“Kanpai!” was Naoko’s own choice of toasts, raising her glass of wine before chugging it down with all the class of a sorority member. It was a nice, warm buzz after a stressful day, but it looked like, unfortunately enough, Sophie wasn’t willing to let gunfire slide as simply ‘typical American things’. Not when they could both sense the presence of Servants, after all. Turning to the pizza, Naoko ripped two pieces out and chomped them down as fast as possible, feeling the slight burn of hot cheese against her tongue, before washing it down with a glass of water. “Yeah, well, we’re not really selling it back. We’re just making sure that he, hm…understands the value of us keeping it safe from less scrupulous looters, and would reward us accordingly.”

She paused, eyebrows raising at the spies comment, before letting out a girlish chuckle. “And no, we’re not spies or treasure hunters or anything. Guess if I were to put it into words…me and Sophie’d be something like superheroes? Here to change the world for the better and all, guard dude! Anyways, gonna be heading out again to deal with this new bullshit, so could you grab that bag of kibble beneath the kitchen sink and feed my dog while we’re out? Yes? Great, thanksies~”

Naoko drew her Sig Sauer, checked the ammunition in the clip once more, and then grabbed her grandfather’s cane to give it an experimental swing. Her clothing came next, a tough leather coat going over her colorful t-shirt, while she forced her feet into combat boots as well, purchased at the local mil-sim store. A pair of gloves and a motorcycle helmet after, and Naoko decided she looked suitably combat-ready.

Well, she mostly wanted to stay home and laze about for the rest of the evening though.

“We got Netflix if you want to watch anything while we’re gone. Just don’t pick up any weird shows, yeah? And don’t touch the queue either. That’d be a bad time for the both of us.

Naoko spent another moment in the bathroom mirror, wondering if she pulled off the femme fatale look well enough, before marching out once more.

“Alright, Sophie, let’s see what the hell’s going on this time!”

One day she'll do the Master thing of hiding in a dungeon while the Servant does the heavy lifting, but for now, the Japanese magus felt buzzed enough for some evening protagonist-ing.
@DrowsyPangolin@Epsir

Berserker appeared at his ‘Masters’ side the instant the command was spoken, the Servant having been waiting in the wings in spirit form for this exact moment; it was unclear just how much of the plan he had understood, when Katherine had told her Servant to stand guard over the bewitched Magus, to be the trap that would snap closed over any unwitting mouse that took their bait, but he seemed to be playing his part for now.

The Viking held himself much as he had upon being summoned, standing calm and alert as he gripped his clubs and his eyes swept over the hotel lobby and the plaza outside; he seemed uncaring, or perhaps unaware, of the carnage taking place only a short distance away from him, separated only by a set of glass fronted doors and a crudely made bounded field. As before the only clue as to his class was the constant tension he held in his muscled frame, the bone crunching grip with which he held his weapon and the intense fury that filled his eyes; an otherwise placid demeanour hiding the barely restrained savagery beneath.

It was only when Berserker’s sweeping gaze landed on the Servant making her way towards the doors of the hotel, pushing a near-dead human shield ahead of her as she closed in on the fake master’s location, that it became clear why this particular hero was summoned as a Berserker.

A transformation overtook Berserker’s face, eyes bulging in their sockets as corded muscles stretched taut in his neck and the Servant let loose a roaring, inarticulate scream of rage. Berserker launched forward, the floor of the hotel lobby shattering beneath his feet as he leapt in a low, long arc towards the lobby’s doors. A second leap as his feet touched the ground carried him through the doors, glass panes shattering and metal frames warping as the Servant burst out into the plaza. The gunmen at the front of the hotel who found themselves in the unfortunate position of being between Berserker and his target were swept aside by a single swing of the large oaken clubs, their bloodied and battered, pulverised bodies thrown to the wayside by the attack.

With everyone nearby either crushed or fleeing from the angry, yelling Viking, there was now a clear path between the two Servants. Berserker wasted no time in engaging, rushing towards Assassin with both clubs raised above his head before bringing them down with as much force as he could muster, aiming to crush both the Servant and her shield in one shot.

@Epsir@LukasVolkov

Rider glanced back over her shoulder at Naoko’s preparations, smirking slightly at her explanations to the guard.

“Indeed! By day we operate the finest food truck in the greater Boston area, by night… and also sometimes day, but usually night… we are protectors of truth and justice! Crusaders for a brighter tomorrow!”

She accompanied the declaration with some expert hand motions. Flashing a big grin and a thumbs-up at the guard, she certainly appeared heroic, at least by her own estimation. As Naoko finished her preparations, Sophie gave a confident nod.

“We will be back shortly!”

As the door shut behind them, Catherine turned toward Naoko.

“There’s something I’d like to do before we leave, Master. I fear there’s something I haven’t shared that I should have. I have a skill that I haven’t yet made use of yet. I had meant to keep you from dangerous situations, but after what happened earlier… Please forgive me for my hesitation.”

The Servant put a hand on her Master’s shoulder, leaning toward her with a look of absolute seriousness.

“The night ahead may be dangerous, but take courage. You have my favor, and an Empress’ favor is something to cherish!”

Sophie leaned forward, quickly kissing her Master’s cheek, or rather, where her cheek would be in relation to the motorcycle helmet, before grinning widely. A warm, golden aura manifested around Naoko for a moment, shimmering in the night air. At the same time, an uncanny strength flowed into her form: the power to achieve that which was beyond one’s reach, the power to defy the restrictions of one’s station and birth. Strength, speed, perception, all were raised to inhuman levels in an instant.

“As long as this link between us remains, I will grant you all the strength I can offer. I can only do so much here, so take care in the presence of Servants… but the other Masters will learn to fear you, I believe.”

Sophie smiled, her own outfit manifesting into a dark blue military uniform with gilded appointments and embroidery. A black tricorn hat bearing a large feather appeared on her head. At her waist hung the same cavalry saber she had summoned earlier, now bound by a sword-knot of golden thread. A flintlock pistol was holstered on the opposite side, its ivory grip engraved with the scene of a cavalry charge.

“From the sound of things, I don’t know if subtlety will be required.”

Sophie let out a long whistle, and Brilliant flashed into existence before them, the tall white horse letting out an excited whinny. Rider glided into the saddle, holding out a hand toward Naoko with a confident grin.

The gunfire in the distance still cut through the air… and it was seeming more and more like yet another Servant might have arrived.

"Huh? Yeah, no problem," His response was almost automatic, drawing him back from the shellshocked expression he listened to their mission statement with. Feed a dog? He could do that. In truth he simply wasn't sure what to believe any more, other than the fact that both of them seemed uncannily honest with their reply. Doubt eased away almost as quickly as it had welled back up and he gave an unsteady thumbs up back to the protectors of truth and justice. While they were getting ready to go change the world or something he hopped over to a wall, steadying himself and taking the weight off with a hand to the drywall instead of a dust covered shoulder. Wine, pizza, Netflix, it wasn't an exact reenactment of his retirement plan once he remembered the bullet hole in his leg and the alcohol by volume of the drink in question but one could fix the other, really. He got to work on that as everyone else seemed to be content with just chugging the most delicate wine he'd ever tasted in all his years of supermarket shopping. But he couldn't just evaporate in another glass, now wasn't the time to shrink away and stop thinking.

"Well stay safe then. Thanks for... everything, again."

It was an odd kind of sentiment that engulfed him. They had saved his life. They were now putting on their best Hotline Miami cosplay and getting ready to go rolling. Oh, like street level superheroes. Maybe it all made sense after all. He committed himself to staying active and lucid, after pouring another glass of course. He hobbled to the table, kneeling where the other stranger had to look in on the golden retriever and his den. Brushing off his hand on his ruined suit he offered it out to the dog, slowly trying to make his presence familiar. "Alright buddy, let's find you some chow."

