let this alliance be threatened by his insanity."

---

Miraculously, things then proceeded to get even worse.

Suzaku's fingers twitched as he lifted yet another cigarette to his lips, watching the Fantasy Tree- the reincarnation of Yggdrasill- rise into the sky.

Somehow, he was sure this was Tesla's fault.

Regardless of who was the initiator of this new nightmare, it did not change the fact that this war had officially gone from bad to worse. A power like that, a seed of the Age of Gods, was an unprecedented occurrence. He could feel the Leylines beneath his feet, twisting and writhing and cascading toward this new... abomination. He could feel reality shifting around it. Changing. Transforming.

If that tree was allowed to flourish, it could spell the end. Of everything. All of reality swept up in a whirlwind, a hurricane of creation and destruction, until only Primordial Chaos remained.

...Not if I can help it.

"Ludwig." His voice was loud, clear, and calm, lacking the same kind of panic he'd possessed earlier. "Inject the draugr I showed you earlier, in the manner which we discussed. Xerxes, help me prepare the Draugr Delivery System. We won't have a better opportunity- we're killing that fucking tree."

@Reflection@Cu Chulainn @Paradox Witch






Back with a glass of horsewine. The man who wore the mask drank of the special drink that was not for the tongues of men. “Repeat customers are nice. But it is a shame to think that this bar will only last for so long.” he let out with a whinny before pouring the rest of the bottle into his now-empty glass. “But there are things I would wish to talk about beyond simply alcohol and wounds.” Tlilpojuan turned towards Chiron. “You are the greatest teacher of the west, famed for his knowledge as much as the heroes he raised.” With the vigor of someone that was intoxicated, whose passions were only inflamed by alcohol, he rose to his feet. Of course there were other properties that made Chiron a hero that was more aligned with his interests, but even without that he was the one most ideal for him to talk with.

“I too am a teacher of a sort, although in truth it is more that I direct a man who is a youth. Our paths are parallel, yet ultimately divergent. There is some common ground and yet in that common ground we hold differences that make us not a true master and apprentice. We are no family of magi or a dojo in truth. There is no chain, there is no succession or inheritence.”

He shook his head and clenched a fist. “To begin with there is much I still must see of the world before I truly become one who adds to the future. I fight in the Grail War not for the wish of the grail, but rather to see and experience.”

He smiled underneath his mask before taking a bow of respect. A bit clumsy, a bit overeager. He was always the sort to unapologetically wear his heart on his sleeve. “I do not ask that you be my teacher, but as long as you are the patron of this bar…”

Whipping back to the side of the bar, Tlilpojuan dropped his satchels upon the bar. The various snacks and delicacies gathered from Japan, or rather Fuyuki. A small microcosm of the bounty and pleasures that it held on offer overflowing, grains and meats, sweets and various snacks slightly spilling out. “So long as we are able to eat I ask that you share with me stories of the world.” Tlilpojuan looked straight at Chiron. “Finally I wish to see the strike of your hooves. One strike would be what I wish.”

The Horse of Fuyuki thus bared his reason for his participation in his conflict, and the feelings that drove his wandering and study. It was not a matter of trying to learn about an enemy, it was not a matter about trying to conquer a foe. The man with the horsemask simply wished to witness and see the different things that people considered wonders and beauties

@Cu Chulainn @Dosthou

“That’s it.” he said as he rose up. A barely perceptible hobbling with the step of the arm that was grabbed and thrown. Magica energy ran through him, healing the damage, but the grip of that Rider was a fearsome one indeed.

“That’s my spear.” he said with the uttermost frankness as the armor dispersed into wispy blue particles. Or rather, the armor transformed backed into the unassuming, repulsive and silly outfit that was the mark of a fool. A slight frown came to Percival as he turned away from Dietrich despite the roused temper of the great hero, staring instead towards the direction of Miyama. The land was changing, the false readvent of an age long past. An age that mankind had walked away from. An age that declined and was severed by the actions of a great few. An age that mankind grew out of as a whole. The world itself changed and as the planet itself reached towards its end, the maturity of those who reigned in primacy was to come.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have anything like that.” He murmered loud enough for Dietrich, yet quiet enough to clearly show that his attention wandered away. As he walked away the sack that contained the horrors of the Fuyuki fire fell to the ground. A microcosm of a world, of a calamity. A place that contained and kept only death. An underworld.

