Amara was already fairly deep into the woods by the time the Assassin had moved in to attack William and the other boy. It was a fairly nice forest, really. This was a good park, she was glad it wasn’t burnt down. Not that she had any real reason to assume a fire would have happened here, but sometimes you get a feeling about things such as this.

Of course, the moment her Servant communicated the arrival of Assassin, Amara instantly began her return.

The feeling of the limitations being lifted could only be described as a feeling of a bird released from the cage, but whose wings were nearly failing from the lack of actual flying experience. In other words, it was both liberating, but the self destruction that could come with it remained lodged in the back of her mind.

Despite not yet deciding whether the William boy was a demon or not, she was concerned about the boy who was with him. While she could detect him as a “Master,” as a “Magus” he was barely noticeable. If it wasn’t for the Command Spells, Amara probably wouldn’t have really even be able to tell if he was a Magus, even though he did emit magical energy. His mentality and behavior seemed even less fitting for Magecraft than her’s.

In other words, he was seemingly a bit of a sitting duck. This was more than enough for Amara to want to protect him from an Assassin.

More than anything however, was this feeling of excitement. She had always wanted the power to defeat the greater evils, but this excitement wasn’t exactly that. It was a childhood wish fulfilled, but in of itself wasn’t that great. The suffering felt by all was not saved because of this gaining in power, so there was no reason to be excited about it. Instead, this excitement really came from, well…

The idea of fighting something that should be greater than you.

Unfortunately, all of this excitement was for naught.

By the time Amara had returned to the tree, Assassin was already gone. It was tragic, but there was no point in holding onto a feeling like that. At the very least, it seemed like most people were still safe.

Well, besides the two Servants who remained in combat despite all of this commotion.

“I’m glad everyone is okay.”

She looked over both enemy masters, though her attention was mostly on Kotaro.

“That was a close one, wasn’t it? As Masters, we really should be more careful about assassination attempts. “

The young girl stretched, making a cute pleased noise as she released whatever built up tension this whole fiasco caused.

“Well, since almost everyone is okay, we should probably head out to the school. A monster who will destroy the entire city and the grail is there. Oh right, before we head out, you two should thank Caster for protecting you. I won’t accept anything else as a response.”

She seemed oddly serious about this issue. The glare in her eyes was the only proof she needed about that.

---

---

---

---

Huh.

Maybe a banquet of kings wasn’t actually the greatest idea.

Despite the honor he felt in being asked to protect Theseus’ Master, it appeared that the banquet was quickly becoming more dangerous than chasing after this “White Titan” would have been.

The “Hero” of this banquet kidnapped someone, dressed him up as a lion, and beat him to near death. On top of this, the man also nearly destroyed his empire, and if this new Caster was anything being serious, then everything around was currently in the process of being destroyed. In other words, he wasn’t actually much of a hero.

Unfortunately, the “Villain” of this banquet was still a horrible, barbaric, and grotesque savage. He had enough humanity in him to tell his Master to flee, but then he went on about devouring heroes. He was the perfect villain in nearly every way, which only made the situation worse for Nebuchadnezzar.

Both options were horrible.

In all honesty, he wanted to grab his Master, Theseus’ Master, and just escape. Unfortunately, he knew that that wasn’t really an option. While the idea of working with someone so vile made his stomach sick, the ultimate threat of Commodus was too much for him to ignore. Still, he couldn’t fight at his best while he had not only one, but two Masters to protect.

Thankfully, the musical man crafted barriers for them to hide behind. While they wouldn’t be completely safe, it was still something. He gave the musician a look and a nod, nonverbally thanking him for doing such a thing. The boy he was meant to be protecting ran over to it, which was smart, but it did sting a bit. Still, this would be a good place to defend the Masters while assisting the villain of this tale.

Or, at least, until the voice warned him of what was to come.

“Talia, protect that kid. I couldn’t call myself a king if I let a kid like him get hurt. As my second-in-command, please protect him with everything you’ve got.”

And with that, he stepped forward to face down the boy king, materializing and pointing his spear as he did so.

He seemed to be an ally of that savage, which was normally a mark against someone. However, despite knowing Commodus surviving would mean his own destruction, this boy still remained by his side.

It was stupid.

But, it was that type of stupidity that Nebuchadnezzar himself had. At the very least, he could respect this boy on that fact alone.

As the boy’s trumpet made a wonderful sound, the voices in Nebuchadnezzar’s head grew in number. Instead of dangerous alerts, angry voices telling him to fight and stab were polluting his thoughts. Whatever trick the boy was using, it was certainly working on some level. While Nebuchadnezzar could resist these urges, they seemed to cloud out the voice of God.

“Interesting trumpet you have there, boy! If you’re so determined to fight, then let’s make this one to remember! I am Servant Rider, A king above all others!”

Spring-Heeled Jack - Assassin

Fuyuki Park – Can’t Catch A Break

It seemed that neither Servant had chosen to pursue him, the Caster and Saber not making any moves in his direction either because they hadn’t followed which direction he had gone or because they didn’t want to leave the Masters vulnerable again. There were other possibilities as well, but those seemed the most likely to him.

With no immediate threats it was now up to him to decide what course of action to take next; well, it was his Master’s call ultimately but unless she spoke up then he would continue to act as he desired. He wanted to stay in the area around the park, lingering on the edges of the conflict as he waited for another opportunity to strike, but he knew that as long as the Caster was still present he would only find himself stymied once more even if he found another chance. He wanted, needed to kill something before this night was over; the young Magus whose fear and imminent death he could still taste on his tongue would be his first choice, but if he could gut that bitch Caster instead he would gladly take it.

If he waited long enough, then perhaps they would forget about him or think him gone. There were enough Servants still around that anything could still happen; the Servants protecting the Masters could be pulled away but a bigger threat or the Caster could find herself hurt or forced to flee. He could be patient, he could wait and he could stalk and he could bide his time for as long as was necessary. All it would take was for the Berserkers to drift too close to the Masters hiding spot for everything to be thrown into disarray.

Speaking of which, how was the ‘Stronger Berserker’ dealing with the demon girl?

Oh.

Oh no.

Assassin leapt, cycling power through his legs as he launched himself skyward with as much force and speed as he could, his presence concealment dropping away as he put all his focus towards surviving, his jump carrying him high above the building and Berserkers attack. The gust of wind was powerful and broad; anyone seeking to dodge the attack would find themselves caught in an attack that was wider than one would typically expect, but the leap of a Servant whose myth predominantly revolved around ‘jumping’ was more explosive than most and Assassin was able to avoid the worst of it.

But he did not escape unscathed. Although he avoided the worst of it the edge of the attack still caught him and Assassin could feel the monstrous force of the wind buffeting him. His legs were closest to the centre of the gale and suffered the worst of it, the wind lacerating them, tearing and drawing blood. When Assassin landed back in the park, his leap carrying him up and over Berserker, it was on legs that protested their rough treatment and which nearly buckled under him.

Rather than stay still this time, Assassin reactivated his Presence Concealment and pushed himself to move, another jump carrying him away from his landing spot and out of the range of Berserker’s attack should she lash out at that spot blindly.