Whatever was going on outside was in good hands, at least.




Intercepted before she even got through. Before Assassin could reach the doors of the hotel what hadn't already broken under gunfire exploded outwards again. The metal framework sang shrill into the night as it bent out of place, a sparkling cloud of diamond dust surrounding the hulking beast that broke through in eerie radiance. Even as mere movement tore the land around it to sunders the noises of the carnage became quiet beneath the Berserker's warcry. Assassin grit her teeth. The foe that had appeared before her left little chance for speculation. This was a mad warrior, the Berserker Servant almost certainly. He battered his apparent allies aside without concern, their bodies flinging off into the dark and arcing crimson across the asphalt. The warrior had eliminated everything between them, he sought close combat with fervor and experience. Only an instant separated the two, one committed to charging forward and the other determined to smash that opposition to pieces before it could even begin.

Her false heart drummed. This was not facing a Knight Class in the open. The fragile human world surrounded them, innocents arranged in cages of glass and steel as far and high as the eye could see. Any stray shot, any errant blow meant more senseless death. Fear. This feeling was fear. Her lone eye followed the savage arc of the warrior's clubs through the air, glaring defiantly at the instant, messy death they brought. Rage sharpened her thoughts. This was where she belonged. The gut squeezing fear of extermination, the roiling sear of resentment for the powerful. Do you even know what you're doing? Brokering reason was pointless. Not merely because she faced a Berserker, but because she faced a Master who ordained this. A plea to stop the madness would have fallen on deaf ears. Someone had to end it.

She only needed her passenger if she was actually going through. Two puffs of red guaranteed the death of the pawn in her arms, his chest pierced through as she pulled the trigger. A lump of meat wasn't stopping the mountain of muscle and tempered oak about to fall on her. Her last stride saw her push the dying pawn forward, a leg raised between herself and his collapsing form. Her boot cracked against his spine, twisting the cadaver awkwardly as she leapt to the side off of him.

Two unbreakable clubs crashed down between the two as they parted, each flying off to their own peril. Even a near miss was a lethal threat at the heights of a Servant's strength. The ground splintered like cheap wood, pieces of fragmented stone whistling off into the night, flooring bystanders and slashing holes in the retreating Assassin's coat. The concussion itself blew her along the ground like a leaf on the wind, gangly limbs fluttering about underneath Assassin as she deftly righted herself in the turbulence. Her boots squeaked underneath her, skidding backwards in a low crouch as she kept control. Assassin raised her hands, tight grip angling her pistol's sights across Berserker's chest before she pulled the trigger. She sprang up from her low position, muzzle flash lighting her body as she kicked away from the ground and ran straight for the hotel. She kept shooting, the rapid 'pop pop' of pistol caliber fire disappointing and hollow in the wake of his thunderous entrance. The slide locked back on an empty chamber. Her feet left the ground again, a spent magazine falling to the ground where she stood. The wraith threw herself shoulder first through one of the lobby's few remaining windows, gaze fixed with anger on her opponent and bandaged fingers prying at a pouch on her belt as she floated down to the hotel floor on broken glass.

Anybody who was somebody was aware of the attack on the Plaza. Manco, despite his rather odd behavior was indeed the kind of person who was 'somebody.' And so he had gathered a group of other somebodies, like him. The process had been simple, send his summoner out to collect the spirits of native american warriors who still prowled the sacred sites of Boston. Buried, lost, whatever they case they still existed. Then, taking their souls, he tied them to a set of familiars, and then transformed his familiars. For a man of the incan mystical arts, the ability to change another's shape was simple child's play. He already controlled their souls, and their physical forms. To make them into the forms they had in life was an easy task. Then there was the training. With Manco's rank in "Expert of Many Specializations" it was easy to pass on his knowledge to others.

Now, Manco stood on the roof of a building, overlooking the Franz Burine Plaza. To his right, was a native American. A proud member of the Mohawk tribe that once lived in these parts. The other four were on different rooftops, surveying the situation. They were not heroic spirits, but rather glorified familiars. Only able to fight on tier with heroic spirits simply because of the training he had provided. That, and the weapons he had crafted. Each of them had a bow, silver. These silver bows came with silver arrows, a way to maximize their potential through Manco's Item Creation Skill.

Each of them could clearly see the Assassin, and each the Berserker. The servants had finally been drawn out. Time to act. The silent order was given, and one of the familiars, a man on a building separate from Manco, fired his arrow. The silver arrow aimed at Berserker's exposed back. And then another. Each of them acting in one simple motion. Attract Berserker. Any Berserker would rush at whatever was attacking him, so, they all attacked in turns, having created the shape of a horseshoe around the area. The hotel ahead.

Fwish Fwish Fwish. Each arrow would be fired. Attempting to draw Berserker's ire, and then another from the far end would strike his back.
"What a foolish creature." Manco said, eyes focused on the Berserker. "He's out in the open. Now, maybe that Assassin can kill his master for us." His own bow in hands, firing a silver arrow at any part of Berserker. The goal being just to hit him, rather than aim for a fatal blow.

Through the Proxy Master, Katherine watched the fight. This Assassin was not what she expected, to think one could be summoned that wielded guns. She wouldn't last long against Berserker. As for the Master... Her eyes didn't see any... wait. One of her familiars pinged something, one of the many carefully bred insects of her garden. Interesting little things, able to spread pollen among her lovelies without becoming a snack. She focused and saw a blue haired man watching the battle below. The native looking man beside him drew a bow. Katherine felt a sneer coming on.
Berserker, the building across from you, they're aiming arrows at you. Pull Assassin into the building out of their line of site, or better yet throw her into the line of fire. Either way end the fight with her, with finality. I'll provide some distractions.

Through her proxy, Katherine whispered a single command. Those among her pawns still alive began focusing fire on the Assassin while the dead began to contort. Bulges in their dead flesh appeared, and grew very quickly until they burst. Gore splattered the pavement as vines covered in curved thorns. At an unnatural speed the vines grew and lashed out at the Assassin's back, intent to hold her in place. Graspers, an inelegant name, but one her Mother had passed down to her. A cruel sort of plant, that latches onto any warmth in its reach, a defense mechanism as the vines are delicious. It grasps anything living, pumps it full of paralytic venom, and waits for that thing to stop living before releasing it. Might not kill the Assassin but it would distract her for sure.

@King Cosmos @Epsir

A surge of power, a surge of confidence. As radiance seeped into Naoko, the costumed woman couldn't help but let out a laugh, the grin hidden behind her helmet taking on a sardonic laugh. "Who's the Servant now, I wonder," she said teasingly, clenching and unclenching her fist. There was a satisfying crinkle as the leather flexed and contorted, and she nodded slightly. "I appreciate it anyways, Sophie. Probably won't mean I'd be able to dropkick the gold boy, and I also get the feeling that you'd need to have at least A+ Agility to dodge those chains...so hey, nothing lost, yeah?"

Her hand formed an ok-sign, before she mounted the brilliant steed as well, seating herself behind the empress, before allowing her own magic to flow through her systems once more. Her body became water, fluid and fierce, as flexible as a whip. Her mind sharpened to further extremes, the world around her becoming one where seconds were shaved away ever so slowly. Her circuits bloomed with warmth, like another set of veins pumping into her body, and, with all the chutzpah of a true masked hero, Naoko formed a cross with her arms.

"JUSTICE, RIDE ON!"

And, like a falling star, Brilliant shot off.

---

It was an ugly scene.

The sort of shit she absolutely hoped the Grail War wouldn't devolve into.