It was in that world where the young boy first found himself without a smile.

That was undeniably a great horror.

Those that he could have saved were consequently those that he could definitely not save. No, more than that they were those who he brought death to. Their chance of defying sch a calamity that reaped all unfortunate to be within its grasp lowered to a non-possibility, even the hope of a miracle dashed through his mere presence.

For them it would have been better if he never came to begin with. It would have been better if he was not as he was. If he was something else, if he was grown. If it was that him, then they would have been saved. At the very least they would have died from the merits of their own power to defy danger and pave their paths and fate.

The flames that bound its victims to it and burned their souls. His failed attempts at saving people. They were one and the same. The remnants that were writhing within were a testament to his failure, his foolishness.

How would he act this time then?

“That tree.” he spoke out as the grove began to crumble, sublimed into the wildlands and the texture that was growing like a moss upon Fuyuki. The fairy grove was no longer quite their territory. It was a pocket within the wilds, yet it no longer held a distinction between the outside and its inside. The walls slightly crumbled, its boundary blurred. The sight of the great tree of what was relegated to the past and fantasy came into the view of the three within.

“It has to fall.”

@BlueHelix@Reallydumb



Too long had he been idle, too long had he waited before returning to his battle. His eternal war with that man would never end, and every moment of peace was simply a break for him.

His emissary had not been successful, simply being plundered himself into the fuel of the enemy. Yet he was a man who was not like the many heroes of this war. He was one who was surrounded by defeat, who knew many failures and retreats. Such a small loss would not bother him, for he was the ruler who like a bird of fire rose again and again. Like a weed he propagated and withstood. He was a wall who defined himself in opposition to other great legends.

Yet his awaited foe did not come. The man called the Great did not come. He did not come he did not come he did not come. No matter where he waited, no matter how he awaited his arrival to the place that held a great bounty (fallen leyline) no matter how he waited by the ocean he did not come he did not come he did not come. Why was he not here, why did he not come with his unquenchable desire and greed?

The power of the empire was like the fuel for a legend that burned bright enough to cast its flame into the future as a great beacon to light the path. An anchor that helped to define human history.

He struggled against the man that could not be denied in his quest for the end of the world. Even the Persian Empire falling before him and claimed and repainted as his.

A failure, a terrible failure built upon the countless losses.

He had done his role diligently, but now he walked out as the conquerer. If that man would not come then he would lash out and search for him. So the army marched. A manifested army of the dead, or rather the undying marched. Their sights set for that moor, that marsh of the Rider who was the lord who defended his land.

He did not know of that servant, nor of his history. But in a sense there were similarities in their nature.

Riding upon a great elephant, accompanied by his vast legion. With a need to wage war verging on the need of madness, he descended into the moor, trampling a gouged path into the land with the arms of the Persian Emperor.

Iskander!

Oh Iskander!

Where are you?

Oh, his connection with the tree was cut off.

“That’s inconvenient,” Ana mumbled, legs crossed on his focusin’ stump. He ran his hand through his hair, and shut his eyes once more.

Establishing a connection with his own creation was easy enough, a matter of moments for one such as himself. It was a game of mentality, and that was one he was (probably) good at!

As quickly as his connection with the land (tree) was cut, it was soon reestablished. It wasn’t even hard on the relative scale of similar tasks, due to all the work which made the initial connection still being in place.

Now to see what happened in the few moments he was gone --

---

Fire damage - negligible. Accessing Composite Flame Element. Effected sub-units, acting. Assimilating flames. Converting flames into magical energy. Beginning repairs on sub-units. Action queued: fire resistance plus.

Foreign unnatural entities detected within bounds. Designation… ‘Familiar’. Consuming.

Action complete.

...

Empathic suite alert. Hostile action detected.

Development cessation confirmed. Ad hoc point defence active. Queued process ‘Improve Defense Systems’; place, second.

Time until hostile action success…

Four seconds.

Three point seven.

Hostile agent identified -- spiritual body confirmed. Hostile agents identified. Spiritual body count, two. Prioritising…

Three point five.

Complete. Inorganic wave-form targeted. Trajectories calculated. Damage sustained to core… uncertain. Risk-reward… uncertain.

Action confirmed.

Firing port formed. Accumulating energy.

Three point two.

A hum filled the air of Fuyuki, like a power generator near to the ear of the residents. A brief noise, followed by a distracting glinting in the sky, like newformed stars coming into being around the trunk of the looming tree. A daunting sight, a prelude to the second after.

