Seeing his opponent draw his blade to deflect his attacks, Archer was quite intrigued at this response, observing his opponent more closely. As he did though, a slight shiver was sent down Archer's spine. Survival instincts, maybe? Archer couldn't quite put his hand on it, himself, but there was something about this Servant... something tangible about his demeanor. No matter what it is, between his swordsmanship as well as his knightly disposition, Archer would quite easily deduce that his opponent was the Knight of the Sword. Satisfied with his response, Archer pointed his gun upward so that it wasn't immediately pointing at his foe, and stood up with an amused look on his face.

"Ah, pardon my rudeness. I've only got one good eye, so I'd have to take every shot I can! Hope you understand." Archer chuckled in response, puffing his cigarette once more and exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Your skills with the blade are quite impressive though, black swordsman. And with a blade like that... I'd assume you're Saber, then?"

Despite maintaining the same casual air that his opponent had, Archer was keeping his environment in mind as well, ensuring that he had a proper way of keeping his distance from his adversary. For now, he had the advantage, but that could easily be squandered if he allowed Saber to rush him head-on. With this in mind, Archer switched his rifle to full-auto, still keeping it leaned over his shoulder.

"Sadly, it seems you have caught me with my pants down on that. I'm sure a few stray shots in this empty part of town should be fine, though. We are in Budapest after all! And besides... why would we need to bother setting up anything to hide our little dance away if you've already got that scary face of yours to do just that, sir knight?"

Archer laughed loudly, his cigarette almost flying out of his mouth as he had done so. All that was left to do now was to await Saber's next move. Having more or less a clear shot of his enemy should he decide to move on in, Archer was confident in ensuring distance would be kept between the two of them. If anything, Saber moving in just a bit would put Archer at even more of an advantage! Truly, this was a fight that Archer could fully show the beauty of the AK-47 to his Master... Which reminded him.

If I were you, gypsy, I wouldn't look on over. This guy's pretty scary! Might make you piss your pants, too. Can't have you doing that while you're looking for his Master now, can we? Ah, I'd get whatever it is you need to ready, though. It might get a bit loud out here.

Puffing the last of his cigarette, Archer allowed it to fall out of his mouth. He wondered if Saber could break the difference before it would hit the ground...

A few hours was hardly time to get to know someone, but exchanging pleasantries was not why Rider was summoned here.

Now, under the fading sunlight, he and the man who served as his master moved through the Queen of the Danube.

Find, hunt, kill. His mission wasn't much different now than it was a lifetime ago. The setting changed, and the participants yes, but otherwise this was something Rider was well accustomed to. Being assigned tasks from those weaker than himself, impossible feats that only he, a hero, could complete... and he would complete them. Bellerophon was a man that did everything asked of him, and made it look easy too.

The only unfamiliarity now was the magus Lauchme, his master. The quest giver never accompanied him in the past. It was... well, maybe not the only unfamiliarity. The vessel Rider assumed now was a bit different too. It came with restrictions. One of those being the lifeline between himself and his master. The reason the quest giver was coming along in the first place.

"Of course not."

His master spoke of waters and civilians, and Rider found he agreed. The man was weak of body but not of mind. Rider had noted that a little while ago. He watched Lauchme preform his magecraft, and the flare of sparks that followed soon after, scattering across the sky. After the display the air fell quiet. It wasn't the peaceful silence one could expect from winter, after all there were enemies about - and in no time creatures drawn to the display swooped in to investigate. With a flick of his arm a bow appeared in Rider's hands, and the familiars were dispatched. Simply, unceremoniously.

"They're expecting us. Shall we go?" He glanced at Lauchme, but it was clear on Rider's face that it was rhetorical question. Of course they would go. "Catch your breath. I can't protect you if you can't keep up."

The duo made their way through the city's streets almost leisurely. The driving snow did little to slow their advance as they weaved between buildings following the sensation of their opponents nearby. Any familiar that got close saw only a glimpse of an arrowhead before it was smoothly struck from the sky. When Rider and his master arrived they looked down at the women on the river's edge. Rider breathed in deeply. Besides the scent of humans and frost, there was something else too.

Not human? He thought, and though this thought was for himself his master was privy to it as well. He titled his head curiously. He spoke.

"Good evening." Bellerophon was always polite, the most gracious guest one could ask for. His voice was just the same as it was earlier when his master had summoned him: silky, gentle, light - and self-assured.

@Dosthou @Breo @Cu Chulainn

---

Giovanni liked to think he was a man of very few principles, and the ones he had, they all were of a case by case basis. Having too many, or making them ironclad tended to have you walk to an early grave, or even worse, make you have a troublesome, strict way of life. Sure, some may call this attitude cowardly or not honorable, but after living on the road running for some twenty odd years, you learned a thing or two, and also observed your fair number of honorable men lose their life.

It was for this same reason that, as Giovanni advanced through the streets, he made sure to leave a trail of cards on in his wake, that, aside from their own, innate effect, had a little something on them so no random person would even think of moving or picking them up. They were his path to safety if everything went to shit after all.

As he was doing this, he received a little tip from his servant. As much as he wanted to peek a little, even show up and watch the battle unfold, he knew that, even as patchy talked with a certain sense of disrespect, he wouldn't lie to him... at least he didn't think off, and well, even if he was bullshiting him, he wouldn't really care that much. Honestly, that type of person was a lot more compatible with him than some holier than thou knight or Fate forbid, a crusader or something.

So now, he just walked the streets for the consolation prize, the enemy servant own master. If he or she or it was the type to keep at the side of his servant, unlike himself, then it was his bad luck, but if not, then Giovanni would like to share a few words with one of the people he was competing with.

After a few more minutes of walking and strategically putting down cards, if throwing them at every corner and alleway could be called strategic, Giovanni found a crowd in front of him. He hoped that if his target even was in there, it wasn't one of those nutjobs that could kill you with just a touch or Fate forbid, a glare, he wanted to at least see a few more fights if he had to leave this world behind.