Upon a neighboring rooftop overlooking the Franz Burine Plaza, Naoko couldn't help but twist her face into disdain at the sight before her. Senseless slaughter and no regard for collateral damage. First Otto with his hilariously terrible idea of hiring normal guards when he knew he'd be going up against Servants, and now this piece of shit with a Berserker starting a fight in a populated area, smashing apart everyone in their way. God, did they seriously think that a human life was this cheap? Did the 'war' part of the 'Holy Grail War' make everyone forget that it was also supposed to be 'holy'?

"Wow, fuck this shit," Naoko said, watching corpses bloom into monstrous vines as the will-less living fired meaninglessly at another gun-toting Servant. Silver arrows pierced the mad titan from another angle, perhaps an Archer at work, while the Berserker continued his ferocious club-swinging. "Sophie, think you can take the Berserker? Definitely don't wanna be friends with them."

The last thing she wanted was to join a melee of multiple servants, but at the same time, Naoko had no desire at all to let this shit continue. There was no negotiating with a Berserker to relocate to a more appropriate venue, after all, and even less negotiating with a magus who drew normies into the meatgrinder of a Servant battle.

Rider surveyed the carnage from atop brilliant, her face hardening into a judgemental grimace.

“Disgusting.” She spat the word out, her eyes narrowing as Brilliant came to a stop. It was a bloody mess, a massacre, an unsightly thing… she would not tolerate such flagrant brutality in what was to be her Empire. The bright glow of gold flashed in Catherine’s eyes and a musket materialized in her gloved hand in a shower of sparks. The polished stock gleamed in the city light, and a bayonet of cold steel bared its point like a singular fang.

“Indeed. I will see to the mad warrior. It shouldn’t be too much of a concern, especially with assistance.” Sophie motioned toward the archers raining down fire on the Berserker. “It seems we’re all on the same page for the moment. In the meantime…” Rider looked back with a smile. “Why don’t you find his Master and say hello?”

After waiting a moment for Naoko to dismount, Rider kicked at Brilliant’s sides. “Forward!” The horse kicked off of the ground, cracking concrete under the force of his hooves. Rider gripped the musket tightly in her right hand as the horse raced around toward the base of the building where the blue-haired Servant and his ally had taken position. An upward nod was the only acknowledgement she could manage amidst her maneuvering, but she hoped it conveyed her cooperation. She would loop around and join in the multi-directional assault the archers had begun. As she neared the base of the building, the silver arrows began to lance down upon the Viking, though to what degree of success she was uncertain. Rider pulled the reins with her free hand, winding Brilliant around to circle the mad warrior. Taking a deep breath, she released the reins as Brilliant drew near, shouldering the musket and leveling it toward Berserker.

“How like a heathen to revel in bloodlust!”

Rider frowned, her eyes glinting with gold flame as she zeroed in on her target. Centering the weapon on the warrior’s chest, she squeezed the trigger. For a moment, magical energy surged into the weapon. In the next moment the crack of the rifle ripped through the evening air. A bolt of searing red flashed from the muzzle and toward the madman. As she passed, her gilded eye fell on the bandaged Servant that had tossed themself through a nearby window. She grinned, and in the next second was gone as Brilliant dug his hooves into the concrete to circle around the plaza once more.

There it was, again. That nagging. As Otto approached the girl, it kept screaming from the back of his mind. A tingling in his hand now. It was starting to all fall into place. Until the wealthy girl played even truer to her ditzy nature.

The water was ice cold, drenching the front of Otto's jacket and pants. Even the unflappable Otto could not hide a grimace of absolute disgust. Luckily, though, the grimace faded quickly, replaced by a slightly terse smile. As Luna went on into her ramblings of apologies, Otto plucked napkins from the bar, patting the wet spots of his suit.

"It's quite alright. An understandable mistake." Otto replied with practiced aristocratic tone, with only a hint of disdain for the girl. This is the price Otto paid for trying to enjoy even a moment of his time in this plagued city. Balling up the several damp napkins, Otto tossed them behind the bar, into an awaiting trash can. Turning back to Luna, he forced his terse smile once more, "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I'm afraid I must go change now. I hope we meet, again." Otto replied, his smile screaming with a hidden disgust for the young girl in front of him. It was an abrupt leave, but an understandable one, and one that was driven by Otto's absolute contempt he had for the entire day.

Otto gave a short nod of his head to Luna, before turning around and making his way out of the bar, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Angry boiled inside of him. No matter, though. Soon enough, Otto would be rectifying things soon enough with his meeting with Rider. Things would be back on the path they needed to be. They had to be. Otto didn't know what he'd do if they didn't.

As Otto parted the barroom, his eyebrows furrowed as Archer's message found it's way to him. It is not my wit that I am worried about, Archer. It is requested you keep comments like the latter to yourself. Otto replied, continuing a internal dialogue while he made his way for the elevator. The bar was a distraction in the end. All that mattered was gathering back his artifact, and then the contingency plan could fully get under way. However, pragmatic acquisitions and dealings were not the only thing running through Otto's mind. Retribution.

As the VIP elevator roared upwards, carrying the lone Otto to the upper floors, he could do little than wait. Most of this war had been waiting. Waiting and having plans foiled and encroached upon by the other Masters. After tonight, he would no longer allow others to dictate the tempo of the War for him.

Entering his room, Otto begun his changing and preparing for the coming meeting. Otto doubted that such a dialogue had occurred between two masters, in this manner, before. The situation itself was definitely an odd one, but Otto was not above the subtle machinations of diplomacy. He had more to win at the meeting than to lose, as it stood. All he had to gain from the meeting was his lost possessions and more information on Team Rider. As long as Archer was beside him, he wouldn't have much to worry about with Rider.

Get ready for tonight, Archer.

Berserker’s first swing missed, his clubs striking the ground with enough force to cause a small eruption of stone and dirt but both missing their target entirely. His eyes tracked the discarded human shield first, the cadaver flopping to the side and rolling across the ground as Assassin used it as a spring board, before turning to face the direction the other Servant had fled in time to feel the small calibre rounds peppering his chest and arms. The bullets fired from Assassin’s pistol either glanced off hardened muscles or sank into Berserker’s flesh, but in either case left no visible wound that the eye could see and Berserker himself seemed unbothered by the assault; if Assassin could see how little she had achieved she would surely be demoralised by it and find her attacks even less effective next time.

The Servant continued to fire at Berserker even as she crashed through one of the few remaining windows at the front of the hotel. Still howling and snarling the mad warrior tensed up as he prepared to leap after her, only to pause when he felt something strike him from behind. As Berserker turned around it would have been possible for those inside the hotel to see the pair of silver arrows sticking out from his back, the Servant raising his head to look at the rooftop the arrows had come from as three more struck his chest and one pinned itself in his left bicep. Though they clearly had managed to pierce his skin no blood dripped from the wounds, no pain appeared on Berserker’s face and much like the bullets that preceded them they seemed to achieve nothing.

Before he could be pin-cushioned any more than he already had Berserker raised his clubs and used them to shield himself, positioned them in the way of any incoming arrows or simply striking them from the air. Blocking attacks from six archers firing from five vantage points was difficult even for a sane warrior however, let alone a mad beast and several arrows managed to get past his clubs and pierce him; these arrows didn’t seem to sink as deeply into his flesh as the first did, as if the bows or archers that fired them had somehow gotten weaker after the first volley.

It seemed Berserker’s hardship was not yet over however as yet another Servant appeared in the plaza and opened fire, a single musket shot slipping between his swinging clubs to strike him in the sternum. The round breached the skin much like Assassin’s had earlier, but no blood issues forth, no visible wound remained and Berserker himself barely even seemed to notice the attack as he continued to parry as many arrows as he could.