@Parallel Hearts@Crusader Lord

Not a hit. Not a good hit, that is. It was enough of one. And now, to his defense. He turns in the air, and his hand sings out - the string of his bow does not cease even for a moment. An attack like this is not so bad, he reasons. After all, these are barely more than men. What are men to him? They're nothing. This is nothing. His body twists in the air - fifty isn't enough. Hundred isn't enough. A thousand - well, you might get somewhere with a thousand, to be fair. His quiver does not empty, and his hands do not still. The arrows meet arrows, and his win out every time. Of course they would. Entering a contest of archery with an Archer is only bound for failure. The sky is clear before he even touches the ground. Ah, yes, the ground. His body turns again, and again he works.

He doesn't need to kill all a hundred of them before he touches the ground. Only those near where he's landing. Watching their movements makes it easy. They're preparing to attack, so he'll just anticipate each and every of their strikes on the way down. He'll watch to see which plan to stab him as he falls. Which plan to bind his limbs when he lands. Which plan to defend their allies from his lethal arrows. All this taken in but a second as he falls back to Earth. His bow sings out again. Half a dozen arrows, with exacting aim. He'll take them through gaps in their armor, through weak points in their defenses to assure they each fall with a singular arrow. Of course, that's all but assured - after all, they aren't even as durable as he is.

... But, all that said, 'surrounded' still isn't a place he wants to be. If only because it means his arrows can't reach his true opponent as well as he'd like. It would be harder for him to kill the man. So, he steps around and through, ducking, rolling, and maneuvering around them. It's like shifting through a shifting maze of knives. It's essentially impossible, at least from his position, to get out of it without being cut and stabbed, navigating away from the worst of it, even while he drills into them with arrows from just a foot away. He bleeds, but does not slow, leaping away from the trap he found on the ground.

He's pretty sure he could kill him, if he wanted it. As far as he's concerned, the battle is going in his favor. But he doesn't notch another arrow, once he's free. Instead, he looks past the army, at the man.

"Hmm. I think not, no. I've been told to leave. Tonight just isn't my night... First, that woman, and now this." Even that said, he doesn't turn his back on him. Or his army. He fights best when he can see his opponents, after all.

"I'll be going now. You can chase me if you want. Just know that you'll die if you do."

It isn't a threat, and he says it with plenty of levity. But it's a warning. They can break the fight now, or he can continue to fight. He isn't maintaining soldiers, or using any Noble Phantasm. And what he does have isn't taxing. Even with the damage he's taken, he still feels like he's better off, right now.

He does not bow, or anything in supplication, before he turns his back on the man and his army, and starts moving away. Rooftop to rooftop. It isn't that he's opposed to being someone's soldier, and the vanguard of their army. It's that he just doesn't like the look of that man or his army. Something smells off is the only explanation he could give, if asked.

@Reflection

Huang Lanfen

Western Farms Workshop – Better Late Than Never

Lanfen was nothing if not patient. Delaying the summoning of her Servant until well after most others had begun fighting and allowing the other Masters of the war to make their opening gambits before her was a sacrifice she was willing to make if it meant she had more time to better prepare her workshop. The groundwork she laid down now would serve as her foundation for the rest of this conflict and haste in this moment could be her downfall days or weeks from now; that was a lesson her family had learned dozens of times over.

With everything finally established, her workshop setup with everything she should need and her boundaries and defences in place, she could finally summon her champion. The diamond tipped arrowhead she had used as a catalyst had been hard to acquire but as she saw her Servant for the first time, shining and radiant in golden armour, resplendent in his fine clothing, she felt it was worth the effort and the expense it had cost her family.

“Greetings; I am your Master, but you can call me Lanfen if you wish. Will you fight for my cause?”

@DeltaGenesis

---

A good chunk of William's mana just vanished as Yamato absolutely annihilated the rooftop Assassin had retreated to, but William didn't mind all that much. Sure the Assassin had just reappeared and was retreating again, but Berserker was totally focused on him now, so he probably wouldn't be living for very long. "Make sure to aim higher next time please, I quite dislike that one." He silently communicated to Yamato as he refocused on the semi-new arrivals. Amara bint Mahmud ibn Hāshim Seif reappeared in her not so good illusion disguise, making very cute sounds as she stretched and did clearly inhuman things such as moving at speeds no human should ever move at! Probably Reinforcement magic, William slept through that class but he assumed one could do these absolutely incredible things with it. She glared at the duo while demanding they thank Caster for saving them, which likely meant Caster was her Servant. What a cute glare!

"Well then Amara bint Mahmud ibn Hāshim Seif's Servant, allow me to be the first to thank you for saving my life! You did an excellent job preparing for Assassins, and I appreciate you creating a barrier to defend me rather than doing something so boorish as killing me without even looking me in the eye! I mean really, what kind of rude person just goes and tries to kill people without at least informing them. It's like some people don't know the rules of a formal duel." This of course made perfect sense to the boy (man?) stuck in the mindset of the Arthurian times, where chivalry and duels were commonplace. "Ah, but I've failed to introduce myself! Quite rude, let me start this conversation over from scratch." William spun in place, a flurry of flowers emerging from his sleeves and swirling in the sudden wind around him dramatically as he stopped to face Amara bint Mahmud ibn Hāshim Seif and her Caster.

"I am William Flur, the Modern Magus of Flowers, descendant of the great incubus Merlin, and Master of the Strongest Berserker! My hobbies are advancing my family Magecraft, reading books about knights, lying for no reason other than my own amusement, and flower pressing! My greatest dream is to one day reach Avalon to meet my ancestor and then find a path to Akasha, which I will then sell for exorbitant amounts of money! My favorite food is cherries, my least favorite food is pickles-" This introduction would likely go on for some time unless someone stopped him, as he was gonna keep coming up with new facts about himself just so he could keep talking, even if they were blatant lies.

Momotaro

Happy Landings
Fuyuki Park

Momotaro's eyes shot as he got distracted once more after making his landing, realizing he had missed that Assassin by merely a few inches. A single moment would have made the difference yet this Devil had avoided him, Caster's assistance was essential though. Without it, Momo knew deep down his master would be mincemeat and so would he, this flowery man would be toast too from the looks of things. His sandal-clad feet skidded on the earthen ground as he remained in stance before watching Berserker pursue assassin then the scoundrel disappeared into the shadows.

The Saber took a deep breath as he looked towards the Oni before turning to the surrounding people, nodding to Caster as the Mage beside him began talking. "You have my eternal thanks, Caster! Thanks to you both me and my Partner have survived such a vile attack from a devil in the shadows! You have given me so much fun! First you, then such a sudden shot to save my partner! Truly it's like the good ol' days! Slaying demons and having fun!"

He gave a chuckle before holding his sword up steady before turning back to Kotaro with a huge grin. "Good to see you made it! I'm always ready for anything, well, being flung counts as Fate favoring me after all, and yet here I am Partner! We have to be careful, who knows what could happen next this is such a true spectacle of an evening! God, I am so glad you were lucky enough to summon me! We gotta do more of this sorta thing! Any idea on the Assassin attack? I may have figured out the identities of the berserkers.." he said before going quiet as he turned to the rambling Mage.

"Cherries are pretty good! Not my number one fruit, but I agree pretty sweet and good, your thoughts Partner?"

Walter Garbury
Shinto, Town proper
Stranger Danger

Close proximity to the Caster's chest made the poor Golemancer blush heavily and shake visibly, melting into her after that, trying to avoid the terrifying Pup that was guarding her. This was most definitely a trap but deep down he was hoping that he had been lucky enough to meet one of those Independent servants that he had heard of. He gave a weak chuckle as he went to spew a bunch of lies to her to avoid any further danger that she might pose to him.