"Now, let me see the face of someone willing to bet their own life in search of something not even gold can buy" he grinned, and throwed his last card before walking into the sea of people

There were only a few of her familiars to cut down; overall, it was not particularly necessary to employ them, if that's the way they're going to approach them. Sending up a flare...? In all honesty, it isn't the kind of thing she understands at all. It isn't the kind of thing she's likely to grasp the utility of. There's just no way she'd make a connection between 'getting rid of witnesses' and 'sending something like that into the air'. As far as she's concerned, that kind of thing would only attract, not reduce, attention. In the end, she dismisses it; it's more likely, she thinks, that they just know something she doesn't, or has some additional twinkle of a plan that would make the act more reasonable. No cause to judge without sufficient information. ... Aside from, of course, the simple prejudice of 'I could surely do better', but that's her pride on the line, and that, she can't surrender, no matter how reasonable.

She loosely raises her left hand, and bows her head slightly. "Good evening," she begins. She does not step back when she sees her opponents. Meeting their eye, and looking over both, she apprises them. Walking up to them like this implies only a few options, and she must entertain each.

First. They may, indeed, be consummate fools; this is surely what they look like, standing on the edge of the river, out of cover and conspicuously. However, she does not find this likely enough - or, rather, she holds that if that's the case, it's good, but assuming that it's true is too dangerous. While one should never underestimate their opponent, it's important to also not overestimate them. That's to say, if it seems good enough to take, she'll take it. Better than withdrawing without showing your hand is to win in such a way that no one knows what happened at all, she thinks.

Second. They could be up to something; this is the much more likely case, certainly. She's at an advantage on that token, at least - they can no longer trick her by trying some odd shell-game with their Servant. At least, she presumes that the one with the bow is more likely to be a Servant than a Master. A guess, but a good enough one. In that way, they've already revealed a little more than they have. That degree of certainty that she possesses is good for her.

Third. They might expect a parley. Of course, if this is the case, they may be fools, and there is no further need to think on the matter.

"I trust the snow is of little concern for you?" She smiles, a little. There isn't any malice in it; she's just kind of amused with her joke. She isn't overwhelmingly interested in their answer, however. "... Ah, I'm not much used to talking before I fight, you know? It's really not my style at all. No need, mostly - so, if you want to get to the point, I wouldn't blame you. This situation is different, of course, so if it pleases you to trade pleasantries, and set some kind of terms or something like that, that's fine too. Be my guest." She realizes, now, that she was wrong from the outset.

She can definitely get far, far more on edge. She didn't think she could until she was facing down her enemy, but now she knows better - everything in her life before does not compare to this exact moment. This exact tension before this exact battle. She wonders - has it started in other places? Is this the first confrontation in this war? Or have others already died, without her knowing at all? This, she pushes out of her mind. That is for later. When she lives. Her mouth dries out, but she retains her focus.

That isn't to say she doesn't like it. Her chest pounding. Her body and mind sub-consciously sharpening for the combat to come. It's everything she can do to keep her cool, and it's everything she can do to make herself ready for this tension to break, and for one side to walk away victors, and the other to - perhaps - not walk away at all.

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully



A man walked out of the streets, all that could be seen of his face that was covered by a hood whiter than the snow extending from his robes being the frown of the frail. Thin lips and pale, pale skin were silent as he looked upon her and found what he was looking for.

The air of someone confident, who believed themselves great. Beyond that it was the presence of those who believed themselves able. Talent was one thing, but the ability to do at all, to be capable… It was the simplest of things, denied to him and perhaps him alone

A man may dream of flying like a bird, but such a fantasy to a land-dwelling creature was different from the bitterness of a bird born with featherless wings.. There was no need to talk. That’s what he thought as he gave Rider a simple command. “Win.”

His hand ran through his sleeve and swiped forth, a fan of steel forming in the grip of his knuckles even as one bullet flew forth. He did not have the sheer physical power of the knights of the Church, but such techniques were readily shared with the Lacrignoia. Battle was known, if only for at least the purpose of knowing how to be the director of knights.

A Black Key of Providence, one of the weapons of the Christian Church’s hidden side. An obscure strange weapon hardly popular among the members of vampire-hunters. It was not the first thing to think of when one considered a mage hunter, yet… Well, it didn’t matter. As a foreigner from the east he wouldn’t be surprised if she was ignorant to any of these tools, or their meaning. Now would they accept the attack and deal with it themselves, or would the servant act?... with or without the recognition or permission of their master? Their personalities, their means, both could be gleaned by a simple throw. His clairvoyance activated, Lauchme ready to take in all the information that he can from the caster.

“Meaningless chatter.” he dismissed her words. Why should he not? She clearly held no interest in them to begin with. It was never his role to give interest and meaning to something that others couldn’t bother to present to him as meaningful A story held only the most scandalous or greatest parts of a life after all. Humans didn’t need to live, they simply needed to give birth to stories. Or rather, a human that cannot give birth to stories was not living at all.

His shadow stood with him as he broke away from Rider, fan of blades numbering three. He was not so far that anything in the league of Rider could not be intercepted. His speed was barely faster than a normal human, both to preserve his strength and bait out the opponent… Is what he’d like to say, but it was more than his limits in purely his mundane means. So it was more importantly a matter of preserving his strength as he moved closer to the streets that led into the city like veins.

The snow was a prison of flow, water and earth, wet and cold. A fact that he took in as a consideration as a potential way that the enemy may alter their tactics. Or more importantly, a element that he could utilize to foil them. Just in case he began to speak an incantation.

Perhaps she is a monster that knew even more than he did. Perhaps she the a monster that he should be the most envious of. He did not need the grail to tell him that he was the lowest of them all.. Save for a fluke perhaps. Perhaps a spare was prepared as the eighth that had no ability whatsoever. An absolutely normal bystander dragged in. But he would have no mercy for such an individual as well.

So which number were you?

Come and show me.