Accumulation complete.

Firing.

Two point one.

A reverberation in the air, enough to shake those even vaguely close to the Prime Elemental’s territory to their core, went through Fuyuki. And then, light. A concentrated, searingly bright burst of light. It shot out beneath the Elemental Lifeform’s canopy, illuminating the entire city with its pure radiance. It was not the hopes of man, or concentrated grudges, nothing so glamorous. The principle of it was simple, recreatable even, but the output was not something anything in modernity could hope to recreate.

Short of maybe one or two things, that is.

It was magical energy, thousands of degrees hot with its condensed intensity. A simple expression with no grand history behind it, no legend to colour it beyond the inherent Mystery belonging to its source.

And it shot directly towards its attacker at shore, obliterating the dark with its travel.

It was only the natural response for any lifeform to respond to aggression with aggression.

Firing process complete.

Accumulating magical energy.

Impact in…

Point three.

---

“Oh, well that’s not good,” Ana said, to which the Guest just nodded, leaving its comment to itself this time. He looked in the direction of the tree in the distance, at the edge of his territory and imposing on what was once the flame-ridden foreigner district.

The fire that had threatened to spread within the Lifeform’s domain had been handled. The sentient ‘sub-units’, he noted them as, were more than capable of shifting and adapting their consumption to handle a fire that seemingly originated from a form of magecraft. Damaged, but repairable.

He had also felt the familiars trying to move in on Kurozome’s territory, quickly dealt with. From what ‘vision’ he could get from the Lifeform, they appeared to be insect-like, but disguised in bodies of once-living creatures.

The principle was one he understood, but the execution was wrong. Such is why they simply died, ‘consumed’ by the forest for what little power they held. The tree itself would not figure it out, but he did.

He’d have to keep an eye out for ‘natural’ bodies entering the forest, in case they tried again.

So that was two issues dealt with.

But, there was one more which seemed far more daunting --

The cannon fire.

He shut his eyes, laying back on his Focusin’ Stump. The tree had responded instantly to hostile action in all cases, and if it survived, well…

At least he knew how its ‘weapon’ system worked, now.

In the ruins of the battlefield, with her sword still pointed downwards after releasing her most trusted attack, Takeru was frozen in place. She looked to where her ally stood just seconds ago. Not even Shuten’s cries and subsequent withdrawal drew her attention away from Ajax’s corpse; if you could even call it that anymore.

A few moments ago she was dying to go into town and fight in the war, but all she could think of now was the idiocy of her actions. She didn’t prepare a tactic, she didn’t address the situation in the slightest, and it probably caused the biggest blunder the grail war history.

But sitting here in embarrassment and regret would do nobody any good and as she peered to her side to watch the sunset, she raised her hood and hid her identity once more.

But something was wrong, an eerie feeling turning her stomach upside-down. her Instinct(B) told her that danger was close; the kind of danger that threatened her life immensely. Her body told her to move, to get away from her current position with the speed that would tear her muscles; but not before her head turned to face the threat.

The resulting shock of her opponent almost delayed her response to a fatal degree, but as she raised her sword and send a burst of wind through it, she darted through the air, several feet away from the threat and landing in a defensive position. Her knees trembled slightly as she pushed a hand against her waist, blood pouring out from in between the fingers; it appeared she wasn’t fast enough, but fortunately the cut was not deep. With Kusanagi in hand, she raised the blade to guard her vitals, ready for another attack, but before he did, Takeru hoped to communicate with him before this battle turned sour.

“I know how this looks Lancer...And I made a fucking mistake.” She shouted as her entire body leaned forward with intensity, yet it was painfully obvious she did not want to hurt another ally. “But I swear on the holy grail, I was trying to protect him.” She spoke in a melancholic yet fierce tone. At that moment, a brilliant light illuminated the entire city, drawing the attention of Takeru, who pointed her hand towards the phenomenon.

“Even now, this city is being torn apart because this war is being fought by children and maniacs who can’t control their greed. You’re fighting the wrong fight here Lancer; I am on your side.”

@Breo

The newly-arrived Servant and Master caused the Archer's eyes to glint in bemusement. Yes, this man, a Saber if his mention of a sword was any indication, was undoubtedly a 'hero'; the immaterial radiance he gave off was an indication of that much.