"Assassin, I may call you at a moment's notice, Shinto, keep an eye, those appear to be heavy hitters, f-follow them and see if you can pick off anyone weakened, poison at your own behest" he said telepathically, every so often accidentally stuttering out loud before realizing he had said a few words out loud as he was held by the Caster. Luckily he didn't say too much, but it was like his inhibitions had been clogged and intoxication had kicked in suddenly like a truck hitting him.

He swayed a little before clinging onto the hand she had gave him and gave her a bright grin before nodding. "Seems I had more ta drink than I thought! I'm uh, so like, the name's Walt, a pleasure to meet you Cassandra, if that is your real name" he gave a quick giggle before shaking his head at her. "Like you'd actually gimme your real name! I ain't that dumb, was tryna keep a low profile, almost got back to base but didn't expect such a beautiful like woman to swoop me up! You're definitely not a local"

he gave another quick chuckle, swaying with the alcohol invading his system. He felt the magic and twitched a bit before smiling at her, sincere thanks in his face, grateful for the company, but worrying that he hadn't;t abandoned Assassin her time of need. "Coffee sounds sick! W-we should go right now yknow? I'll call my assistant to come to join us later maybe or is it like a private affair?"

@Parallel Hearts

A voice.

The call of the heavens.

One might call it a “second sense” of sorts that Timur felt. The thrum of the world was calling to him. The sand of the ground before him called to him. The School screeched for him to act. The swords in his hand trembled a bit before.

It was his only choice now. Even if the attack failed previously, if the voice of the higher existence was telling Timur to act now, he would act now. After all, that is how the man known as “Timur” lived his life. A slave to the will of fate, though someone that always rebelled against that which was not his calling.

The swords would swell towards the “Archer” before the attack would launch. That is what his “existence” told him. The second that the man had lowered what had given him the resistances against his swords previously, he would be struck with an attack from the very swords he had deflected previously.

Timur did not understand why that would work now, but it didn’t matter. That is what the sky itself told him. The ringing of that sound would always save him from his recklessness in the frontline.

And the moment that the attack would launch towards Timur, “Archer’s” body would feel a degradation equal or even greater than the one he had unleashed upon the city. Something that shook the very foundation of his Saint Graph. The power to “take” should be familiar to someone like the “Archer” that was before Rider, though Rider knew not of this.

That was when the twine of the bow snapped towards Rider.

It was impossible.

An attack which struck nine times; something that converted its existence to counter the thing before it. Truly, the attack of a hero of great worth. The attack struck Timur, shattering the defenses he had placed in front of him; his armor broken where the attacks had landed against him.

This was the attack that had felled the mighty Hydra of Lerna, the beast of regeneration and vigor. Surely a man could not stand against the might of such an attack, right?

But there Timur stood, bruised and battered by the attack. Never giving up. Never allowing himself to collapse, despite the damage he had received.

“Ў-Ѳ𝕦-ᗩ-ℝ𝑒-Ⓖ-ⓞ𝐢-ηģ-２-𝐡卂V-𝔼-➁-𝐝Ѳ-乃-乇ⓣ𝓽-ε𝓡-𝔱-нÃ-ℕ-𝕋𝐡Ã-丅”

The sound Rider had made was not the voice of any mortal.

It was as if the sound of clattering metal was attempting to mimic language.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air from cannon fire.

And from that, his body began to regenerate to its former glory. The Demon Lord would not be felled by such an attack. After all, he was the greatest villain; The true hero that united the world under his rule. The brutal king that ensured his rule would be long and prosperous.

Though “Heracles” was able to pull himself together through the borrowing of a miracle of divinity, Timur seemed to lack such luxuries. However, as if through the power of wrath itself, he refused to succumb to his wounds and patched himself together.

The man who threw away his humanity so that he may fight and fight and fight in this decrepit form that the Grail had granted him. All for that “wish” of his. Something that even Timur himself has forgotten with time, but something that he longed for without fail.

This body was the result of that.

“Heracles. The greatest hero of Greek mythology. Any Servant worth their salt would know what that attack signifies. But you have never faced a foe greater than I.”

Laughing into the silence of the night after the greatest attack of the greatest hero had failed fell the greatest foe of humanity, Rider continued.

His silvered and ironed body glowed as the moonlight peaked from the clouds, though for the most part, he had retaken his previous form.

“I am the man who will unite the world. I cannot have you destroy it before it is mine. Therefore, nothing will stop me from killing you, bastard!”

There was no beauty in his form; only a man pretending to be human before the “greatest hero of them all”. However, Timur refused to surrender to his foe. The man that time and time again would fight against the dying of the light.

A “beast” greater than the greatest of dragon-kind.

The world called for his death, yet he refused.

Caster noticed how the mood in the streets changed as soon as Ariadne worked her magecraft. She didn't even need her oracular gift to see that some of Fuyuki's households would have a heated night one way or another.

A curious smile came to her face when she noticed that William was afflicted by the effects of her Master's magecraft as well. Either modern mages degraded to a point they couldn't counter the influence of external magical energy like this or he was a really bad one. If it was the later, becoming allies with him would prove to be a bad idea.

Either way, she continued their plans.

"Haha, you got me, bad boy! It seems like I can't trick someone as sharp as you," she said as she pulled his wobbly self.

"Of course. The more the merrier, right?" Caster answered when William asked about bringing his "assistant" along. "To say the truth, I was thinking of bringing someone else as well," she said as she approached her Master.

"My little sister, Paris." Caster flashed a mischievous smile as they reached her Master.

---

@Reflection@Scallop

With the situation mostly resolved, Caster prepared to move along. Among those present, none really had any idea of the worsening situation at the school. The situation was going to get rather grim quickly, she at least knew that much.

And, so-

She explained to them what was going on at the school.

". . .One of the opponents within this war is degrading the Holy Grails system. I'm sure you've noticed it, somewhat. The degradation of the entire city. Everything is slowly becoming worse, and this especially applies to Ghost Liners." She prepared a sling to fire the entire group at the school. Exterior threats or curve balls non-withstanding, anyone interested in opposing the servant attacking the grail war itself could be fired 'directly' at the academy. After a few more words, she'd fire herself a safe distance from the Academy with her master within the various barriers.

Seeing as how an Assassin was afoot, she'd offer to protect the Masters until the situation was resolved.

"I've prepared a means to travel quickly to the fight in the Academy. Several servants are attempting to oppose the 'Heracles' who is degrading the city. If we do not act quickly, everyone in this war will become weaker, until the Holy Grail itself stops functioning."

With that, she fired herself close to the ground toward the forest adjacent to the academy. Any Servants who elected to follow would be fired at the school itself, though under cover to avoid attacks while they traveled. That would be unfortunate.

"What-"

It went without saying, but Nine Lives was something he prized. Beyond even that immortal body, it was a technique he had absolute faith in- it was everything that he aspired to attain by becoming Hercules. It was a beacon of heroism, a glorious monument to that great man's achievements.

And yet, at the same time that he had loosed that attack, swords which had barely pierced his flesh scarcely slowing him down, he felt something corrode at him. Like a poison which reached into his core, the 'rule' of another pervaded his spiritual foundation. The aptitude to conquer, to pillage, to take, that grand authority of the demon king seared at his very existence.

His vision shook, blackness creeping at the edges of it as he felt his magical energy begin to rampage. The great technique he had released faltered- yes, while it was fundamentally something with the power to 'kill the opponent, no matter how many times they revived', it would not be enough with its user crippled.