---

It seemed their rivals were putting on a fireworks display of sorts. For a moment, Caster worried this signified a stalemate of sorts, with each team looking to draw the other out. But it wasn’t long before she noticed them drawing closer.

As the snow fell, she was glad for her umbrella. Even now, she disliked the cold. The presence of such a memento from her husband helped, too; she never felt cold while she held it.

Caster stood and turned towards the guests, rising from the river and placing her back towards it. She rested the umbrella on her shoulder, holding it down far enough that it shaded her face just a little. Even the minor advantage of hiding where she was looking could factor into a fight, here. She looked the arrivals up and down, trying to glean what information she could. They seemed an odd pair, but any two who joined this battlefield would certainly be unusual.

“It is indeed a pleasant evening. It bothers me that we cannot introduce ourselves properly.” She spoke formally, but didn’t risk a curtsey, impolite as that was. “You are perhaps the servant of the bow, then?” Her voice was light, and there was a slightly playful tone to it. Perhaps it was simply an effort to convey confidence. Or perhaps she simply wanted to savour the moments before speech became useless. In any case, she would not be the one to strike first, though she was ready to counter at a moment’s notice.

It was unusual for a ranged combatant to get so close, but it was fortunate for her for them to talk rather than simply sniping from a distance. Though if this enemy was an Archer, then their visual acuity could be a problem for some of Caster’s tactics.

Though it didn’t take long before the Master began to attack her own, dismissing any conversation. That was the way of war, Caster supposed. Strange bladed weapons that seemed hardly the domain of a magus. Even those who simply dedicated themselves to the perfection of their body through martial arts could likely manage a stronger throw. Or perhaps her standards were too high? In any case, her Master had promised to try and impress, so Caster would simply allow the two to display whatever strengths they had. Even in the worst case, anything short of a deathblow could simply be healed away as if it had never happened, with Caster’s medicine.

Focussing on her Servant counterpart, Caster tensed, preparing for action at any moment. Sending a thought to her sister, she made sure she was ready too. Though even now, she didn’t want to make the first strike. “Unlike those hasty ones there, I’m happy to simply discuss things for as long as you wish. In fact, I had a question of my own, provided you aren’t also the impatient type. Something I would like to ask all the Servants of this war, if I get the opportunity.” Lifting the umbrella, she looked her fellow Servant in the eye, and her tone became deadly serious. “Was the information the grail gave you unusual in any way?”

---

The woman opposite him shrugs, lightly shifting her shoulders. "Suit yourself." Saying it like that, it carries a different weight to it; her words do not have the same light manner as her motion, or the words. Really, that's the kind of thing that could be said right before you shot a man. That's to say, she could've said "Your funeral." in the same way, with the same tone, with the same cadence, and it wouldn't sound at all incorrect. Right out, she's decided she does not like this man. It is nothing about him in particular. It is nothing, quite, that he's said, or done. There's no reason to be upset at someone in a war for attempting to strike the first blow. Perhaps it's just that she, in a way, finds his tone wrong. Perhaps it's that she sees someone like that attack her - after she went out of her way! - as something pitiable. Maybe he's just too dour, too 'not her type'. Well-----

It doesn't make a difference, because that kind of thing wouldn't change anything for her. She's certain that, even if she found him charming outright, she could shatter every bone in his body without wincing once. That's the kind of person she is; a troubleshooter. Her motion is not 'just barely faster than a human', as his is. The difference between them is clear in the first step - the gap is demonstrated in just that first motion. Without observation, one would be confused - it would look like a trick of the light. She is a step from where she began, having shifted her feet. The snow, apparently, is no match for her ability to walk to the side. It is correct, then, to say that her ability is much closer to 'just barely beyond the bounds of human.'

Her smile disappears as she moves on him, now. Her boots do not sink into the snow; why is that? All of her facial expressions disappear. It is not that the 'go hard, like she is made of stone', nor is it that 'she puts on a mask', or anything along those lines. It is that she, simply, does not feel anything in this moment of motion. Her hands are up, now, as she shifts forwards towards him. It's a difficult situation, she believes; he has an absolute advantage at range, but as soon as this advantage is gone, she ought crush him with ease. She commits herself to this directly. She is, without a single doubt, faster than he is. ... She is wary, still.

There's no way anyone is this stupid. That's what she's thinking; there is absolutely no way this person is so stupid as to do something like this without a deeper plan, trap, or gambit waiting. She swerves her body at a wider angle. She doesn't want to get too far from Caster, either, but she's certain that he doesn't have the time or distance to get her there. The question, then, she's working on is this. 'What is the nature of the fight I am in?' If this is fight in the nature of 'physical might' or 'personal skill', she is certain she can surpass him. If it isn't that nature, what trick does he have to alter the scale? If that's the case, what can she do to make this fight within one of her strongpoints again?

Thought does not beget hesitation. After all, even if he has some other plan, she's faster than him, and moving through the snow is easy. Many men who thought themselves clever die to people who are, in fact, simply stronger. She can consider the possibilities and stay wary while pressing closer to his personal space, rushing him down all at once.

Elenorzva had set up a rather solid workshop, she would say so herself. A few scouts would search the city for her foes while she could stay within the confines of her hotel. However, she was enjoying a cup of coffee within the cafe of the hotel. While it wasn’t particularly a great cup of coffee, it did serve its purpose as a buy in to utilize the booth in the cafe.

The purpose?

None, really. Elenorzva simply believed that such a spot would be more enjoyable. It was the little things in life that really made it worth it.

“Can’t say I feel anything yet. Maybe they are hiding their presence from us, or perhaps we are simply fortuitous enough for a moment of respite during this war; the calm before the storm, as it were. But like the eye of those very storms, so too shall it begin in force.” Elenorzva said to her Servant through their mental-link.

Perhaps it was fortuitous that Elenorzva had summoned such a being. The peak of the Amazonians’ power. A true superior individual when it came to their might, though being summoned in what was considered to be the weakest container would surely hamper an individual of the greatest caliber. A knight class would have surely suited her immaculate being.