"...trade? Kid, don't be fuckin' dumb. Just cause yer my competita' doesn't mean I'm boutta turn away someone who comes ta my bar askin' for help, 'specially after dealin' with some dipshit earlier today."

He replied with a shrug as he stepped inside his territory. The grin across his face spread slightly with those next words from the Saber. "...hey, horse kid, talk ta me later, will ya? Ya Servant's got some issues I'mma clean up first."

Taking a seat on a barstool, the Archer's eyes glinted. "Love, huh?" He murmured out softly, an almost wistful light entering those eyes.

"Love's somethin' important, but ya can't let it control ya, aight kid? Hate, hate's easy. Hate thins out tha more ya use it. Love? Love just gets stronga. Love drives you with an obsession ya can't curb, turns ya into somethin' that'll bare its fangs against a peaceful present in tha name of it. So, don't let ya love control ya. Contain it, undastand it. Don't reject it, don't leave it unfetta'd. If ya let it take ya over, if ya let it consume ya, then ya ain't you anymore. Then ya nothin'."

"It ain't a squabble ta me. Ya've got a fire in ya eyes, ya've got a will that I can admire, but ya gotta temper it."

A soft exhale left him as she shook his head, expression clearing up.

"...so, I'll tell ya what. I'm gonna give ya a gift. I'll give ya what ya need to beat whateva's in ya way, ta take ya swooooord back and win ya love, but here's the snag. If ya go too far, if ya lose yaself to that love and turn from a hero inta a monsta in its name, then ya'll force my hand."

Turning his head to the bartender, his eternal brother, he spoke. "...Donnie, he's got a god's poison in 'im. Looks to be a notch weaka' than the hydra's stuff against non-Greeks. Gimme somethin' that'll alleviate the symptoms, but keep tha cause. He gets stronga' when shit's stacked against 'im, so leave enough behind that th' ability of 'is stays in effect. Heal 'im, but also keep that continuous buff goin'."

And so, a glass of wine was poured, one that held the promise of changing the face of this war.

---

Light.

Light, light, searing light. That light of the ruined tree, a might on par with even a great Noble Phantasm, streaked towards the ship.

The planet wailed.

Prana gushed from around the mask in preparation of the strike of the tree.

"...heh, don't hold back."

She was not speaking to the tree that had been leveled by their assault.

No, like the tree itself speaking to the world...she was speaking to the light that was enveloping space...or rather, she was speaking to the planet itself.

The ten magi's voices were unified as they spoke to the planet, as their prayer for a miracle was realized.

In an instant, as if the gush of prana prior was a mere prelude, several times more erupted, a veritable tornado enveloping the mask's form.

It was a concept that propagated life.

An ember formed to traverse the terror of Genesis.

One that made hell Paradise.

Unfazed by the separation of Heaven and Earth.

From past to future, from future to eternity.

Connecting the land and the sea to the sky.

Because life was carved with the terror of sin, men shall even purge their genes.

A mask and a curse. She was a demon and an instrument.

-And since the world was already hell, humans shall make it a paradise and purge the fire of Genesis.

A song with the words forgotten. A melody without any notes.

Yes, for if that light you throw forth is born from "life"...

Then I will show you something which surpasses that life itself.

Listen here, for now and forever I proclaim-

I am the world that sunders the Void.

I am the demon who shatters all lies.

I am the primordial rupture that severs all obstacles.

I am Shaytan-Ea. And before me...



The lights met.



The two worlds clashed forces. It was a cataclysm that tore space apart for an instant, and throughout the expanse...

-"Life" was utterly crushed.

---

"W~ow, good work Shaytanea, you sure showed that beam what for! Here, have some oregano!"

"...th-thank you."

---

Well, it was a good thing he had activated this on the way here. The dragon had fled, a thing he was able to see ahead of time, but something else had come to light. A battle. One between two warriors, one of this land and the other of a place far away. The latter had crushed part of this town on his own soaring down from the sky like a dragon upon prey. He had come for the dragon, but it seemed that matter had been resolved by the one who wielded the sacred sword of this land which bore power over the winds. Interesting. "Kusanagi", as the winds flowing around had told him, virtually screaming the name as it were along with the thrum of this land and the songs of the birds.