"■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■---!"

A scream that shook space tore itself from his throat. The force assaulting him from within was not something he could defeat at base- by being pierced by those swords, his body had become 'Samarkand'. It was only a matter of course that he was powerless against the strength of its king.

As his own attack failed to kill its target, Commodus fell.


And so, his body mended itself.

Restoration from death. The assault just now had robbed several of his lives. But, in spite of that, he had gained resistances. It was not over yet, the advantage still laid with him so long as he had this immortal body. The enemy was mighty, but-

"...I see."

As he prepared himself to counterattack, others had come. He could feel their approach before he saw them, his instincts crying out. Through his Master's eyes, he could see their strength. Two swordsmen wreathed in great power, and a mage whose eyes reminded him of hers.

In front, the monster whose endless torrent of power had robbed many of his lives.

At the side, the physician who had revealed his nature, and the king who opposed his ally.

Behind him, three powerful foes who he did not know the natures of.

And from afar, likely returning from their pursuit of the interloper, those two kings who had charged off to do battle.

Could he attempt to win some of them to his side? Surely, it was possible. His enemy, that mad demon king, appeared as the embodiment of evil. If he so desired, he could try to rally the newcomers to join him as the boy-king had. But, he could not bring himself to do that. He had to die here, he knew this- he would not let himself drag others to hell with him.

'Run away.'

'You'll die. You'll die. You'll die.'

'These are not a force you can defeat. You will be utterly destroyed.'

"...quiet. I knew that, already."

Those instincts roaring in his skull were silenced, a low breath leaving him as he rejected that one path of survival. In spite of the resistances that he had gained thus far, it was clear that the tide of battle disfavored the Faker. Indeed, "Hercules" could not defeat a group of enemies at this caliber. The demon king he had fought to a standstill was alone a first-rate hero, a monster who would require his full attention to defeat, but the addition of these others had made victory all but impossible.

Yes, the fact that his great technique had been crushed so resoundingly made that clear. Perhaps even against the Monster alone, "Hercules" was not sufficient.

If he was the true Hercules, the genuine article rather than a mere pretender, then there may have been a chance. Perhaps he could defeat even this force, but, even if he was able to accomplish that...

Eyes strayed to that human who had summoned him. One steeped in a curse from before their birth. Merely saving his life did not save him, merely winning the Grail War would not save him. The poison of his life ran deeper than that.  This was something even the true Hercules could not stop, for while he could vanquish any threat, the boy's curse was something that laid within. In that sense, even if he was genuinely Hercules, it would have been pointless. The true Hercules would have won the Holy Grail, but would have ultimately failed all the same, unable to save this boy. Defeat, even in victory, so long as that poison burned at the center of the human's soul.

Death bore in on him from all sides. There was no escaping it, he would fall here. Once again, he would die, accomplishing nothing, saving nothing. The pointless death of a villain.

Facing that certain death, he had a thought.

Just once.

Just once, let me be a hero.

Just once, let me save someone.

Just once, let me do something that Hercules could not.

"Muse, pharaoh, fall back. You have committed no wrongs. It is not yet your time to die."

Yes, Hercules could not save Tom Fruz. Even with all of his power, even with the might to oppose these great heroes, he could not save that child.

But-

"...and boy, it is the same for you. You have to live."

But, there was something else. A realization.

What was he fighting for? He was fighting to uphold the name of Hercules, to have his death mean something, to show his Master something worth witnessing. But, beyond that, he was fighting because he had not given up on saving Tom Fruz.

The revel of battle faded for an eternity within the mind of Commodus, and a moment from the perspective of the outside world. And so, acting purely on impulse, not even seeming to realize what he was doing, the emperor's will reached out. Through the connection that ran between them, he touched the core of his Master, and-


More. More. More. Hercules cannot save him, but you can. Decay that curse. Shatter the core impulse that forms him as a being. Break it apart, rend it, degenerate it, and allow him to become something new.

God Hand, the tool that had let him survive against his enemy. The life of Hercules, made manifest as a Noble Phantasm. The great legend that Commodus had sought after- broke off. Fell away. Came undone. In its place was that weight, that nature of ruin that was Commodus himself, focused squarely upon the core of his Master.

Yes, he was not Hercules. He was, in the end, a titan of ruin. But that was precisely why there was a chance, that was why there was a chance that his power to destroy could sever the curse this boy had been shouldered with.

Something was crushed, and so, his attention pulled back. That split-second fugue came to an end. Beaten and bloodied, no longer immortal, he stood tall before his opponents.

And yet, in those eyes, something new formed. Not a dying man's resignation, not a self-deprecating coyness, not a frantic fear of death.

There was something there. Something in the feelings that ran through him in that moment. He looked upon the boy whose soul he had tampered with in the gamble that he could save him from his fate. Had that gamble paid off? Had the boy survived such a foolish treatment? Whatever the answer, in the realization of what he had just done, something else came.

He had done something not as Hercules, but as himself. And with that knowledge came something else-

Not yet. He would not fall that easily, for there was one task that remained.

"...No, I see now."

His lips parted, the words flowing out as though they had been pent up for over a thousand years. His long-lost desires blazed anew.

He would die here. Here was a fitting hell to end his life.

The strength that had left his body did not return, but in its place was something else. Fire entered his eyes. Defiance of the world, defiance of his fate.

If he could glance upon himself now, he would likely be shocked, for his eyes now bore the same fire of that man he admired so much. As though that man's figure overlapped atop his own, his fist clenched, a grin steeped in a thousand emotions splitting his face.
 
"I suppose that I should act like a hero for once."

Not for himself. Not for the Grail, nor even for his Master.

He would simply fulfill his prerogative as a hero.

Come now. Even if you die, even if you're hated, even if for now and forever you remain preserved as a monster, set all of those thoughts aside. Set aside your fear, your hatred, your ideology, and in their place burn the fire at the heart of every human.
 
You are not a warrior. You are not a champion. You are not a god. But none of that matters. It doesn't matter that you'll lose. It doesn't matter that you'll die.

Look upon your enemy, for on this day, he is the villain, and you are the hero.

"This feeling...this is why you were strong, isn't it, Hercules?"

The name of that man leaves his throat, a hoarse whisper in which that other existence is rejected. Yes, because on this day he cannot deny his own self any longer, and by accepting it he will charge forwards headlong towards certain death.

"...well then, shouldn't it be my turn?"

Rise again, Commodus.

Though your strength is a far cry from His great might...

...it surely cannot be naught.

---

From the perspective of those outside his mind, there was mere nonsense being witnessed. He had not taken advantage of the window of his resurrection from his clash with Timurlane, instead flaring up his magical energy for some unknown reason. He had muttered words to himself, and forsaken his immortality. The flow of power around him was weak, far weaker than it was before. Even those three Servants who only just arrived, having barely glimpsed him a moment earlier, when he had still been Hercules, could tell this. What stood here was no longer a god, but merely a man.

"...that power that tore at me, Monster. That was 'ruin', was it not?"

The veil that hung over his parameters fell away, revealing his weakness to all. He was, without question, weak.




"Shall I show you how that power is meant to be used?"

So then, why?

Why did the instincts of each Master and Servant present scream that he had become more dangerous?

"My name is Lucius Aurelius Commodus."


And so, around him, the world broke.