However, if Elenorzva would draw upon the weakest card, then she would push that card to the absolute limit that she could possibly achieve. To struggle against the restraints placed upon her would be the struggle of her family. The crescendo of her magical studies. To fight in the holy grail would allow her to test her theories. She had to surpass those who had come before her. She had to perfect her craft.

“To fight before we are able to discern the abilities of our foes would surely lead to our end quickly. However, I will place my faith in such an impressive individual such as yourself, Avenger. Do not mind any loss; such beings should be more than grateful to be at the service of everlasting peace, would you not agree?”

To create peace, one had to fight. That was history’s vice. The only way to ensure peace was to make sure your own stick was greater than those around you. However, those who took this approach were often aggressed upon themselves.

Out of fear.

Out of anger.

Out of jealousy.

But none of that mattered. What mattered, in the end, were the results that were granted from actions. To win one must have had to fight. Therefore, fighting was inevitable for humans who lusted after their victories and their glory.

Another sip of the coffee, now the once-hot drink sitting at a mild lukewarm. She wondered just how her personal path had led her to this end. It was not the fault of the man who had harvested the blend, for it didn’t appear to be bad coffee. It was simply mediocre. And such mediocrity was due to a lack of interest from the baristo. Someone who was not motivated to accomplish their job. Someone who would rather do absolutely nothing and obtain all the benefits of someone who had tried their hardest for another.

Such people were simply lacking direction. And Elenorzva would gladly provide them with such direction. The men and women knew that there was a greater good to work towards.

A memory of a young, star-eyed girl glimpsed through her thoughts for but a moment. It did not matter what the memory was of. She had declined that path years ago. It was merely a matter for a record; to be consigned to a distant memory. As always, in personal development and in magecraft, the most important thing to think about was what laid at the end - the now, and the future.

“My only request is a simple one, Avenger: Win.”

With that, she downed the remaining of her coffee. It was not pleasant, but it was what one had to do.

"Lead the way."

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully



A formula painted in the ground with magical energy, a magic circle formed within the snow, out of the snow. Ice that laid the foundation, filling the circle that was made by the virtue of the snow being displaced out in that shape by the magical energy. A simple creation. A quick preparation as he could only hope to assume that the very basics of theory and magical energy could be applied as countermeasures with how it was likely that this was an eastern practitioner.

To call it a trap was hardly correct, but as she closed in from the streets came soldiers. Not human, but soldiers nonetheless. Scarred armor, flowery flags and heraldry, exotic blades and blood-soaked rags. Walking in pairs of two, the sound of blades rusting from being stained in blood from endless battle began to fill the air.

A strange macabre sight, two fake men tied by their waists like conjoined twins, walking together towards the same goal even as they attacked each other, completely matched with the same conviction, no, same bloodlust. They sported ugly violence against each other in the name of their own, same, god. But was that the reason, or was it just a justification? Something to scream for to profess themselves as superior even as they simply wished to kill.

Strange puppets, strange indeed. The warriors of Islam, the warriors of Christ. The Holy Romans and the Saracen. It just so happened that they marched to involve her in their violence. A battle of the sacred devolving into ugly secular means. They were puppets meant to tell a story, and a weapon to slay those who were “not us”, an enemy to repel “outsiders”.

But it would take time for them to reach, and in that time he could take her measure.

He moved, not as fast as her, but with two more bullets launched from his knuckles as his other hand grabbed two more claws out of seemingly nowhere. Closing in he swiped,, two of the blades striking out at her with the shadow behind him mimicking, forming an overlapping formation of slashes that hunted her down and repelled, utilizing the differing reaches and length that they held. The wide sweeping arcs of the long gastly claws of the puppet swiped more fiercely and faster than him while holding greater range and area. But closer as he was, the slash of his left hand claw with its two black keys was more precise, while the single held blade in his right held her at bay as if it were a rapier.

She was fast, and likely strong. But nothing showed that she was a monster, not like the mage hunters he knew, or the one that became his sword.

Well, she isn't surprised. "Oh, that's the trick. Oi, Caster --- Try to keep his Servant back there, please. However it suits you. I think I'll be done soon." Speaking frankly, she takes note of the weird puppets, and decides she largely does not care about them; they are a nonfactor. She will be done before they are at all relevant. In the first place, attempting to draw a magic circle, in her direct line of sight, whilst she is actively aggressing on him, is simply not worth his time. It isn't that it takes much time; it is that every heartbeat matters in this confrontation. Perhaps if he were faster - perhaps if he were more capable - perhaps, then, it would be worth doing. However, when facing down a woman such as this, every single wasted action, every single wasted thought, increases the chance of being slaughtered. She will not allow him the peace of that circle, whatever the point of it may be. If he wishes to complete it, the cost is 'a punch to the face', which may well spell death, so far as he knows. Her motion is exquisite, born only from the kind of practice that one gets from years of hard practice, and harder experience. He has made an assumption of her -

She has not shown anything that would imply she is a monster. She has not shown anything, however, but that she is swift of foot and capable of not being hit by a thrown Key, if she puts her mind to it. She's actually even slightly surprised that has opted to close in on her, but not so surprised that she's put in a worse position by it. Perhaps, she thinks, he is as foolish as I expected? Finally, she can actually begin to fight him.

The puppet is, perhaps, threatening enough to respect; it is fast, and likely strong. Her motion hesitates for only a second, while it attacks, before she steps back into him directly. Her motion is unsteady, uneven, and her hands are up now as she presses into him. That is - she won't stay still for even a second, shifting her body to and fro, to make getting an actual hit on her much, much worse. Her motion is toned and sure, even if it isn't sharp - she must be a martial artist, to move this way. An extra step into him; a fist is thrown for the left side of his torso. Her left hand, in a leather glove, jabs out with blinding, disgusting speed. She could, without a doubt, attempt to outright kill him here and now.