So at the scene, Sigurd stood a respectful ways back from the fight between the Achaean hero and heroine of this her native land, though they'd be able to see him if they looked to where he stood with his wife. Gram wasn't even out, for it was not worth the time. He would observe the mettle of these servants as their test, to see what occurred and how they handled themselves. Of course he knew much more had been going on around him and otherwise, a vibrant thrum of activity from attacks again "that" tree to that living abomination of a forest being as it was. Even a mask out there upon a boat that had done something rather interesting, actually.

But so many problems remained. So many still existed. If it were not for his blade, one could have been dealt with right now. But since the dragon was not dead, then yes he had something to work with here. He would see where and when it would return, the one who carried the dragon's blood and could manifest it that is. Unless something else came up first.

Regardless, as the chaos of this battle and around him in this war was not new to Sigurd himself, twas' merely another day of being a hero.

@addamas@Breo@Phonic

A moment of silence.

The great Elemental Lifeform, an anachronism from a distant time, had been struck in its vulnerable infancy, and died for it.

There was no great toppling, or even burning. Rather, the detonations tore chunks out of its trunk, and the rest began to dissolve into blue lights. Rejected, it simply vanished in an almost too-peaceful manner. And as quickly as it had appeared, Kurozome was gone, the land relieved of an alien burden.

Ana blinked, sitting up on his Focusin’ Stump. His eyes shifted about, the sudden absence of his tree-buddy oh so clear.

“...Wait… it’s like that?”

…

Another moment of silence. It soaked in, the loss of his beautiful tree -- his magnum opus! It was so cool!

So freakin’ cool!

AaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA--

“AAAAAAAAAAAA--”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--

“AAAAAAAdarn it.”

He found himself on the ground next to his stump, laying on his back, splayed out, a rare frown upon his expression. He stared up at the stars, now absent of the Elemental Lifeform’s canopy, disturbed only by the trees of his workshop.

“...So cool… but it’s gone.”

Another pause.

“It was so coooooool!!! My tree!!! Aaaaaaaaah!”

It was a tantrum, complete with kicking legs and flailing of arms.

“Stop crying. It is pathetic.”

“No! I’m gonna cry, and I’m gonna keep crying until I make something better than my really, really cool tree!”

The Guest sighed.

Ana shot to his feet. “I’m so angry! I’m so angry that I’m gonna do stuff!”

“...But I thought you said you were just going to cry.”

“I will cry while I am angry! Aaaaaaaah!”

The Guest rubbed its imaginary eyes. “Then what, boy, is the plan?”

“I’ll figure it out as I go along! Now, get me plenty of leaves, a pin and some pomegranates!”

“I do not have hands with mass.”

“Then I will do that also! Aaaaaaah!”

With that, Ana got himself some leaves, a pin, some pomegranates, and put the leaves around his Focusin’ Stump. And then, he got right back onto his Focusin’ Stump.

He pricked his finger, let his blood drip onto a leaf.

The rest was a bit of a waiting game.

Pied Piper(Caster)

The Lesser Evil

Heroic deeds are dead.

There is only greed.

Greed that drives a man to do heroic deeds for others.

Benefiting them in a selfish manner and if some twist of fate, somehow profiting others in the process.

In this case or In Caster's situation, securing the Leylines of Japan and his connection to the land, playing the lesser evil between him and the False Yggdrasil.

The assault was successful, the tree is not around stepping Piper's connection with the land anymore.

This alliance with the homunculi girl and her navy servant are really paying off. Rest assured, The Rat king's friends from the sea are protected by him and the mafia. A "You'll scratch my back, I'll scratch your back" kinda deal cause that's how the boys in the swanky suit rolls.

But this no time to gloat for the battle of the leylines isn't done yet.

Piper has to establish dominance to ensure this kind of threat won't happen while he is around. It's time to prep like a villain. Thinking one step ahead, severing ties with freeloaders who dares to step on his cheerios and claiming back the land, his land. A lawful evil powermove if you will or as the mafia saying goes "you hit me and we'll hit back".

@Paradox Witch@MrCellophane@Seirei No Hai

---

A Triumphant Return

"Hey, Jack, where are you? i don't like the look of this guy, he's get cranky by the minute, or maybe that's his natural look..either way, get in here, pronto!" Riyu demanded like a spoiled brat, mentally linking her thoughts to her servant. She felt uneasy being with the Yakuza for the time being, knowing that if this mission is a bust, she could get killed at any moment.

Luckily for the thief girl, the heist was successful.

"Oh thank god you're here, i supposed the mission goes as successful," Riyu happily claps her hands as soon as her criminal servant returned.