A purple miasma took form around him as space bent. A poison, a sentence, while the man himself shone as a glass figurine in the eye of a hurricane. The 'weight' that had settled on all things with his summoning was raised, that degradation accelerating. Beyond even this, though, the academy was a special place, a place where that 'ruin' was made into something truly terrifying.

Thanks to the great muse, this was a place where the texture of the world was weakened, and a place where civilization reigned supreme.

Thanks to the King of Babylon, this was a place where all things would proceed in line with the commands of fate.

Yes, indeed, this had become an area where that terrible Noble Phantasm was permitted to surpass its own limits.

Each being present could feel it bearing down upon them, crushing them. If the Faker had not been burning his spiritual foundation as fuel to survive in the fight prior, he surely was now- this was undoubtedly a grand suicide, a decision he could not step back from. Beyond that pressure, the miasma that had settled around him was on another level entirely. This was not the result of the two who had unknowingly empowered the emperor, but simply a result of control, of fine manipulation gained over the Noble Phantasm.

Even without the gift of Revelation, any Servant could tell- that fog was concentrated 'ruin' itself. If one of them were to touch it...

A single arrow was notched, that same miasma coalescing around it.

He was no longer Hercules, but the patterns were retained. Like muscle memory burned into his spiritual foundation. It was no longer the almighty strength of Hercules, rather being merely something that anyone could achieve with enough effort. But, that was enough.

"Fall."

The arrow was released, and broke apart into streaks of light, into pillars born of that same ruin. Towards each of the opposition, it shot forwards. The demon king he had opposed, the king of Babylon who had dueled his ally, the physician. Even those who he did not know for certain were enemies yet- the mathematician, the swordsman, the mad warrior, for he had accepted that they were all his opponents. It was not a Noble Phantasm, it was merely a prayer. An imitation of a god's technique, released with the will of a man. And yet, it carried a weight with it that surpassed anything the emperor had previously brought to bear. It was a radiance that surpassed the legend of Commodus.

The battle had begun in earnest.

Come, let us die brilliant deaths.

They were losing.

It did not take the eye of a tactician to see that the fight was an untenable one. The battle against the three enemy Servants was at a tenuous point, and the return of the other two kings and three new Servants would ultimately be a tipping point as the physician gained more allies in his crusade against his Servant.

As much as he hated to say it, despite his faith in “Hercules”, the side of him that kept him alive, that screamed at him to grovel before his debtors, that had him slip through alleyways, avoid the wrong ones, all to live to another day, that side of Tom Fruz told him there was no surviving if he stayed. That there was no victory. That there was no chance at grasping life. A miracle could not be spent if he did not win it. A miracle could not be spent if he died.

His eyes met his Servant’s. The revival from the point of death worried him. Not simply because the difficulty he held in continuing to keep Commodus supplied with mana, but the fact that the confidence of the great Hero had been shattered. The greatest technique was thrown aside, and struck back at with a deadly blow.

The glowing seals on the back of his hand itched. He wanted nothing more than to have both of them escape. To leave. To strike back at another time, when the world had fallen apart and the Hero could be victorious.

However, he could not run.

He would not spit on the dream of Faker. He would not tarnish the glory of Hercules in this manner.

They had resolved to die, the two of them. Faker, in his nature as the one who would bring about ruin. Tom, to escape his fate.

_Commodus
But The Hero would not accept that. He had ordered Tom Fruz to live.

[Descent of Mankind's Once Dazzling Star]

And Faker made a gamble.

…

Tom Fruz dies.



Life is suffering. Life is despair. Life is pain.

There is no escape from the cycle of torment. There is no wiping clean the curse that is your own Karma.

You can not escape sorrow. You can not escape torment. You can not escape loss.

You, Tom Fruz, branded with [Debt], cannot move forward. Your chains are binding. Your Fate is sealed.

The starting payment is five. Life debt, health debt, freedom debt, fame debt, fortune debt.

Pay the debt of birth. Pay the debt of seeing. Pay the debt of hearing. Pay the debt of survival. Pay the debt of luck. Pay the debt of kindness. Pay the debt of happiness. Pay the debt of existence.

paypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypaypayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPay
PayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPayPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAY
PAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAYPAY-

{The Core breaks.}

-̸̞̼̊ṕ̵̬͜͝A̴̡͉̝̗͌̋ŷ̵̰͙͎͙͌͛Ą̴̮͈̈́P̵͈̀̽͠͝Y̷̨̝̘̦̎͒̏͝P̸̡̬̻͒ȧ̷͔̣̥̑y̸͖̝̤͗͗̒͠a̶̫̫͐͛͝P̵̢̼͓͌̋͆͗͜á̶̯͛͑y̵̧͕̟͔̿̕-̴̟̠̲͑̄̄

{The Origin shatters.}

-̵̡̯̤̹͈͓̫̻̿̿p̴̡̛̳͈͌͊͆̐͒̆a̷̧̫̣̖̗̳͓͈̝̟̝̺͗̋̊̃̐͋̕͝Y̶̻͇͇̦̣͕̗̲̩͑̈́̊͊͜͜͠͠p̶̞͉͍̰̼̲͘Ả̵̢̦̹͍̥͖͇͔̤̰̟̲̈́͠Y̷͍͗̾̑͑͆͊̉͝ā̴̢̧̮̳̻̗̣̙̼͓͈p̴̨͖͍̳̤̥̜̾̏̔́͜͜Y̴̧̡̡̪̣̺̞̮͉̪̍͝a̴̛͔̟͆̆͗͑̇̕͝p̷̛̛͕̬͐͊̈́̀̆͐̅͠a̸̡͉̫̘̐̃̈́͂̀͝y̸̭̤͖͈̣͇͌́̿͆̊̍̃̃͠͝p̴̝̿̍̏͌̄̚͠͠͠a̴̧̢͈̰̬͚̬̤͈̻̹̎̎̐ͅY̵̟͓̏̔̚A̶̼̭̞̰̋̌̓̃͆̕͜P̸̛̘̖͎̣̞̦̏͊̇͠a̴̮̝͛͆̾̚͝͝y̷̡̢͓͇̦͈̝͈̰̗̜̎̓́̓̅͌͗̿͆͗̂͜p̷̻̦̘͍̦̪͖̠̏̈͝à̶̧̭̼̤̩͕̩̎́̍̉̀͜͝͠ͅy̸̛̰̅̓̈́̈-̸̢̖̑̄̈́̍̉̎͒̈́̍̕͝

{The Curse is wiped clean.}

P̴̛̟̰̈͒A̸̡̦̮̲̟̻̐Y̵̻̙͖̰͛̊.̷̛͈͚̞͓̟̬̫̙̅͆͐́͊̌

Live, boy.

PAY DAMN YOU-

“No.”

…

You must pay.

“No.”

YOU MUST-

_default
“In fact, I think I’ll simply refuse.”



Tom Fruz dies.

But he refused.

Tom Fruz falls. He stands up.

Tom Fruz closes his eyes. He upholds his promise to Commodus.

Tom Fruz dies. Tom Fruz lives.

The pain is crippling. His core was ripped to shreds, annihilated thoroughly enough to remove his very existence.

Yet, he held on. He would not die, because he refused to do so.

The miasma of ruin breaks him. It breaks him, and he cannot rise. But he does so anyway.

He steps forward.

That which defined him, which gripped his life without end, he confronted. Yes, it was the fog of decay, that had promised him nothing but suffering, that he had been too weak to do naught but cower before.

Ruin-

-is seized by his own hand.