---

Camillio opened his eyes, tearing his sight away from that of Saber's own.

He had hoped for a quiet affair, at most a tense stalemate before both parties disengaged for quieter pastures. His late arrival to Budapest would appear to have impacted him greater than he would have thought. And if it weren't enough that he would have to perform his duties as a member of the Clocktower in preserving secrecy, the burning he feels upon his hands could only mean one thing.

That the master of the enemy servant was nearby.

And if he were to judge it by the intensity of it, fairly close as well. Another annoyance to deal with.

Picking himself up from the cafe patio he had found, Camillio surveyed the surrounding crowd that had gathered. The people were his protection for the time being. No self-respecting practitioner would so blatantly reveal themselves without having prepared thoroughly beforehand. His earlier sweep beforehand had confirmed no such thing, but one could never be too careful.

Leisurely, he exited the crowd, careful to pay attention to any telltale sign of a magus.

Or at least, that was before he had come face to face to an old acquaintance.

While outwardly, he had shown no sign of surprise, he could not help but be unprepared mentally to see in front of him one Giovanni Scalognatto.

Still, one had to preserve an image. As such, he could not help but ask of his former advised, in a stunningly cold voice so emblematic of his station:

"So it would appear we meet again rat. I see this time you chose not to flee as you did your studies at the Clocktower."

To anyone unfamiliar, such a greeting would seem harsh. But while Camillio could not rank Giovanni a friend, he neither considered him an enemy nor an annoyance. It was simply the same manner in which he spoke to the young man in front of him as he had all those years ago.

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully



A sudden burst of speed, faster than her run? Ridiculou- Cracks in wood and metal from his-, the shadow’s arm that raised to block the blow. A single blow? A claw parries and breaks, his black keys like toothpicks in her wake.

He… (beyond)

Couldn’t… (his)
See… (sight)

Battered down, the ghostly but oh too real arms (weapons) of the shadow were already breaking apart, and the sheer force at which splinters and shards were sent flying from his weapons was enough to whip forth and cause skin-rending gashes through him. His robes were painted where the snow was untouched, having no time to spill onto the ground with his blood.

It was ridiculous.

The kidney punch that rushed past his shattering defense was intercepted by an ash-lock clad fist. The weapon, and his hand with it shattered in a explosion of shards and blood.

None of his puppets would get there in time, and none of the would have any use, any purpose against them. Perhaps if it was one of the greater heirs of the history of the Lacrignoia then there’d be a chance with their one and only trump card.

He had met such force before. He was taught by such force, but this was something that held more than just that force. A heretic with the raw power to contend with mage-killers was something all the more dangerous and damning than a zealot with, as much as it could be called that, ‘only’ physical brawn and faith.

How much did she know of magic, to what end did she use it? As far as he could tell she wasn’t utilizing anything notable, and she was far beyond the means of mere reinforcement. Was she a monster born with a body that simply had as a given the heights that those crazed prayers attained with their resources and training? Or was she simply a link in the chain that bred true in their own ways to mimic a family? Or was there some trick, some technique that gave birth to a miracle? Something of this level could not be born from something as paltry as a tool supporting one. Could it be the gifts of the servant? No, she was moving too normally, too used to this. This was simply how she was at war.

If he could put his feelings in one word, it was loathing. He loathed this woman who was gifted with a body that was strong. He loathed that confidence of knowing that she was able to do what was asked of her, by others, herself.



A cold sort of scorn, yet it was the only thing that perhaps truly riled his blood. To a man such as he there were three courses. To hate others, to hate magic, or to hate one’s self. To hate one’s self was simply a waste of time, to hate others could be fuel, as legends showed.

To hate magic, was in truth, the idea of hating the past, or was it hating humanity? His answer was it was both. The present was built on a countless amount of pasts. Of course the present simply existed without caring about the past. The present was simply the present and it existed because it was the present. But one who lived in the present with simply just the present was not a human, and one without a future. To hate the past was human, but to know of the past was also human. He did not hate the past or magic, for it was not the past, or the future, or even the present that led to his lacks. It was simply that he was.

He did not hate humanity, he simply held no interest, for it would not be meaningful. IT would simply be a pointless expenditure of his already storyless life.

The one to blame then...

Another punch was blocked as he put in his best attempt at an escape. A function of his shadow was divulged as one of its claws burst out as a missile as soon as they clash, heading straight towards her chest while the claw tried to occupy one of her fists for that moment. Would it even slow her down? He wondered as, lashing out with the puppet, he moved to propel back towards the streets, behind his crusading soldiers with a speed that while not matching that of the priestess, was greater than what he could normally achieve.

Perhaps the only solace was that even in such a short pitiful… clash, that at least his servant was one that was strong enough to wage an entire war in that time.

“Already useless after one blow…” he stated on the condition of his hand that he’d have to take a good amount of magical energy and time to heal. To begin with something like the curse of self-restoration was not going ot hela something like that so swiftly for even someone above his level. "This one isn't that much better either..." as he looked upon the condition of his shadow.

“Are the tight gun laws in the east a courtesy to your sinners and criminals?” he called out, as he recalled the showcase of an Ash Lock blocking a Wesson’s Magnum with ease. “Brawn over faith, or is brawn faith? Regardless..”

The question would be how he could survive long enough for an entire battle with such a thing, let alone at all. It didn’t matter how powerful Rider might be, or how weak that opposing servant might be if it was impossible for him to be at the field.

“...”

Would they have to retreat so soon? Could they even retreat? Would one of those have to be used?

If he were here…

Could he oppose her at all? The thought crossed his mind as a possibility even as his knowledge gave an answer “Of course not.” Somewhere deep inside he imagined, and hoped.