Rearing back his head Berserker finally seemed to have had enough punishment as he let loose the loudest roar yet, shouting his rage to the sky above even as more arrows embedded themselves in his body. Above the plaza something began to form, a shimmering layer of air like a heat haze appearing just below the clouds until a moment later every manner of weaponry imaginable began to rain from the sky. All over the plaza, on the rooftops of nearby buildings, even inside the hotel lobby weaponry and armour of all kinds, spears, sword, axes, helmets, shields; every weapon and every item burned in tribute on Berserker’s funeral pyre, began to fall out of the shimmering air as Berserker unleashed his Noble Phantasm on his opponents, his Master’s puppets, the bystanders, even himself.

Amidst the chaos he had brought forth Berserker leapt towards the closest opponent to him, which at this moment happened to be Rider circling the plaza on her horse. Throwing himself in front of the charging steed Berserker reared back with his right arm and swung his club to kill the mount as soon as the other Servant was close enough.

@DrowsyPangolin@LukasVolkov@Reflection@Epsir

Dully, Luna nodded back, following his lead without much more input of her own as Otto promptly removed himself from the situation. Not a great first impression, he figured... But she had no desire to cross paths with Otto von Habsburg again. Her instructions had been clear, avoid the war, let the Servant hash things out with all the evil people they did nothing but rant about. Her stomach slowly began to untie as she realized with certainty that he wasn't going to be coming back in. It was just too awkward to sit at the bar after that, she found herself cruising the lobby without aim. Fireworks blared in the distance, some festival she had no clue about, he decided. Wasn't really a party city, but they found ways, and there were plenty of people who just had their next big ball canceled, so, it made sense. Police cars, lights on, rolled by outside. Another daily sight in the city. Perhaps to another one of those strange murders.

Her phone rang. The odd thing was hearing it ring instead of vibrate for the first time in years. The lobby filled with ringing, various tones forming an otherworldly screeching drone. The televisions hung in chic fixtures flickered way from sports and talking heads to flat tone backgrounds, scrolling white text, and their own ear grating siren. Luna looked down at her phone, fingers clenched across the screen.

MEMA EAS - URGENT SHELTER IN PLACE issued for SUFFOLK COUNTY, MA

Assassin?

White noise flooded her senses. She felt herself stagger downwards, the soft rush of something cushioned catching her. The feedback scorched her thoughts away, the sudden pull on her body felt like it would shrivel her to ash. Hoarse screams, the roll of thunder, the splatter of rain. Darkness. She cupped her hand across her Command Seal.






Negative effect on target. Well, she was working on a budget. If a handgun could solve all the world's problems the wraith would not have been called there. Stoic in their rage, their solo eye did not peel away from Berserker as the pawns turned to focus their fire on her. Anywhere but the crowd. The Berserker even poised himself to follow. She would welcome close combat, lips soundlessly moving to voice the name- Then everything went wrong. Silver bolts poured in from their surroundings, smokeless trajectories lining back to the rooftops. Not the attacks of the Archer from before... but a second? The tug on her soul meant that a Servant had arrived. Two Servants. One yet to come into sight, but even as they fell through chaos the warlike mind of the Assassin Servant churned through information. Before the first volley struck the Berserker from his pose, that single, hungry eye locked with the eyes of the blue haired Servant perched far above. Vultures. Come to make spectacle of the carnage. Servants summoned to claim the Grail, to indulge war. When would those bows turn on her?

An explosion of movement called her focus away, tangled vines and bloodspray springing into her peripheral vision. Bullets pelted the surrounding furniture as she flopped to the floor. She grimaced under her mask as a mass of viciously barbed vines rose up over the sill, batting glass away with reflexive twitches towards contact and carrying chunks of mutilated flesh along their sinuous lengths. The vines lashed out at Assassin and she rolled backwards over her shoulders, scrambling to a crouch only to find her feet pulled out from underneath her. Supernatural strength tugged at her ankle, more Grasper vines seeking a tighter hold as already she felt a row of injections along her skin. The response was nearly instantaneous. The hand at her belt slid upwards, magazine run home as her thumb tapped the slide release. She shot through the vine at her ankle and turned. Numbness had already shot through her leg, sagging the feeling from her limbs. She wouldn't let it show. Vines coiled around her arms, lashing out at the tattered tails of her coat. It sheared away, a single black cable running from the ragged infantry coat to her fist.

The last tug free of her garment spun her around, turning her to the passing Rider. The other Servant, atop a white horse, what else? Glimmering and gold, refined and untouchable where they strode. The moment was brief, the musket in their hands smoking as they spared a glance down to the trapped and wretched Wraith. A shoddy sight scowled back at Rider, face hidden beneath a mask and eyepatch, her coat mostly torn away to reveal a body of shadowy bandages and dated looking field harnesses. A step back and a swift jerk of her hand to her side was enough to pull the trigger. Metal clunked together as the OSS issued firing device lit the fuses of the grenades bundled in the Assassin's coat. A cluster of incendiary devices roared to life. Glittering shards of white phosphorus formed a blazing star beneath the Graspers, white vapor briefly burning hot enough to melt iron expanding into a majestic puff of toxic, snowy death. The Rider and the Assassin disappeared to one another in the cloud.

Dazzling fragments drifted in the air around her, burning out in a harmlessly small radius around the event as Assassin ran from the windows, streaking between pillars and rows of soft couches as the gunmen still inside the hotel kept up their barrage, but cared only for the one man without a gun. She felt no trail to the Servant outside, but his hand unmistakably glowed with the sign of a Master. Her body burned, not from the heated air but from the venom flowing through it. The tip of the vine that got her still wriggled around her calf, gouting its paralytic into her bloodstream. Stopping cost lives. Magic flowed around the Assassin, but the minor disturbance of her weak Noble Phantasm being activated immediately felt overshadowed by the pulse which rippled through the lobby's air. A ripple in space along the ceiling. She had only an instant to process the effect before a spear barreled from the sky towards her face. A blue shimmer flickered across her hands, and as she held her hands above her head an enormous slab of steel landed in them. Wheels adorned its bottom, spinning uselessly in the air. The reinforced window immediately caught the spear tip, splintering the screen but holding it fast. Twenty seven holes dotted its front face, ceramic and kevlar long since cleansed of storied blood. Too unwieldy to use as a shield in the ordinary sense, the Assassin hefted the black plate over her, angled forward. Bullets bounced from its surface, as did helmets and sheets of mail and daggers and swords. Her arms bowed with the impacts, but she was then singular in her purpose. With all the agility her poisoned body could still muster she leapt from table to table, skipping over couches to charge Katherine's proxy Master. Finally their boot came down on the floor with intent. Her whole body pitched forward, grip shifting across the hand-holds to hurl the giant shield, embedded weapons and all, straight for the face of that wretched Master. Assassin's back bowed, an axe scraping beside her spine as soon as her guard was lowered, more to follow, more bullets to find their mark. Her form could accept such damage. The lives depending on her were not so fortunate.




Chain link fence, artificial grass, graffiti. They'd found themselves at a low rent baseball diamond. The light of day was far gone by the time the teams stalked one another to the field, the pink haired reveler yoking their squadron along as the shadowed car of Team Saber followed. An eerie silence fell across the evening as the two teams chatted, the cheerful voice of the Lancer screeching over the quiet of night as Saber's master fortified himself with a cigarette and a quick check of his weapon.

“Well, let’s take a look. Doubt they’ve got a ball game planned.”

As his hand would reach for the door, as his eyes would gaze out into the dark, Rocco Moretti came face to face with ߆ߺߕo߃ߊߓ߂ ߚ߇ߝߋߚ ߙ߂߆߆ ߢf ߸߮ߐ ߹߁ ߮ߎ߉ߌߺߣ߇. Fragments scratched across pitch dark outside of the car window, voided resentment swallowing the sight of the world beyond that arm's grasp. Pieces of faces swam in the inky soup, the only movement allowed in one reality gripping instant. They sunk, jaws fading away, ears shutting into nothing. Bubbles boiled across its flat face as it pressed into the window, swelling to cover the entire pane of glass.