No more. Never again. He may have said those things once upon a time, but now he lives them. He will not be struck down by this. He will take charge, of his Fate, of his life, of this all. To call such things impossible is sane.

But the realm of sane men is not the realm of Heroes. It is not the man who gives up that becomes greater. The words of Theseus ring through his heart.

“COMMODUS!” The roar is felt by all, ringing in their very bones. Tom Fruz looks upon his Servant. They both understood.

He raised his bare hand high. The glow on his hand brightened-

Before fading to a dull light, as Tom lowered his arm.

“You are a Hero, Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus.”

The enemy approaches.

“Now, shine.”

@Over Illusion

Of course something, someone would be doing this. At no further sign of the Assassin threat, Yamato had finally deactivated her Berserk skill and let out a long sigh. Then Peachy Boy and the strangely-dressed Caster had begun to say things, the latter's words of which brought on enough concern as it was. The Grail gave her enough information to understand that, and its ramifications.

Her master was an idiot, and sometimes she felt she could barely hold back her fist or blade, but he was her ticket to that Holy Grail. A ticket to that wish she so desperately desired. The enemy would be slain whether it was one of Japan's "Three Great Disasters", like she had just fought, or funnily enough in this case that annoyingly fake "Heracles" from earlier who had been beating children in yoyo tricks. Yet as almost amusing as the situation was there was even more was at stake for this, far more than just the Grail System itself. This very city, yea even the very same Japanese soil she had fought tooth and nail for to preserve and bring peace to so long ago, was in danger and chaos.

..Heh.

It was almost like she could hear those words again, those words from so long ago...

She knelt before the Chrysanthemum Throne of old, armor upon her and a not-so-legendary blade still sheathed by her side. Attendants and guards stood about, silent and vigilant, and yet she could not bear to look up. Her eyes could almost not bear the weight of it all, even as hard as she wanted to stare back into her father's eyes beyond that holy curtain and speak the burning words of her heart. What was he thinking, behind all of this, and in sending her to do this?

Why? Why?! She had done as he had asked, and had even gained a title from slaying her father's foes!

"By the solemn order of the Emperor, you are to venture into the eastern lands. Your missive is to subdue and subjugate the people and their gods there, who all have shunned the holy authority of the imperial court. Of all of this you shall send report back after you are finished-..."

Yet she was being sent far away from her beloved father, as far from him and the capital as he could send her. Deep into the dangers of rebellious peoples and their deities.

"...-for you are the blade of the Emperor's will, of his very holy bloodline and flesh, and the great warrior he has chosen to bring order to these sacred lands."

...and those words had never been rescinded either. His majesty had never withheld that order, nor had she shunned it all the rest of her days. Such was her duty, and her missive.

She was the Holy Blade of the Emperor, to bring order to Japan! No walking disaster would bring low the land of the rising sun!

'Eh...a warrior's work is never done, is it? I'd headed to the Academy. And you, you complete fool of a man, stay the hell with the Caster and DON'T CAUSE ANY DAMN TROUBLE OR I WILL LEGITIMATELY CASTRATE YOU. Plus I will need the mana you provide for this new fight.

And for future notice: Don't go drawing in more literally damned GREAT DISASTERS OF JAPAN like that oni again either!

So stay still a don't make this even harder on me tonight than it has been, ok? Sheesh...

Not the first time she'd lectured her idiot of a master, but even through her wordless communication to her master through their link she was dead serious. Also exasperated. Also noticeably angry. Perhaps it was nothing normal, but it was something at least.

The Berserker, without a verbal word, nodded to the Caster in agreement. They would need to do something about this, after all.

Having elected to follow the Caster's slingshot shenanigans, Yamato stepped forward before her body would be suddenly fired at the Academy like an arrow.

---

---

Sticking the hard landing on her feet, pavement cracking under her wind-clad might, Yamato looked up at the heroic spirit before her solemnly. How he had looked before seemed to shimmer away, his power was weaker, and had descended from that false visage he had undertaken prior. Yet there was more to it.

[The] world broke.

A purple miasma took form around him as space bent. A poison, a sentence, while the man himself shone as a glass figurine in the eye of a hurricane. The 'weight' that had settled on all things with his summoning was raised, that degradation accelerating. Beyond even this, though, the academy was a special place, a place where that 'ruin' was made into something truly terrifying.

...This was his true visage, was it not? Yes. She could feel the ruin, the decay, the intensification of ruin and the dangers posed. A man who was himself a monster. The weight upon her had increased much as well. What this fool was doing was so obviously suicide...and yet somehow she smirked at it and felt a sense of familiarity. To burn away one's life to pursue the death of the opponent, to slay one's enemies and come out victorious even if it killed one's self in the process.

It was a resolve that spoke to her as a heroic spirit.

Indeed, the Faker had also seemingly embraced himself finally. Lucius Aurelius Commodus...she would remember that name, and etch it down into legend once more!



Then the disaster's arrow was then loosed truly, and the branching streaks of pure 'ruin' shot out like angry serpents towards their targets with full intent to kill.

Yet-









-she could never be felled so easily!

In a single but calculated mighty jet of wind, Yamato sent herself hurtling forward in a surging rush straight at the Emperor of Ruin with all swiftness. The path of the arrow and its trajectory had been already predicted and determined through all factors, including the sound of the cutting air processed and the killing intent of the foe that had been established. Her instincts had too felt out the danger and worked in tandem to determine the correct path to take. Her launch trajectory was the most optimal, her sword was exerting its power over winds in the right ways on herself and otherwise, and the timing had been calculated to the exact moment that-



The pillar of light flying true towards her seemed to be on a direct collision course, at least to the naked eye of a human or mage. Yet at the best possible timing and instant that could be worked out, Yamato via a quick jet of air shot to the right side of the projectile...and then with another instant jet of air shot forward again straight at Commodus at the highest possible speed. All without blinking an eye. A set of calculated movements, her entire focus and wrath and capability channeled, and her blade's power pushing out at the projectile to keep it away from her and facilitate this strategy as strongly as possible as she moved around and shot past the ruinous pillar of light.

Her wind barrier, however, evaporated, as well as the pillar of light destined for her at the same time.

There was no hesitation as Yamato still approached Commodus at blinding speed, though, sword already pointed forward at the walking disaster. The miasma was a concern of course...but amassing her might Yamato unleashed a devastating blast of wind from her blade at the Emperor. An attack unleashed with as much of her might as she could muster, at least the maximum might possible for her to exert without fading away and/or killing/badly injuring her master in the process of course.

It was a silent unleashing of power on par with a true name release. It had no name formally, and yet it had all of Yamato's heart and soul and being poured into it. Indeed...as she struck at the ruinous enemy Yamato cried aloud at the top of her lungs, a mighty roar that would shake the very grounds they were upon! Yet inside her heart and mind she at the same time cried aloud in a silent but true prayer, saying:





Oh.

Yamato's instincts even within Berserk screamed to avoid getting into melee range, to avoid hitting the miasma and running into it. As her mighty attack shot out to hit the miasma and enemy, then, the Berserker let the mighty wind attack send her flying back from Commodus...before quickly landing on her feet safely and fully away from the miasma and Commodus once more. The Berserker grunted in frustration at the situation, however.