The woman exhales. It is her opinion that this battle is, for all intents and purposes, settled; she has clearly demonstrated herself, and he has demonstrated himself. Furthermore, it is her opinion that she has learned more of him than he of her. At least, more of use. It is useless to understand that someone is this much stronger; it is very useful to understand that someone is this much weaker. What can be done to overcome the weakness? And, anything can be done to make use of this strength. Yes; by this demonstration alone, it has become clear. Without digging deep, without going out of her way, and without the support of her Servant, this is the result of even a single exchange of blows. She does not press further, however. She digs her feet into the ground, and draws herself up, but does not follow in for another blow. What is this? What predator does not slaughter its prey? What monster does not feast on flesh? Is this that damnable, disgusting pity? She doesn't know what to make of his words, but honestly assumes he might be delirious; she can't expect anything of his pain management. "I'm afraid I'm a special case; not so many are walking around, and guns would even bother me a good amount. Being shot at is a real nuisance." She does not relax. She does not drop her stance. But she is not killing him? Why? Why? Why?

Why take pity on him? Why spare him? Why not defeat the first opponent as she is now, before he is allowed to simmer in his bile and conceive a better way to cut her down? Surely, in a battle between her and his Servant, she would be slaughtered in a heartbeat - the gap between him and her, and the gap between him and that spirit are incomparable. Is it fear of that thing that holds her? If that's the case, she ought strike while he's weak, and murder him where he stands.

And, yet. "I would like to parley, now, please. I've little taste for killing that which still draws breath, and, thus far, you are such. There is no reason that I ought change that here and now." Disgusting. Disgusting confidence, that, if she spares him now, she could simply snuff him out later; that he poses no threat to her now, and will not later. What else could that be? What else could that possibly be? ... Of course, this is a misconception, and she is not a liar. She simply does not wish to kill him, and has no cause to, as he is not a pressing threat. She prefers not to kill, and would prefer not to be forced to kill him, here and now. Especially not while he may be so useful. Her 'battle face' finally loosens, even if her stance remains firm.

"Tell me what you know about this war; how did the Holy Grail come to be here, in Hungary? Who brought it here? Who owns the land we're standing on? Are you an agent of the Holy Church?"

She spares a thought for her Caster, and her tone internally is far, far more amused than her exterior. Got em'.

She makes no threats, now, nor does she step towards him again. Indeed, her presence alone must be taken as a threat to his very life. But she also does not apologize. Why should she? What sin is there in hurting someone in a war; what crime is there in beating someone at a fight they opted into? In this, he is right. This is simply her nature. Her nature is to be strong, her way is to solve problems, and her path is to be beloved for it.

It's only natural to wince when the sun shines on you.

---

---

Ilya's face curled into a snarl, mirroring the disgust in Adina's voice as she practically spat insult after insult at the Lancer. Who was she, to act so much better than this hero? The Master across from her did not leave Ilya feeling threatened in the slightest - though her Servant did continue to leave her quite guarded. She didn't doubt the statement that Adina had said. Most masters would have attempted at Kelemen's life, but what none of them knew was Ilya's true driving force. The real, and only reason she decided to fight in this war alongside a child.

"You know nothing." Her voice was cold. Still. Guarded yet attacking. Carefully composed yet obviously angered. Her whole body held stable despite how she wanted to quiver with emotion. "You think I'm endangering him to chase after my wish? You get disgusted by the thought of me being so selfish? Tch-" Once more, Ilya had to hold herself back from shaking with revulsion. "You are utterly and completely wrong. I am still here for one reason."

This girl...this girl who knew nothing, of course Ilya couldn't completely fault her for not knowing why it was that Kelemen wanted to participate in the war. Of course Ilya couldn't expect this other Master to know that this child was working to regain what had been lost, what any child would desire if it were stripped from them. It was only Ilya who knew, and it was only Ilya who could be the proper Servant to watch over this particular Master in this war. It was only Ilya who could devote herself full-heartedly to not only fight for her Master, but who could devote her very reason for existing to protecting her Master.

If one were to find themselves wondering, what could this wish be that would lead someone as prideful as Ilya to forego her own simple-minded desires to protect, then the answer to their question was simple. This child simply wanted his family back. Though, Ilya only felt the need to explain herself. Whether Kelemen wanted to defend his own wish and his own reason to fight in this war would be up to him, but this was all of an explanation that the Lancer was going to give to the pressuring Master staring her down.

It would be up to that girl, so filled with disgust and resentment for Ilya, to decide what would happen next, but nonetheless, the Lancer refused to be caught off-guard by whichever decision she made. Once she finished her menacing retort, Ilya finally felt her shoulders relax ever so slightly, one hand slipping behind her back to take Kelemen's small child-sized hand in her own, and giving it a squeeze. Hopefully he could feel her reassurance in her grip, but if not, she sent a single, four word sentence his way between their connection.


She did no more explaining, whether it be to Adina to address more of her taunts, or to Kelemen, to actually explain the horrid, gruesome truth of this war. For now, he was still innocent. She didn't know how fully he would accept Adina's words, but Ilya would work on that later. For now - she had one focus. One drive.

Bending her knees and turning slightly, she fell into a defensive position with one hand lifted in front of her, the other still behind her from holding Kelemen's hand and prepared to materialize her spear at any moment. Her skin tingled, prickles of needle like sensations spreading over her body as she felt it prepare to stand for what her legend foretold. Ilya was a fortress, and Kelemen was her precious treasure.

---

_{Addressing @ShadowKingman @Mr President @AThousandCurses}

"...so that's what being a hero means to you, then?"

Something in Adina's tone had shifted. It was hard to place- that disgust was still there, but something had risen up from behind it. A small laugh tore its way out of her throat, hollow and jagged. "You really believe what you just said. You don't see anything wrong with it. You just see a kid with a wish and decide you're going to help him, but you don't see anything wrong with not even telling him that the odds of victory are tiny, and that if he doesn't win, he'll die."