The dark flared with daylight, white and red streaking through the featureless flesh before the glass exploded inwards. A shrill cry filled the air, more a painful ring that came with a sudden increase in the environmental pressure than an actual discernible noise. The car was launched onto its side, ruptured left side raised towards the heaven. Cubes of safety glass rained through the cabin, Saber's side also bursting as the curb grew deeply acquainted with the car door.

The scent of night spilled in. Furnaces cooking in the distance, grease and oil... Copper, blood, the scent of a monster. The scent that summoned monsters. Rotten, acrid, stupefying. The baseball diamond disappeared from view, the front window pointed helplessly down the road and suddenly locked into portrait orientation. Pedestrians stood frozen in place down the road. Hoodlums squatting by the alleyside, frozen with their heads and empty eyes turned upon the car. A man unlocking his front door, hand still wrapped around the barred door added on, preoccupied with staring at the accident in progress. A man on motorbike, tipped over and not caring for his pinned leg as his tinted visor tracked them rolling into the sidewalk.

A long, tar colored arm wrapped the front of the car, slithering like a serpent across the hood and down to the road surface where fingers unfolded from its limb, fanning across the broken glass, flicking some chunks around before pulling one prism in particular from the mound. The arm attached to the hand began to pivot around it, the car shaking as a glimpse of the creature's hulking body showed through the sky-facing windows. It climbed surprisingly fast, its observable form simply a tangle of arms. A few shorter arms clung to the broken-in window, dangling into the cabin harmlessly before, with a wet plop, it crashed to the ground. Dozens of handprints pressed into the shape of the roof as the black looking glass of its 'face' angled into the space of the front window. Red sparks flared in the depths, an imprint of a closed eye swelling with motion underneath its lid, dancing back and forth from Master to Servant. Deep, vibrating clicks resounded within it, the hum of a contemplating giant.

The twing of released arrows was fairly simple. But it was the excitement of watching them pierce the flesh of Berserker that made the impact feel real. Watching the arrows sink in, despite the lack of damage done. Must be a skill, or some noble phantasm. Probably a skill. Noble phantasms were usually more grand. Like those clubs Berserker was swinging around. The pelting of arrows went on for a few more seconds, with Caster's eyes noticing the diminishing returns. The time to keep firing arrows was over. Time to bring on the sun.

"Inti." It was a command word. A word that passed Caster's lips, and echoed down to the silver arrows. They were mystic codes, and for a moment their identity and purpose would become obvious to Rider. The tips of the arrows ignited, and so began to sunlight. Beneath Berserker's skin, the flames erupted, consuming his insides. Flames spurting out from the wounds, and even from a distance Caster could see the glow of flames underneath Berserker's skin. The orange glow that consumed his body from the inside, searing away at his insides. It was clear that Berserker's pure survivable skills were being put to the test, as fire erupted from his mouth. The flames in his bicep exploded outward, and that arm fell off, the flesh that connected it to the body was consumed, leaving him without a left arm to stand on.

"I'm impressed he survived." Manco said, eyes turning to the native closest to him. "We should have aimed at least one or two at the head. But I doubt we'll get that chance now." He said, silently cursing. He had overestimated the enemy servant's survivability. He must certainly be a savage of some renown in his homeland if he could survive the fire burning through his insides.

The roar then echoed through the air, and Caster's eyes snapped up to the sky, feeling the surge of mana that covered the area. Obviously this was the Berserker's noble phantasm. "Archers, aim high!" Manco shouted, raising his bow as the first projectiles began to fall. He began to fire, the silver arrows knocking the first few weapons right from the air. All five archers did the same, quickly catching on to the random nature of the projectiles. They were safest standing still, as by that method they would be able to focus on the projectiles in front of them. The sound of a scream pierced his ears, but Manco didn't look away. He knew that one of his soldiers had just died, and a second and third scream echoed out. They were replaceable. That was what he knew, but holding his ground wasn't working. He leapt back, hand raised.

"Ikaro!" A word, a musical melody of sorts. Harnessed by the shamans of his people, and whipping up a sudden wind. Knocking swords, shields, and spears away from him. The wave of energy acting as a shield, protecting Caster from the rush of projectiles until it finally died down. By then, he knew Berserker's true identity. The one soldier still alive looked to him, and Manco looked back. "Go! Keep an eye on Berserker if he tries to retreat." No berserker would fight back at this moment. The master would force him to retreat. They would need to keep an eye on Berserker, get him on a different time.

"Berserker... No... The great hero of your homeland. Your pyre burns even now. I shall send you back to that pyre."

For a moment, she was consumed in the novelty of fighting in a war herself. Her heart fell in with the rhythm of the hoofbeats as Brilliant rounded the plaza for another charge. It was in this state of excitement that Rider failed to notice the intense exclamation of the club-wielding madman across from her.

Brilliant rushed forward, arcing around for a return charge with renewed fervor. Catherine leaned forward, tightly gripping her musket, a wide grin emblazoned across her lips. In the next moment, a number of things happened: A toxic cloud eclipsed Assassin from sight, the arrows piercing Berserker erupted into flame through some feat of magecraft, and… Brilliant suddenly fell forward. Catherine had not realized it yet, but a falling broadsword had skewered her steed’s right foreleg. The mighty warhorse came tumbling forward at an inopportune moment: right as Berserker charged forward. It was a peculiar blessing of sorts that the stallion’s leg had given out when it did, however, as the fall allowed Berserker’s swing to land only as a glancing blow, narrowly striking the Rider. Glancing or no, however, the force of Berserker’s blow was enough to send both horse and rider flying.

For Sophie, the sound was artillery, a cannon shot ripping through her hearing followed by a bright flash of white. In the next instant, she was toppling through the air, her musket turned to splinters by some unseen force. She hit hard against the concrete. The world rang like a sounded gong and a thick haze enveloped her vision. A deep numbness consumed her right side, indeed, she couldn’t feel her right arm at all. Her hearing was overpowered by the incessant post-impact ringing for a few moments longer. As it faded, the blurring world was accompanied by a distorted mosaic of sound: the shouts of Berserker, the exclamations of Caster, a chorus of clanging metal, a distant whinnying… and an awful crying.

As her vision returned, she noticed them for the first time. The crowd of survivors had attempted to flee the hellish massacre, only to realize that they were trapped by some unseen force. Now, they struggled helplessly to avoid the weapons pouring from the sky.

“This isn’t what I wanted.”

The scream of another bystander was silenced by a falling blade.

“A good Queen would never allow this.”

A spear plummeted toward a tight group of the survivors before being knocked off course at the last moment by a streak of pale red. The spear clanked harmlessly to the ground a few feet away from the crowd.

Catherine smiled, smoking pistol held tightly in her grip. A falling blade narrowly skimmed her cheek, answered by a flash of steel as she drew her sabre. Rider’s eyes gleamed gold as she carved a few more armaments from the air. Her right arm hung uselessly at her side. She appeared badly battered, and a trickle of blood flowed slowly from her lip. Brilliant lay nearby, fumbling violently against his sudden crippling. Catherine deflected a falling great axe, her blade shattering into a mist of metallic dust. Dropping the broken hilt, she raised a hand.

“I claim these people, and this land, as my own.”

Magical energy began to flood out from Rider at an alarming rate. The temperature began to plummet, and a gust of frigid wind whipped out from the Empress’ location. Snowflakes ran through the air, glittering like stars. A crown materialized on Rider’s head, the diamonds casting a crystalline shimmer around her. Brilliant let out a worried neigh. Weapons continued to rain down, but they were being reflected by… something. An invisible construction had formed a barrier around Catherine and the survivors. With every blade that fell, the shape of the building became more certain, the structure was threatening to come into being.