@ReallyDumb@Over Illusion@BB@Phonic@Flood@Scallop@Aoko Aozaki[Everyone Else]

---

William nodded as Caster explained, an amused glint in his eyes as he listened. "I see I see. That must be why my jokes aren't hitting as hard, and why I'm not as dazzling as usual. This is quite the predicament indeed." He sighed as the group moved, what an exhausting day! First a crazy oni trying to kill him, then a crazy Assassin trying to kill him, and now Hercules was actually not Hercules but someone who was making the world fall apart? "Well then Berserker, Saber, Caster, I wish you all the best of luck! I would support you, but I get the feeling this is something I shouldn't interfere in for once!" He laughed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly as the Servants made their way to the battlefield.

'Eh...a warrior's work is never done, is it? I'd headed to the Academy. And you, you complete fool of a man, stay the hell with the Caster and DON'T CAUSE ANY DAMN TROUBLE OR I WILL LEGITIMATELY CASTRATE YOU. Plus I will need the mana you provide for this new fight.

And for future notice: Don't go drawing in more literally damned GREAT DISASTERS OF JAPAN like that oni again either!

So stay still a don't make this even harder on me tonight than it has been, ok? Sheesh...

William simply smiled and nodded as Yamato spoke to him, sitting down and chuckling lightly. This was normal for the duo already, a constant comedy skit as Yamato played the straightwoman and William ever the joker, ever the fool. At least, that's how it appeared on the outside. As William stared at the back of his Servant, he responded within their mental link. His tone, it held no trace of mirth, no whimsical edge, no prankster's lilt. It almost didn't sound like William at all really, one could almost say he didn't sound like a human.

No no, no human could sound so cold, yet so passionate. So detached, yet focused. Thousands of contradictions and double negatives, opposites and contrasts, a layer of the fool William peeling away as he showed just a hint of his true self.

His arrow streaked forwards towards the Berserker. He did not know of the countless blessings heaped upon them, but that did not matter. His arrow, born from prayer, could not be simply dodged. A blessing against projectiles, and a combat precognition, they had enabled her to exit the path of the arrow even as she charged towards him, however-

This technique would not be so easily defeated.

The arrow turned, as though it had a life of its own, and pierced forwards, meeting the barrier that surrounded the Berserker.

The scream of wind tore through the surroundings as 'ruin' tore at that barrier, attempting to rend it apart and strike true at the enemy within. That power of undoing spread out, consuming the barrier, eating away at its very existence, until there was nothing left. The arrow had exhausted its power, but in doing so, it had consumed that wall of wind; even with the magical energy to restore it, there would be no function. The very concept of the barrier had been eroded away, and so it would remain, until the emperor's death.

But, there was a more pressing issue. The 'bullet' of wind that had shot out towards him was undoubtedly something on par with a great Noble Phantasm. If it were permitted to strike his body head-on, then without the invulnerability of Hercules, he would be utterly destroyed. But, as that attack came towards him, he was struck by a realization.

He had lived.

Surpassing all odds, the boy had lived. Surpassing the edict of fate, the boy had become something new.

He could feel it, he could feel the strength of that existence through the line that connected him, and yet he did not drink from it. If he so desired, he could sustain himself for longer with that premise, but he would not. That boy's life was his own now. He had but one duty, in this moment.

“Now, shine.”

"...you really are my Master, boy."

He could feel it. His very existence strained with each moment that passed. That miasma he formed was the essence of undoing, the destruction of Rome and all of its glories. The fall of the great leaders that had birthed it. The death of civilization, of people, of steels and golds, cloths and beasts, of that great monument to humanity's accomplishments.

And yet, there was something else.

The cheering of people, as they watched a fool struggle in the arena. The love in their eyes, as he spoke to them, one by one. The hope for a better tomorrow, even as their today crumbled.

Yes, this Noble Phantasm was terrible. It was horrific. It was repulsive. But beyond all of that, there was a simple faith in it.

"Those days were fun, weren't they?"

That childlike belief became a sword, and a bellow formed that shook the world every bit as much as the fog did. Sound and light mingled together. This was not a roar of pain as his Saint Graph cracked, nor out of desire or lust for victory. It was not to announce his presence, nor to impose his will on the surroundings. Instead, he roared for the simplest reason, free of that pointless sophistry.

He roared because he roared.

The miasma thickened around him, sparking like the instantiation of a counterfeit underworld.

The empire falls, and in this, there is terror. There is malice. There is tragedy.

But, for just a moment, burning up for a single instant of life, it is beautiful.

A fist flew out. The strength of Emperor Commodus is not enough to combat that blessing of wind, but in this moment, he does not stand alone. The hopes and terrors of the people of Rome stand at his side, and with that strength, a "zero" is turned into a "one".

The wind meets the miasma, and begins to corrode. Each bit of movement forwards takes more from it than the last. The miasma does not consume it, it does not drink of its power, it merely destroys. Eroding away at the power of that attack, it shatters apart, degraded to "zero" before it had reached his body.

"Well met, Berserker. That clash was inconclusive."

Through his Master's eyes, he could see that arrows would be ineffective against this foe unless he used that great technique again, and so he charged forwards to close the gap between the two of them even as that attack was canceled out. A clash in melee, if the mad warrior did not fall back.

"Let us try once again, your wind and my Rome."

As Ron gazed through his own Servant's perceptions, he could not believe his eyes. For a moment, the young man had stood by watching the exchange, speechless. There was no words that could describe the two things that he had learned today, as the two different realizations shook Ron to his core. The first was that Santa was indeed real, and he had survived as well, leaving Ron's present for Maider to pick up for him. As for the second realization, Ron had finally found the one thing that had caused countless conflicts in the world, the entity that broke brotherhoods and razed entire communities.

Ron had began to experience the power of love.

"Another cuter Maider with pink hair??? It's a Christmas miracle! So cute... Bring him to me right now, Maider! I want to uh... discuss the terms of an alliance! Yes, that's totally why I want him in our house. That sole reason, and with no other ulterior motiv-"

Ron's train of thought was immediately interrupted with the shrill cooing of his familiars. It seemed as if something surging with prana began to approach the territory that Ron had dibs on. Surely he would be up there, instead of here at dad's house if Issei would just let him sleep over. That nerd wouldn't even help Ron with his homework! So what if he didn't go to school?

Shifting his focus to his lesser familiars, Ron had observed the presence making their way to the top of the mountain. Another Servant for sure. Utilizing the special eyes granted to him as a Master, he had observed this encroaching Servant's parameters.

"I see... while they both have a similar number of frills, this Servant's panties are striped and made of a much more durable material than Maider's... not that it matters, after all! I summoned the strongest Maider! _{Too bad I didn't summon the cutest, though...} Maider, head to the mountains west of here, and bring that other cute Servant with you! There seems to be yet another Servant attempting to take the temple away from us!"

---

_{@Astarte@SSW@DeltaGenesis}

Banquet, Academy

There are no words for this scene. His voice fails him. His eyes cannot move. Orpheus is utterly transfixed by the scene before him.

He has seen this before. Upon that boat, where so many heroes crossed paths, where legends intertwined, both waxing and waning, the muse bore witness to them all. That is why, he could declare with absolute certainty what all here were witnessing.

The Birth of a brand new Legend.

The final stand of the Faker who cast aside his lie to die as who he truly was. The death and rebirth of a Master doomed to nothing but misery, now reforged into something greater. Impossibilities- a word given meaning by how Heroes overcame them.

The acts of the Faker show that he will die here. He chooses death- and for that alone, he would garner respect from any of the heroes here. But from Orpheus, it is his choice to live in these final moments that stirs him.