"wait a minute! Is that a living corpse? ehh.. nevermind, i don't want to ask, you can spare me the details later" She sighed, clutching her forehead on what the hell Jack has stolen this time.

"Show our client here the goods and the clean job you've done." Riyu snapping his fingers, demanding Jack to present the evidence of his successful mission.

@ReallyDumb@Cu Chulainn

A short rest was something Kosara had believed she was allowed after her work of the day, attempting to further defend her and her Servant’s territory from the threat of that grand fire she had seen. But work is never over. A tingle on the edge of her senses. A feeling of foreboding, a premonition of death.

A call from her own servant through their karmic link, mentally transmitting the situation to her. The frown on her face deepened as she considered her options, before swiftly deciding on her path.

“By the order of my Command Seal, Rider, return to me.”

A defensive battle against an invading army.

Perfect.

Roland's heart was thumping as he spilled his guts onto the table. Metaphorically of course. He wasn't dead, yet. His body had begun to relax, falling back into the chair, eyes focused onto Chiron. There was indeed a fire. Burning, pounding, pumping. The worst part of it, Roland was a bit of a romantic era hero. Tragedy was all part of the story. But, as he was relaxing, his mind was settling.

He reached out, hand gripping a cup of wine. The cup felt light in his hands, and he brought it slowly to his lips. Was the cure to his woes really so... Fragile? "Chiron. I am could never become a monster. Because when has a hero ever become a monster?" There are, in this world, many cases where that has become the case. Those that didn't die young were the villains of another heroes story. Or they merely faded away, unable to keep up with the demands of their bodies. Though, with such confidence, Roland may very well manage to avoid such a fate.

The liquid touched his lips, and poured down his throat. Like a river it washed away the toxins. It flooded his system with strength, and he was lucky to have been gripping the cup was gently, because as his power returned to him, his sudden rise in strength applied pressure to the cup, nearly breaking it open. He placed the cup down, empty to a drop.

Power. He felt great. He felt... Like a hero once more. Standing up, Roland clenched his fist and looked into the distance.



____________________________________________________________________________


Suzaku gave the response that Xerxes had expected. Not denying, but not fully agreeing either. A good middle of the road answer that anybody can accept. After all, it probably wasn't an answer most would comfortably accept. But while Suzaku was a hunter, Xerxes was a doctor, and worse, a man with strange morals. In fact, as the two had spoken, he had in his hand a chalice, glancing into it in brief moments, studying the land, and chasing after ghosts.
"Well Suzaku, it seems we already know where the Master is." He said, slowly raising the cup for the man to peer into it. There, was the master of Berserker, as clear as can be. It wasn't hard to piece the two together. "Ask me to find him later, and I'm sure I'll have success there again." Xerxes smiled, and placed the cup down, cutting his connection quickly to avoid being spotted.

__________________________________
One a positive, the giant tree was blown apart. On a negative, Darius was already out being busy. On a positive, Xerxes and the others had access to a rather fair amount of familiars that began to scamper. Entire roots were picked up, and carried away, the town probably watching as the mage's familiars scampered about, collecting everything they could, and then vanishing back to the crew all the way in the church.

"You know, this tree could be useful."

@Paradox Witch @Breo @ManyThings @addamas

“If you wish to contact me about my actions, then you may come here on your own accord, daughter of Matou. Though I would not be opposed to a meeting.”

The two were simply eating this new snack, “popcorn” together, enjoying the aspects of insanity that seemed to climb there ways in and out of her perspective. From a great tree spring up, then getting bombarded by some sort of attack she could recognize as artillery from a position she could not see from the location of “Taratasio”, to the use of an EX-ranked lightning noble phantasm mere moments from her location, to a battle between two servants that identified themselves as Shuten Douji and Aiax.

And then Aiax was killed by “her”. At the least, she understood what had occurred here. Those two were the Servants of the sister pair her Master’s daughter had become chummy with, weren’t they? Two sisters, fighting each other in a war. At least, that is what it had appeared to be according to Benita.

…

…

....

There once was a family.

A family of toys made for the amusement of their creator. Beings bound by their fate to the will of their creator. Beings that were designed to “save the world”. Beings that were created from the light of Eve; a practice that was sealing designated and studies. But was never replicated outside of the family crest.