Sophie smiled, her eyes shimmering gold.

“As I’ve said, this land is now under my rule. I invite you to leave.”

She closed her eyes for a moment.

“Master, I intend to use my Noble Phantasm… partially at least.”

Rider’s hand cut through the air in a dramatic fashion, as though to introduce something.

“Zimniy Dvorets!”

Magical energy emptied out of Rider in a surge. Pale walls crystallized from thin air. Gold flashed into the world from nonexistence. The structure forced its image onto the surrounding environment with a flash of incandescent arrogance. Immediately, a room large enough to comfortably house Rider and the dozens of survivors behind her burst into being, shielding them from the hail of arms that still poured from above. Inside, a feeling of warmth and comfort washed over the crowd. Those who had been injured during the attack noticed their pain waning. Catherine herself noticed a tingling in her shattered arm.

From the basic structure that Rider had set, a “shadow” or “puddle” of blue-green light expanded in a wide circle, shimmering for a moment before additional structures began to plunge upward and adjoin themselves to one another. One such structure plunged up from the ground beneath Berserker.

Rider laughed weakly within her palace, conjuring a scepter to support her injured body and leaning upon it. The interior of the room was extravagant. Priceless paintings lined the walls, gold and marble gleamed softly in warm candlelight. Her fingers gripped the scepter weakly. In her injured state, summoning even this much of the palace was draining her rapidly. If it anchored itself, the Winter Palace would quickly recover her mana reserves, but in its current state it was quite a burden to maintain. Soon she might become taxing on Naoko, and that was a concern, especially given whatever situation the Magus might have gotten into with Berserker’s Master. For the moment, though, the palace brought a sense of ease and control. Catherine’s eyes burned a paler shade of gold.

The crowd of survivors were understandably perplexed by this newfound irregularity that had thrust itself into their ordinary lives, but they also unanimously agreed that it was better than having swords fall on them.

---

“Let’s get to- the fuck is that?”

For the first time in a long time, the ex-hitman’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes grew wide as he peered into the inky horror that pulsated mere inches before him. Luckily, even in such a state, his body reacted, drawing a knife from the interior of his coat and sawing rapidly at his seatbelt as the window disintegrated. The double-edged blade severed the last of the fabric as the car slammed onto its side. Rocco felt his head hit the dash, the jingling song of broken glass chiming in his ears as he was thrown against the far side of the car.

His consciousness waned for a moment, and in that moment he noticed it, if only temporarily. There was something intrinsically wrong about this situation. Whatever it was he had just looked at, he shouldn’t have. The thing struck him as a being far to alien to be a Servant. No, it was something that defied identification and denied the very basis of reality he knew. Of course, Rocco Moretti didn’t recognize any of this directly, but it was all encapsulated within a singular sense of dread that had crept into the back of his mind.

Rocco, however, was not one to be panicked, even in the face of entities that shouldn’t exist. Rocco’s teeth dug into his still lit cigarette, blood running down his forehead in a webway of tiny streams. As the abomination came into view in the front window, he took a deep drag, directing the barrel of his assault rifle towards the nightmare’s shrouded eye.

“Get us outta here Saber.”

The middle-aged Master nodded toward the guitar case that had held his Servant’s sword and, turning his attention back toward the thing that both demanded and denied the possibility of attention, squeezed the trigger of his rifle.

The Kalashnikov barked to life, sending a storm of jacketed bullets ripping through the windshield and out toward the monstrosity. While the war machine emptied its salvo toward the enemy, Rocco began trying to right himself in the overturned Town Car, waiting for Saber to strike so that he might escape the wreckage. Pulling himself into a crouching position, Rocco flipped another magazine into the well and prepared himself. Wind began to swirl around him, whispered chants scarcely discernible amongst the cacophonous rhythm of gunfire. He waited for any chance of the monster’s attention being averted, any chance that he might be able to escape free from the grip of the grasping arms.

Katherine felt vindicated in using the cover of carnage and smoke to run away with some of the survivors that made it to the street. Hidden under her shirt she grasped the dagger she’d snagged from Berserker’s Noble Phantasm. It’s conjuring didn’t even dent the reserves. With each death the mana available to them both as simply astronomical. She felt more flush with magic that she ever had walking among her grandmother’s lilies. Her insect familiars told her a girl watched from a neighboring rooftop. Given she’d arrived at the same time Rider had she made the reasonable guess she was the Rider’s Master. She looked on at the magical construct Berserker had been dragged into.

She ran into an alleyway, one she knew had the building with what she guessed was Rider’s Master. She held out her hand and whispered,” By my Command Seal I give you strength to kill the Rider, bath in her blood my Servant, and bring her mangled body to me as proof of her death.” The red seal flashed as one seal faded. She knew he would be feeling a sudden influx of mana and renewed strength, more than enough to crush the queen upon her ice throne. That reminded her, she poured nana into her connection with her Proxy Master. In response she knew his hand matched the seals of her own and that he muttered a bullshit command himself to match her own, for appearances. She commanded him to find a route of escape, he was still useful, and the guise of a cowardly Master working with Berserker would be a useful smokescreen after all this.

Katherine pulled her jacket off and checked the row of bumps going up and down both arms. Her Wraiths would taste Mage boood this night. She dug into the vast pool of mana available to her and put unnatural strength into her limbs. She vaulted up and with a few leaps cleared the rim of the building. A girl, young by the looks of it, watched the plaza below. Katherine smirked. The flesh of her arms began to crack and bleed as she infused mana into her Wraiths. Vines began wrapping themselves around her arms as her lovelies grew and matured with each step she took toward the young Mage.

“Such lovely skin,” Katherine mused. “What a lovely canvas you’ll make.”

@DrowsyPangolin@King Cosmos@ERode

The sky split open, heaven returning humanity’s tribute to a great warlord.

The earth reformed itself, an empress’s stronghold remade upon the Boston landscape.

Somewhere, an Archer or a Caster must be watching, must be learning, must be thinking.

But Naoko was used to getting punched in the gut, and she was more than accustomed to rolling with the punches. The invocation of Sophie’s Noble Phantasm drained her, but with a leather bodysuit and a helmet, any sign of fatigue was impossible to discern. Instead, she continued to watch, her sharpened senses, her slowed perception of time feeding her so much more information than what she’d usually be able to take in. Information, such as the flare of a Command Seal, not in the building that the gunwielding Servant had pounced into, but in an alleyway nearby.

Who would invoke a resource like that?

The person on the losing side, obviously.

An ugly person who threw lives away with no purpose other than to cement themselves as a terrible person, who decorated themselves with gaudy jewelry meant to establish their total lack of fashion sense, who walked with such uptightness that it was absolutely clear that they had a diamond hard telephone pole stuck up their anus. That was what Naoko saw as she turned to face the foe she knew was already there. There was probably no one in this war who was more of a ‘proper’ magus than this woman. Underneath the opaque faceshield of her helmet, Naoko smirked.

“Holy fuck, if you're going to be a villain, at least have some class.”

And, in one smooth motion, she drew her Sig Sauer and fired six 9mm bullets into the pervert mass murderer’s midsection.
@LukasVolkov

The arrows inside Berserker’s body ignited. One by one the silver burst into flames that began to consume the Servant’s body, burning away at his flesh and his essence until the magic within them was spent. The arrows in his back and his chest and his stomach hollowed him out, destroying organs and searing flesh and leaving nothing behind but his heart. The arrow in his bicep burned away until there was nothing joining his shoulder to his elbow and the remains of Berserker’s arm fell to the ground to join the rest of the ash. Flames poured forth from his mouth and out of the wounds in his skin, great gouts of magical fire that illuminated the surrounding area.