Commodus throws a pebble into the infinite sea, a prayer upon prayers to save his Master as “Commodus”, to truly save him. And from those chaotic waves, a hand catches the pebble and swims to shore. He cannot be called simply saved- he has chosen to save himself, to live on with the will that has been passed down from his Servant.

This story will not be tarnished here. It shall burn bright, for the Faker’s final moments, for the Master’s now endless future ahead.

One final song for the night, then. The Faker will have his send-off, and the Master will suffer no harm. Orpheus settles in next to the Masters, his last work complete. He himself is now as much a member of the audience as they are, every bit the spectator of the legend that unfolds before their eyes.

So many things.
She had so many things that she wished to say to her Master at this current moment.


Though, if there was one thing that Hou Yi had learned in her single day of being summoned, it was undoubtedly that trying to completely understand her Master's train of thoughts would do nothing beyond give the Archer herself a crippling headache. Straining to the point that her internal strife was beginning to show on her face, the girl let out a great sigh, her eyes fluttering shut as her entire body seeming to deflate for just a moment -


- before she snapped her eyes back open, a new flicker lit behind them as she realized that despite the phrasing and the potential motive behind ordering her to bring the pink lady along, Hou Yi had just received an order from her Master. He seemed to be having some kind of interpersonal conflict with a friend of his, and part of helping him solve this problem included the Archer securing the Mountain that the friend currently resided on. Mending relationships and protecting those held dear are both acts fit for a hero. Fit for the greater good. Such a noble source of motivation absolutely sparked and added to the flame inside of Hou Yi. Adrenaline surged through her body, and the Archer could feel the tension in the air suddenly pull taught between herself and the Paladin.

With her hand still holding Astolfo's, Hou Yi suddenly broke out into a full-speed dash, calling out to the pink woman she dragged along. "You'll have to excuse my manners, but my Master has given me an order and he requests that I bring you along. We must protect a place that he considers crucial and the important people the-..."


"So...umm, there's like a super duper big problem, Astolfo!" _{Tch- this is so embarrassing to talk like this.} "My Master had a little...disagreement with his friend and he really really wants to make up with this friend but that friend might be in super duper danger! We need to protect this friend - and his place - in order to make sure my Master can mend their best friendship!"

It would have to do. Trying to change her way of speaking to one that Astolfo would follow along with was even more laborious for the Archer than was slaying some of China's greatest beasts. Besides, there was little time to speak more on the matter considering they were quickly closing the distance to the bottom of the stairs leading up the mountain, and thus leading them to the servant who threatened her Master's friend.

---

_{@SSW @Cu Chulainn @DeltaGenesis}

That arrow infuriated him. He felt a lancing pain as his body erupted into a fire, one that vanished within a moment. But the pain, the pain remained. It was like have a fire ignite in his veins. A fire... A CURSE. He knew exactly what gods would be this cruel. The greek gods who's temples he had burned. It was an insult to his very being. Something had to resist. Something he had to reject! Reject it he did, and the pain... Would not leave so easily despite the curse being broken.

In the time Xerxes had wrestled with his pain, the boy had already declared himself a winner of sorts. Brat! The only man in life who had earned the right to injure the king like this had been Leonidus. The offer he given was no doubt off the table, and for a moment he was ready to destroy himself in one more attack. He had hardly been exercising his noble phantasm, but in that moment he was tempted to let the pain consume him.

Then the boy began to retreat, and the voice of god spoke. Do not bother. The list of possibilities on an identity for this Archer had dropped to only one. He knew him by face, by name... Xerxes had nothing more to gain from this battle. He let the Archer flee. But he did not retreat himself. He merely let his soldiers crumble away into dust, and turned to leave.

He leaped down from the rooftops, and his mount materialized beneath his feet. He had no words. He had only knowledge to take away from this. Any of his advisers in life would be telling him this. Telling him he had won the battle for knowledge, and that the boy's failure to follow through would cost him. Victory though... Was always hollow for Xerxes. He would have to see Archer again someday during this war. When that happened, it would be a short battle, and an inglorious one at that.

"That is enough for now, Rider. Pull back, we've gotten enough from this engagement as a whole. I'm sure you've had a bountiful fill of your fun and spirit, yes? I don't mind how you return to me, as long as you do before dawn. We need to go over what we've learned."

"Very well." Xerxes replied. "I shall be moving to the Mount Enzo location." His reasoning... It was simple. He was in pain. And Mount Enzo was further from the fighting. In all honesty, the main advantage it offered was a lack of foes as far as he knew. It also contained a powerful magical presence, claimed or not, a servant like him could use the overflowing magical energy to increase the rate at which he healed. Which, he would need to do. Obviously.

His mount, a rhinoceros draped in armor, could easily chart that path. In the mean time, he would focus on healing. Healing in this case, meant making claim on a skill that could.

He was taking on the skills of a medical expert. While modern day medicine would do little for a servant, as it was physical and a servant was a being of ether, knowledge like this allowed him to focus his healing. Pinpointing the parts of his body most in need of healing, and focusing his magical energy to those points. The singular scrap on his arm was a minor priority.

"Master, I was unable to achieve the enemy servant's name." He explained, letting his voice be heard over their connection. "I have narrowed the list down since the battle started but it's still incomplete. The most telling seems to be the curse attached to his arrows, and the mental interference he tried to apply afterwards. I doubt he's a Caster class, so it's likely the curse is from a third party. Perhaps a god." The list of gods who had given their blessings to servants was quite large. How many that might have cursed arrows? A great deal fewer, but still too many distinct possibilities. Unless it wasn't a curse, but a blessing out of control? The ground between blessings and curses was pretty much a blurry ground. The only difference was the end result. Same principals applied to both. Maybe he'd have better luck with servants who had blessings? "I suspect he is a servant of either the Tohsaka, or the Matou family. The direction he retreated in was the known location of their households. If he is a third party, it matters not. I shall make sure to destroy them all later."

His beast marched away, leaving the fighting behind. He would have loved to go back and fight against Heracles... But he knew it was best not to. He would only destroy himself in the process. But those other kings... Once Heracles was dead, he would have to fight each of them. Each of them, and he would win.
Because he knew he must.

Academy --> Mount Enzo
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Wait... What? Why was she Paris!? Ariadne could feel her eye twitch at the implication. Was this just a naming thing showing affection? Or was it a stealthy insult? Was Caster implying that Ariadne was like Paris? One who dabbled with gods and as a result of a narrow-minded love obsessed mind he ruined the land he called home and doomed his people to death? Or was the implication that she was stupid, like how Paris fell for a stupid wooden horse? Either way, she wouldn't be asking for the reason. She knew she wouldn't believe anything Cassandra had to say. It really was a curse when you couldn't trust your own servant. Thankfully, she could trust others to be stupid.

Stowing the wine bottle away, she stepped out from the alleyway. Ariadne smiled, and tilted her head playfully to the side. "Hello, I'm Paris." She said, and without warning, she wrapped her arm around Walter's free hand. The two girls now on either side of the half-drunk mage. "So, who is your friend? Does she have a name? Come on, you can tell us, we can keep your secrets." She purred out, almost feline-like in her interrogation. Hardly giving Walter a second to think or focus. The trick here? Get him talking. Loose lips sink ships, and with the aura of Bacchus hovering in the air, freedom was everywhere. Freedom that desperately wanted to free all the thoughts from Walter's lips.

"Come on, we're all friends here."
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@Scallop