"Does he know he's risking his life? Because if he does, if he decided he'd risk his life to gamble on his one in a hundred shot at winning, at least you'd have a leg to stand on then- at least then, it'd be his choice. If he doesn't, it means you decided that for him. It means you decided a chance at his wish is worth his life. I don't care if you think you're able to protect him or not. I don't care if you think his wish is so important that of course he'd risk his life. If he's doing that, he deserves to know. It doesn't matter if you're some legendary hero, you don't have the right to decide that for someone else."

To pretend like she was protecting someone as she threw them in harm's way. Was that woman lying to even herself, or did she sincerely believe that she was doing the right thing? It didn't matter. It couldn't matter.

"Even now, after I've made it clear that I don't have any intention of harming him, knowing that the only person I plan on attacking is you, you're keeping him right next to you. He's going to be in the line of fire now, because you think of yourself as such a great protector that you can't do anything else. You could let him go, let him wander to the edge of the Bounded Field- hell, even let him stand next to me, because anywhere is safer than next to you for what's about to happen. But fine, protector. You'd better live up to that title."

"...hey, partner, no targeting the boy. The woman, though? Rend her apart however you like."

Words fell away, and a song took form in the air.

The first note rang out. Heavy and restrictive, dominating all in its presence.

The second note rang out. Melodious and deep, melding into all in its presence.

There was no need to reveal her magic circles. It was best to hold them in reserve in case the enemy had unexpected capabilities. Instead, this would do to begin. Around Ilya, the air grew dense like she was buried underground, imbued with the concept of earth. To bind and restrict. Beneath Ilya, the ground started to sink in as if it had become thick mud, imbued with the concept of water. To flow and run freely. For a Servant, these are both minor inconveniences- merely surging her magical energy can cope with the air being harder to move through, and just a modicum of caution will keep the ground from impairing movement much. Even for a magus, they are minor effects which will merely last for a moment, simple craft.

However, even that minor impairment can make all the difference, when in a fight such as this. Being delayed by a fraction of a second can be the difference between life and death. Because, after all-

"Berserker, hunt."

Berserker

---

Berserker could feel the tensions growing. His master's anger was heard since Berserker could feel her increasing wrath towards the enemy through their shared link. Yes, it was finally time for him to be released. Madness slowly crept into Berserker's mind as it began to fester and encompass into his being. It was hard to control himself and obey his master's commands. Especially since that small morsel was so close yet so far from being devoured in one bite. Perhaps it was fortunate, or was it unfortunate, that the something prevented the morsel coming any closer to him. His insatiable thirst for blood made him grow mad.

His master's words were all but heard from him that point on. After all, one who has been consumed by madness can't understand the words of those who have embraced the sanctity of sanity. The only thing he heard was his target, the something that had a similar yet different existence than he did. Hunt. Kill. Feast. That something was his target. That something was his prey. That something was going to die.

And he will relish in its death.

By the time Adina had called for Berserker's name, he had already materialized from his astralized form already in a running start. He had anticipated this moment, the moment where he would be set loose and unleash an unending hunt for his prey.

His senses were overloaded as soon as the majority of his body had been corporealized. The air was impure and toxic as his sense of smell returned. The earth felt different, it held no familiarity to Berserker as his sense of touch was returned. The world that he saw with his eyes was unfamiliar. Big hulking creatures of stone loomed over him as if mocking him for being tamed by a human. It made him angrier, it made him furious, it made him mad.

That madness locked onto his prey in front of him. Lancer something in his maddened mind informed. His target, his prey. Ways to kill her already filled his mind. He could hear their breathes, three of them including that human right behind him. Yet, it was eerily quiet. The only thing he could hear where them and the crickets that mindlessly festered around in the grass.

"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅!"

With an ear piercing roar and a run, Berserker engaged Lancer. Berserker was seemingly unhampered by the mud created by Adina's song. Each step he took reverted it back to solid land before turning back into its muddy property. It was if the land was obeying Berserker and allowed him to pass by their earthly grasp. Blitzing his way towards Lancer, he came towards a stop before swinging his left arm at Lancer. It was something that humans would call a feint, but in Berserker's case it was more akin to flailing his arm out in hopes that it would stun and confuse his target.

Strength pulsed into Berserker as he wounded up his right arm. The inhumane property of being an phantasmal beast was tapped in and along with his madness that pushed his limits beyond his normal capacities allowed this one earth shaking strike to become even stronger than before. "▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅!" With one movement, Berserker attempted to slam his arm down onto Lancer in an attempt to smash her into red paste. There was no consideration for boy despite to what his master said. All he heard was to hunt and kill Lancer, if it the boy died in the process then that was just natural selection.

At the very least, his taste for blood will be satiated in this cursed world.

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully



Strange questions, yet it was not like he held a pride that let him take the moments that would allow their servants to continue to fight. Wry amusement was felt at her falsely modest claim that guns would be any sort of a problem to her at all. Adding magic to it all, she likely would match a dead apostle in the performance of the body alone.

“You ask a lot of strange questions. Stranger that you think someone else would know. Why is a Holy Grail here? Or rather the Holy Grail? Do you know what a Holy Grail is in the end? Although this one obviously has more power than even the norm if it’s brought something like… that.”

He motioned towards what even she should struggle to follow the way he struggled to follow her. The servants. “It is here because it is here, and we are here because of it. I know people of the Church, and I am a Christian but I am simply a magus. If I were you wouldn’t be outmatching me so easily.” Well, he supposed there were many that they had that weren’t fighters, even amongst the hunters and exorcists.

“If it is from that place called Japan, the same grail as that rumored ritual then didn’t one of the creators take it with them while their allies died out? If you want to do detective work it seems better to ask them, or their ghosts.Perhaps they gave the grail that was no longer of use to them to the second owner or host? Without a land a ritual is likely useless. If what had happened had gone so sour that running with it instead of using it was the best option, then they were hardly in a state to use it or claim it. A thief would do well to cash in and save themselves with that sum even at cost.”

It was not a big deal, simply an idle sort of talk that Camillio at times liked to talk about, perhaps simply to have something to talk about at times. It was not as if the two had too many hobbies in common. The church was more interested in such relics that shared the name as the savior’s cup than most magi as well.