At yet he survived. His skill Unwounded kept him alive, his heart still beating and his muscles still tense, and his Regeneration meant that even now his body was beginning to repair itself, even if there was not much left to repair. His warrior spirit still shone within his eyes, his roar didn’t abate and his Noble Phantasm continued to rain weapons on his enemies. He body was damaged beyond repair and he was too weak to fight, but he remained.

The Command Seal given to him by his Master, the surge of mana flooded through his body and pushed his strength and his resolve to new heights. It also accelerated his healing abilities and his body quickly sought to make Berserker whole again, the wounds in his chest and back closing over as new organs were grown to fill the hollow recesses of his chest, the strength returning to Berserker’s limbs as the mana pumping through him was put to work. Only his missing arm wasn’t restored, the limb lost forever or at least for as long as this war lasted.

As Rider summoned her palace one of its structures rose up out of the ground beneath Berserker’s feet, slamming into him from below and raising him high up into the air as he rode the building’s ascent. When the structure stopped rising Berserker found himself high above the plaza, looking down at the ground below where his arm and other club still lay, and with a better angle to see the remaining archer and Caster on another rooftop around the plazas edge.

As Berserker’s eyes fell on Manco and the archer something like a glint of recognition flickered in the mad warrior’s eyes, most likely triggered by the bow and silver arrows the archer still held. Raising his club in the air, Berserker let out yet another yell as he poured all of the excess mana he had into his Noble Phantasm, diverting it away from his regeneration in order to focus on offence. The weapons continuing to rain down all over the plaza suddenly ceased, no longer falling randomly onto the roof or Rider’s palace or inside the hotel lobby where Assassin presumably still hid, and instead every weapon that fell now fell on top of Caster’s head. Not only that, but with the extra mana of the Command Seal being fed into it the weapons fell faster and harder, no longer just falling but being thrown down at the earth from the heavens above.

It didn’t stop there however. Rearing back with his raised club Berserker swung his one remaining arm forward with as much force as he could muster, letting go of the indestructible Noble Phantasm and letting it fly straight as an arrow towards the legendary Magus.

Now deprived of his sole weapon, Berserker leapt down from the top of the structure to land in the plaza and stomped over to where his lost arm lay, now partially obscured by snow falling from Rider’s Noble Phantasm. Planting a foot on the wrist of the lost limb he reached down and wrenched the second club from his own dead fingers. Standing upright, Berserker looked around the plaza and found it deserted; all of the bystanders from the concert were either dead or hidden away inside Rider’s palace, meanwhile Caster and his one remaining archer were contending with his rain of weapons above and Assassin was inside the hotel, neither Servant visible from where Berserker currently stood. The only thing the Servant could see were the doors to the Winter Palace, the fortress Rider had summoned to protect herself and the remaining civilians from harm.

Berserker charged the doors of the palace, stabbing his club forward like a lance to try and break through the barrier.

@LukasVolkov@DrowsyPangolin@Reflection

The constant clang of falling equipment retreated from the desolated plaza, the wet thunk of Noble Phantasms crushing bodies beneath or cracking against the rising palace lost to the steady drumbeat of those still aimed at the Caster above. It was almost quiet, quiet enough for the engine noise above to become apparent. Rotor blades whipped through the air high overhead, the sound of a helicopter in flight joining the sight of green and red navigation lights. A black body moved among the clouds, lit charcoal gray by the city light underneath when it was not lost in the eerie glow of a light polluted sky. Their ghostly watcher orbited the plaza, the glinting bulb at its nose turning an infrared-sensitive eye into the zone of snowfall that replaced the haze of Berserker's Noble Phantasm.

Those still high above the fight would see the other guests. The ring of red and blue lights slowly coalescing around the block. Far down the streets feeding into the plaza drab painted armored trucks pulled into intersections, white and blue BPD patrol cars joining the blockades as the powers that be did their best to establish a cordon with which to understand the nonsense fed to them by witnesses and Observers. Dark suited soldiers danced at the periphery, pulling people from buildings and facing rifles into the snowy mirage of the plaza down the road. Glistening steel rained from the sky, buildings sprung from the Earth, and the thunderous clashes of spirits beyond reality all echoed from the dark, the absurdity offering the revelers that much more time to stage their party.

Those higher still, the familiars, the eyes set out by magicians to broaden their senses. Buzzing, stealthy insects of the rose witch, noble hawks of the Caster Servant, and those yet to be noticed were surely the first witnesses to the mobilization of Boston's peacekeepers.

A passing whisper blew one of those hawks apart, the magically controlled body disintegrating as a bullet passed through. The crack followed, already heard by those on the ground.

---

The lights of the hotel had dimmed. Falling weapons had crumpled her shield, the Assassin, and perhaps even her target as the Proxy Master was ordered to turn and retreat... When the rain relented, and her senses slowly dripped back into to her, Assassin was not capable of determining what had become of the Proxy, the creature she still believed to be the Master of the rampaging Servant. At any rate, they were no longer pressing the attack. She pushed herself off the ground, groaning at the weight of the Noble Phantasms piled atop her. They slid off noisily, joining the other pyre offerings covering the floor. Some of them stuck, embedded in her flesh. Her hand wrapped around the handle of a dagger lodged in her forearm and pulled, inviting a sickening hiss as the blade wrenched free of meat.

Blood and steel fell to the ground around her as she staggered towards the blown-out doors, dropping stained weapons that had found their mark behind her. Her leg still moved with a limp, numbness set through it even though the Grasper tip at her ankle had expired and fallen away. A wheat colored palace stood in the plaza, walls scraped and decorated with Berserker's bounty. Instead of armament, snow fell from the sky. A cool winter wind flowed by. Rotor blades whirred overhead. The eyes of the mundane world had finally caught up to their fight.

The frayed Assassin strode out of the hotel, head turning as she surveyed the situation. The hulking form of Berserker jumped out of sight, his disappearance followed by splintering of wood and a challenge made against the Palace's doors. The archers had fallen silent. That saved some work. The Servant's position, though, was obscured momentarily behind the absolute focusing of the Berserker's noble phantasm. She wasn't one to pass up an opportunity. Her left hand reached under her arm for a weapon unseen, pulling the cheap wooden stock of an unremarkable hunting rifle from nothing before turning it skyward. Someone was still watching, she could feel it. More specifically, she couldn't disappear so long as an eye remained upon them. A bird that hadn't left the area, a tool or simply unfortunate. Her eye selected it from the sky and without requiring the scope of her weapon its aim followed, sending a shot straight through the device's feathered, fleshy body.

The feeling of being watched did not recede. The rifle fell into the crook of her arm and she cycled the bolt with one hand. As the bird plummeted the Assassin continued to walk, hobbling around the perimeter of the fort with their smoking gun. They ambled towards the high rises where gunshots still echoed from an unseen, unfelt fight and the Caster servant contended with peril.

The well fashioned servant felt his lips burn as the cold night air stuck to them. The brisk breeze and light snow did little to hide the small upwards twinge of his lips as he was chided by Otto for his dubious behavior. The Golden Archer thought his Master seemed more human when he was flustered like he could make a mistake. Less like a magus and more as an individual. Perhaps that weakness was what had urged the Servant to tease his Anchor. The ghost kicked his legs lightly and gazed back up towards the full moon and let his mind wander. As a scout and guard there was nothing else for him to do but observe his surroundings. Ever white twinkle of sky dust, every shift of the humans below, every light turned off in a nearby building. Archer took all this in almost passively as his shining gaze constantly searched his surroundings.