Twenty-one “Sisters” were created from this method. Bisque dolls that would act to bring about the change in the world desired of “saving the world”. Perhaps, then, it made sense that Benita’s “parents” and a certain man had similar goals and that their paths would cross regardless.

It was as if Benita was set astray on a sea of darkness.

As if struggling through a thick fog.

As if writhing through a nightmare.

Six years.

“So it is a promise. A promise between the two of us.”

There was something that she could not remember. Memories that would not be accessed. After all, those paths were destroyed long ago. Perhaps not intentionally, but that was the result regardless of what they wished to do. Regardless of how much Benita begged and screamed, she could no longer access this memory.

So why did she feel it? If the memory could no longer be accessed like the corruption of data, then the feeling she held to her heart was that of a memory of that memory. They danced a familiar dance from the corners of her eyes. The song was a tune she recalled from those times.

Memories of that time six years ago. They were horribly fragmented. However, the moment that Benita saw that light burning through her vision, she saw ■■■■■■■■■■.

“They” used to dance together. Sing together. Practice together.

Just one memory from that day; from that time. Perhaps not even her own memory. It might have been their memory, but it mattered not. It was still something far from her own access, yet the festering abscess of time washed it back to her perspective.

A person who whispered a wish.

Something they held dear to their heart.

“Why?”



Static.

Even if she covered her ears, she would hear those words in her head, like a black-stained voice whispering on the wind. As if a photo whose faces were faded away. They all talked at once, their voices insistent and contradictory and impatient, making unreality a possibility, then a probability, then an incontrovertible fact, as people will when their desires become words.

She recalled saying something to them, but what was said mattered not. For this was long ago, though fresh in her mind as if something that was instilled in the core of their being. Her desire to escape the trappings of her birth. To obtain the final point of her existence. What she was born to do.

She broke, together with the world itself.

… A fragile thing.

Why?

Why?

Why?

What are you doing?

What was the point of this?

Why must we…?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Would she be praised for her efforts, or ridiculed for her actions? It was their “fate” to be destroyed by one another. That was why they were born. To kill or be killed. That was the hell that Benita experienced for those six long years. Repressed memories sealed to maintain the “self”.

She didn’t want to show her tears again. Never again. Not to that woman. Not to her Mother, who showed not even the slightest bit of emotion as her former lover died. Not to anyone ever again. She had to be strong; had to thrive. If she didn’t she would die.

One moment. For just one moment, their body froze. Their heart grated. As if their fingertips had turned into ice and that change was spreading throughout her body. She let out a scream. She could feel the shaking spread throughout her entire body. She mustn’t look away. Those eyes shone with the same light as her own; those glaciers of eyes staring coldly back at her that were just as her own; as if looking into a mirror.

And yet again it would continue. It would continue until the natural conclusion.

As if a sick joke was played on puppets connected to their marionettes.

She was scared. She was scared. She was scared.

But her heart could not waver. Even if they were driven by the dregs of terror, if for a moment she were to hesitate, then it would be her that would have been killed. Hesitation was a weakness, and weakness would be punished with death. Those were the rules of her existence. Even if she were to break from the chains that bound her to this fate, that sole fact would remain.

But unlike ■■■■■■■■■■.she was …

There was also the issue of the Matou provocation and request for conversation, but it was not as if Benita was currently in the right of mind to act upon any sane order. Hopefully that “consultant” would deal with them in conversation.

“Lancer, destroy that Servant,” were the only commands barked out by Benita. They held not the same sort of monotonous tone she had taken with her Servant many times before this point. Behind her voice now was fury. There was anger, and fear, and agony, and yearning, and grief, and anguish, and rejection, and aggression, and many more. Just like on that night; at that time.

“It is unforgivable to kill your own ally. Saber-Class Servant Yamato Takeru … You have a debt you cannot pay back in remorse..”

Achilles was a man who followed no lord. Someone who simply acted as he wished, and if it just so happened to coincide with the desires of his Master, then so be it. Luckily, this was one of those times. Just like the Servant she had summoned, Benita was not the sort to look to the past, but this had awakened in her something that began to fester away at her core.

There would be no retreat. There would be no reinforcement. Briefly, Benita considered storming up to the temple and taking on the traitorous sister. But it was not as if she knew where the two Whitehalls were currently.

She was scared, like a child.

She was crying, but she would never show her mother her tears ever again.

She wanted someone or something to comfort her and tell her everything would be okay.

But above all else …

She wanted someone to save her.

And so, Benita prepared.