“But if this is indeed the same Grail as that Fuyuki…”

The story of one of its creators, while not any grand magus family or any reputable name at all. Who were they even again?... Falling completely to ruin over their claim to glory was one that brought some relief to his heart.

These women dressed in unfamiliar garb were congenial, or at the very least not ones to attack on sight. That was nice. It didn't last very long. Of the four of them gathered there on river's edge, there was one eager to kick up a fuss: his own master. Dismissing pleasantries as pointless and having the gall to command his servant to win. Of course he was going to win. It didn't even need to be said. It was what heroes like him did.

You don't need to tell me twice.

Lauchme moved away from him then, intent on drawing the other master away. He barely watched the two of them start towards each other before his eyes slid to the servant still by the water. Her face was shrouded from sight and snow by her umbrella, otherwise Rider might have offered her a look that said something like 'well, what can you do.' The woman guessed that he might be the archer class servant. Rider assumed nothing of her, other than that she seemed... level headed.

"Not impatient, no." Eager, perhaps, to get to know another servant through battle where truth was easily found, or eager to get through the war a little quicker with such a master by his side, but not impatient. He shrugged one shoulder, awaiting what the other servant had to say. A question she wanted to ask every other servant. Anything... unusual?

"What isn't unusual about this?" he mused. He was far from a philosopher though, so he answered her question proper - but not before leaping, crossing the distance between them in the blink of an eye, exchanging his bow for a spear. Servant of the bow not so much, and even if it gave the woman a little more information about him, Rider was not the type to try and maintain a deceitful ploy. He landed softly in the snow. From this close, a few meters separating them and eyes locked, Rider smelt that early scent all the stronger. "Truthfully, no. I haven't been gifted any unusual knowledge. Not so far as I could tell."

Like his actions, his words were genuine. That much was obvious to anyone, even mundane humans. Rider quirked his head again, golden eyes searching his opponent's face. Not human. The smell was pleasant in a way. It intrigued him. All the same though, he readied his weapon.

"I won't apologize, but I've been given a job to do. Perhaps we can do introductions at a later time, though I've been told the best way to get to know someone is through battle," he said. The long and storied history of heroism and machismo proved as much. This was as much of a warning as his opponent would get before Rider moved, stabbing his spear at the woman's midsection. The attack was quick and forceful, not a killing blow but far from a pulled punch.

"Why do you ask? Have you learned something unusual?" He braced his body, ready to pull the weapon back and drive it forward again. Even while he struck, he carried on with the woman's topic.

---

The enemy dismissed his bow, switching weapons to something more suited for close range. As he approached, Caster began to gather water as a defence. If they weren’t an Archer after all, that opened some new tactics, dangerous as being close to them was.

“The best way to get to know someone is through combat? I couldn’t disagree more. But it’s a good way to get people to reveal their tricks, I suppose.” Perhaps that was simply her nature. Monsters didn’t fight as a method of communication, they did it to kill, and to eat. And though she had long put that behind her, combat was not something she had ever pursued, except in necessity. She had been content to live the simple life of a human. That itself was likely to prove a weakness, when it came to a war.

As the spear was thrust towards her, Caster met it with a wave of water, curving up from behind her. Though she couldn’t meet the strength of a Servant’s attack with her body, the force of the water would be enough. The water burst into both the spear and the Servant, crossing around her body. At the same time, she used the opportunity to slip backwards into the river.

At the same time, a mist rose from the river, obscuring it from sight, along with Caster’s exact positioning. A minor obstacle, particularly if her opponent was an Archer, but it could make all the difference here. For her, it was a simple matter of enhancing her eyes, ensuring the obscuring effect was one way only.

“Something unusual? Ah, why else would I ask? But as to what it means- I wouldn’t want to speculate until I’ve done some experimentation.” Caster’s voice echoed out from the mist, along with several swift tendrils of water, probling at the enemy’s defences. Ideally, she could finish this fight without revealing her Magecraft at all, but that was a best case scenario, certainly unlikely to happen.

As it stood, the advantage was hers. But that could be upset easily. If the Servant fled to his Master’s side, she would have no choice but to pursue, losing the favoured ground of the river around her.

“Well then, what does this tell you about me,” She asked, with a taunting edge to her voice. Letting it ring out, to see how he responded, how sharp his senses were. Tantalise just enough to stop him from rearranging the battlefield to his advantage.

---

@Dosthou @Breo @Cu Chulainn

---

Giovanni was a rather talkative individual, to say the least, he knew this, his servant knew this and those that spended more than 5 minutes with him knew it too. Most of the times, this was done with the sole objective to piss off the target of his chattering. He too confessed to being a petty asshole to those he feeled deserved it, and by Fate, the majority of the population of the Clock Tower, in Giovanni humble opinion, deserved every bit of his asshole self.

That is not to say that there weren't alright chaps in his book, even if they were few in between, and now, in front of him, he had the fortune of meeting one of them.

"Or is it missfortune?"... he muttered to himself, before doning a grin that could be confused for a smile and engaged his acquaintance.

"Camillo! Good to see you too! I could ask you the same thing my friend, tired of overseeing boring classes and decided to explore the world a little?" Of course, both of them knew this was a pointless question, but for Giovanni every second he was not fighting the emotionless man was a second well spent.

In the span of the few words talked, he had already though of dozens of possible scenarios in his mind. Life on the road engrabbed this habit on soneone if they wanted to last in it, and his well honed instinct told him that, no matter what, he shouldn't start a fight with this man, not now, not ever.

"How has life treated you? You found that special something you seemed to be looking for? 20 years is a lot of time after all, you could do lots and lots of things in that time, visit lots of places, y'know what i mean?" He grinned, even after reaching the previous conclusion, Giovanni could not pass the chance to try and get a rise of Camillo, like he tried all those years back. Let it be said that he wasn't the most sane of individuals in the best of times.