The roar of a steel chariot above would jerk him away from his autonomous surveillance. The buzz of a helicopter and its "wings" naturally drew Esfandiyār to another part of the city where other of these mounts were gathering. A commotion putting it mildly. Dispersing his body to glittering ash Archer ferried himself to the top of his Master's estate. His Hawk-like eyes zoomed in immediately on the object of his scrutiny. At least three servants fighting with abandon for the secrecy of this war. Perhaps Esfandiyār didn't have any room to complain since he leveled an entire mansion but he'd refrained from doing so in the middle of pedestrians. Flexing his fingers the golden bow appeared in his grasp along with a single gleaming arrow.

Notching the projectile into his bow he'd speak plainly with his Master, "Master... There's a skirmish elsewhere in the city. I count at least three servants, including a Caster servant judging by the familiar's he's employing." His gaze homed in on the Caster as he was engaged with directing his familiars. The diamond tipped weapon scrutinized every feature of the magician's face down to the confident grin on his lips, "Do I have permission to intervene Master?" Many miles away from the carnage and conflict the single arrow would begin to crackle and hum with magical energy. Enough to rival the strongest A rank spells or a small incoming missile it was swirling with enough energy to go toe-to-toe with an average Noble Phantasm impact. More than enough to blow away the enemy Caster, his familiars, and the entire structure in which he was standing.

As soon as he had gotten the order the silver bullet would be loosed. Screaming across the sky like a bolt of lightning, breaking the sound barrier by a wide margin. A single screaming bullet that rivaled the speed of his loosed chains and would burst past all but the most sturdy of defenses. A moment later a myriad of arrows manifested into the bow as Archer pulled them back already starting to take aim at his next targets. The issue of Otto's treasure would have to wait until these troublemakers had scurried back into their holes.

That's why they were late. The news poured in slowly at first, with multiple conflicting accounts, but with Archer's information, it was now certain. This event would mark the thunderous beginning to the War.

The restaurant had locked the doors and covered the windows, shutting down and protecting those that were to seek refuge from the terrorist attack. The Menton itself wasn't terribly far from the epicenter of the event, within a sprint's distance for a magus at least. Otto had been one of the very few who had decided to leave, when offered shelter. He now ran, his clothes that he only wore for the nicest of occasions flinging themselves every which way from the wind. He hardly even noticed how cold the wind was, or the beginning of the gentle snowfall.

Good tactical sense, Archer. Act as you see fit until I can arrive. Otto relayed, through his link, to his Servant. In his current state, it was hard to focus on the images and sounds that were shooting through his brain. He couldn't make out much of what his Servant was experiencing, but it was obvious that Archer was well in position for an ensuing attack.

The night air of the city was heavy on Otto, with only the cold winds, distant gunshots, and sirens to call him towards the action. This would very well be his first test as a Master in this war. If he could arrive on the scene, he may not only be able to gather critical information, but protecting the secrecy of the War would only serve to win him outside supporters. There was no doubt an incident of this level would be draw attention, of course. That being said, Otto did not intend to weave into the middle of this battle, placing himself in the most amount of danger. He was eager for a fight, but not for suicide.

Panting as he sprinted, Otto checked the name of a street sign as he turned a corner. Only a block away, now. He could hear all sounds of war, from gunshots, to explosions, and even inhuman roars. Despite the near-constant sprint Otto had been in, his speed only picked up as he ran closer to the source. The adrenaline he could feel begin pumping in him, even though his mind stayed completely clear.

It would be only a short matter of time until the Head of Habsburg was upon this Boston massacre.

Rider let out a deep sigh as the walls rapidly solidified around her. Leaning on her scepter, her mind began racing. Her borrowed tactical sense was greatly amplified within the walls of her palace, and she knew she wouldn’t necessarily be safe within it. Still, that was not the thought process she wanted to impart to the survivors. With a turn and a bright smile, she spoke up over the small crowd.

“Don’t worry! You will all be safe now. Anyone under these walls has my protection.”

Despite her battered state, Rider’s eyes still gleamed with charisma. Even to the most cognizant among the crowd, it was difficult to disbelieve those words. As the Empress turned toward the crowd, however, she realized how bad their situation truly was. More had been struck by weapons than she had previously guessed. Sword, daggers, spears, and arrows riddled many of the survivors. The aura of the Winter Palace and their impromptu Russian citizenship granted them life and relief for the moment, but their injuries were severe. Upon noticing this, Catherine’s eyes were drawn to another casualty of Berserker’s attack: Brilliant still lay on the ground, frustratedly biting at the broadsword embedded in his leg.

Sophie’s feet crossed the floor toward her injured mount a bit more slowly than she would’ve liked. She was still weak, though the restorative effects of the palace were slowly helping. As she knelt down beside Brilliant, she felt a burst of static electricity run down her spine. Her connection to her Master alerted her to the fact that Naoko was in danger. She frowned for a moment, biting at her lower lip.

“I will try to help as soon as I can, Naoko. If you can make it within the palace walls you’ll be safe.”

Rider’s eyes pored over the broadsword of pitted steel that she had removed from Brilliant’s leg. A Noble Phantasm. Her gaze turned toward the crowd again. All of the weapons were Noble Phantasms. Rider approached. They would need a plan if the attack continued… and Catherine expected it would.

Outside, more structures rose up from the expanding blue-green shadow that radiated out from the palace. Silver snowflake flitted about in the chilly breeze. The individual rooms began to conjoin themselves into a more proper palace.

BOOM

Berserker’s club slammed into the immense oaken doors. The wood creaked in protest, but held up against the strike, as if in sheer arrogance. Inside, Rider took a deep breath. The time had come. Here, she would live, or she would die. The club struck again. There was a resounding crack. A third strike filled the room with the sound of rending wood tearing through the air like a thunderbolt. The gates gave way, their vindictive resistance unable to hold up against raw force. The bright candle light within flickered, and snowflakes poured in from outside as the King of Zeland entered the Winter Palace.

Catherine stood in the center of the room, the pale marble of the floor reflecting her figure. She still wore the battered and bloodstained guard uniform she worn into the battle. Her right arm still hung limply at her side. In her left hand, she clutched a rugged broadsword of pitted steel. A crown on glittering diamonds rested on her head. Two large cannon stood on either side of the Empress, pointed toward the mad warrior. Rider leveled the blade and called out to her intruder, her chestnut locks fluttering in the wind.

“You stand upon Russian territory, Berserker.”

As the dust settled, though, she saw the state of her opponent. Her eyes grew wide for a moment, her lips flattening into a line. Her gaze shifted from Berserker to the weapon she now held, then back to the savage warrior. She nodded, eyes closing for a moment in solemn understanding.

“But if that much damage will not deter you, then neither will my words. I see now that I contend with a special determination. You too know the weight of a crown.”

The cannon began to glow red-hot, magical energy pouring into them in a deluge. Rider’s hand gripped the hilt of the broadsword more tightly, the guns on either side of her sparkling with electricity as small cracks began to form.

The light within the palace dimmed to the pale glow of embers.

“Come then, Heathen King! I welcome you to the Winter Palace!”

The crowd behind the Empress was partially obscured by the sudden darkness. Straining eyes watched with bated breath. Brilliant whinnied in frustration, attempting to rise upon his wounded leg. Those who had previously been wounded seemed to be in a better state now that the weapons had been removed, and a few regained consciousness just as the doors came crashing in, utterly bewildered.

Rider’s eyes glared gold as the guns prepared to fire, shuddering with magical energy. In the dark, it was difficult to recognize that Rider’s skin was rapidly growing pale. The overexertion would have to continue just a bit longer. Catherine’s own reserves were nearly tapped. She had drawn in some from Naoko, and the Palace itself was now beginning to supply her as well. She prayed it was enough. As she prepared for the coming attack, she whispered.

“Ivan. Boris. Michael. Peter. Elizabeth…”
The crown on the Empress’ head radiated pale silver light. Small embers formed on her uniform.

“... Catherine.”