“A likely story.”

His words cut through the air, sharper than any sword. There was a hunger in his eyes, and the chill that it produced would have been enough to drive an army with their tail between their legs. He seemed to forget about the outside world entirely, paying no mind to observers.

Only one thing mattered now.

The blood staining the head of his spear dripped down in rivulets as he held it still, not moving from his stance even after Saber had dashed away. Gone were the playful jabs or the joy for a strong enemy that would not die to his hero-slaying thrusts as a matter of course. His gaze, intense and deadly, met Saber’s eyes and carried a sense of complete mercilessness.

“Let me regale you with another option.”

He shook his spear to get the blood off, staining the earth—ah, that’s not enough, not enough, it is the farthest thing from enough—and turned to face her.

“I see before me an opportunistic wretch that, seeing a chance to take two Servants out, decided to take it. I see before me someone that slayed my cousin while claiming to be his ally, which might as well mean you’re either lying to my face or a traitor, but do you want to know the best part? After that, you tell me to worry about the city, you tell me you are on my side, and you expect me to believe you and join forces with the one who killed my kin right before me, just like that.”

The world froze as he pulled his armament back. It was not the release of Prana predating the usage of a Noble Phantasm—the killing intent coming off the man was just that strong.

“Tell me, Saber, what would you believe in my position? In fact, let me tell you another thing.”

Through it all, his voice did not raise a decibel above casual, as if talking to an acquaintance about the weather.

“I absolutely suck at fighting allies, you know?” He made his odd confession, as though the fact were relevant to the situation at hand. “Once I’ve accepted them like that, once I’ve accepted them as friends, I really can’t bring myself to fight at full strength. Maybe I really am childish, like some people I met would say, but it’s something I’ll never get over, even if others can. But tell me, Saber, when I attacked you just now—did you feel any hesitation in that thrust?”

He finally smiled, a grim thing completely at odds with the cocksure disposition he usually displayed, and perhaps it would have been better if he had kept his expression neutral.

“I don’t acknowledge you as an ‘ally’, Saber. Much less a friend, or someone I would entrust my back to. So that means there’s going to be no regrets, there’s going to be no hesitation and there’s going to be no mercy. Get ready to play for keeps.”

The wound Saber had received was not deep, but in a battle between Servants, every single nick mattered, it was still a sign that first blood went to him, and against Achilles, who was the swiftest hero of them all and boasted of the skills and specs of a first-rate Servant, who would pounce and capitalize on any weakness, a single misstep would mean death.

“Maniacs that can’t control their greed, huh? Yeah, yeah I agree, I’ll save the city just like you want—and starting with the one in front of me, I’ll use my full power—”

Again, he took a single step toward Saber, and again, his form would have appeared to even the most acute eyes as ‘having teleported’. Even for the Lancer class, which usually boasted of fighters with high mobility and agility, the speed of his legs was baffling.

The Noble Phantasm, Comet Form, that was only confirmation of was Achilles’ standing as the fastest whether in this War or any other, a continuously-active type that was the source of his divine speed that stood at the undisputed top of Heroic Spirits. Things like building distance or running away we’re only as effective as one’s own speed was when compared to the opponent, and unfortunately for Saber, there were none faster than him.

“—I’ll use all my strength and right here, right now, end her life.”

The spear darted forward. A sturdy thing, he clearly knew how to use it well—in the Trojan war, it had pierced the hearts of many heroes, and the skill and speed Achilles wielded it with certainly reached a category of its own. There might have been those who matched or exceeded that skill, but combined with his natural ability, he was no less of a ‘monster’ for it.

Gouge the head. Pierce the throat. Impale the chest, stab the heart, puncture the lungs, slash away at her upper extremities.

Certainly, in the span between heartbeats, Achilles could doubtlessly exchange more than a hundred blows, all of them lethal or crippling. Furthermore, the distance between him and Saber was just enough to remain out of reach of her sword while he could pick and prod and kill at his leisure with his own weapon, and she would have to defend and retreat only to be followed, or try to advance and open herself up if she made a mistake.

Furthermore, even if she avoided a lethal blow, even if she avoided being crippled, every single wound he scored would be another to his advantage, and not something that the enemy would be able to recover from quickly, or at all if he had any say in it.

After all, if summoned as a Lancer, his spear also gained the property of ‘dealing cursed wounds’. How long until she could no longer hold her ground?

@addamas