A decorated markswoman, Scarlett saw the section of walking bones before they could hope to “see” her, and swapped herself with an Alchemical Doll - defenseless; helpless; distracting; the construct of alchemized sand and magic would be subject to the roving section’s attack, while she slipped into an alleyway and scaled an iron bar fence. Effort raised her heart rate, but she felt safe enough to allow it. If she was lucky, the skeletons were reliant on a purely visual method of location, since they seemed to have... half of a facial construct.

“Alright, we need to reassess the plan...” Scarlett says. “The targeted location is about two blocks away, but we don’t know how much more of this place is guarded,” she says, before drawing Heartstring and Heartbeat. A grunt escaped her, as she stabbed herself in the right arm; the obsidian blade sinking into the ash-black flesh, and drinking the blood it drew up. “I propose a riskier option. I have a few Alchemical Dolls left. So, we’ll use those,” she says, removing her cloak.

It was dark, so he couldn’t see in perfect details, but with the dim light of the moon above, Celtchar could make out the state of Scarlett’s back - her name was more of a testament to the state of her body, as he could see several scars from gunshots to slashes to burn; each various stage of colour, healing, and fading. Now, with her cloak removed, Celtchar could see why she wore it - it not only hid her scars, but it made her stand out.

In the darkness of night, she faded into it; her dark skin, muted hair, and the black jeans and muscle tee that she wore - even the saturated, burgundy cloak helped her stand out in a crowd.

“I’ll throw all that I’ve got, and they run in different directions,” Scarlett says. “As soon as they are out of sight, I’m going to shoot out the streetlamps, and we’ll start moving down the block - house by house, slowly, so we don’t overextend ourselves.” Scarlett reached into her pocket, and removed the little clay dolls, “Most likely, they already moved onto the house, so we’re on our own for now...”

“Ready, Celtchar?”

Sighing as he cracked his neck, Celtchar would say: "Oi, oi…even if you have all those dolls, at least keep a couple in reserve. Don’t go showing your hand before we’ve even seen the opponent’s. Besides, you’ll probably see Saber and Berserker coming in any time now. Shits like these are nothing compared to raw physical power. But if you want, we’ll go along with your plan and cut them down in isolated groups after they’re blinded. Sound good?"

“What I want is inconsequential toward completing the mission. The last transmission from Caster and the Director has made that abundantly clear,” Scarlett says. “Disobey Libra's direct order or stray beyond the mission parameters, and I will be terminated at Caster's discretion.”

Celtchar would outright say: "Then just blow everyone way with how well you can follow orders while completely disregarding them."

“That doesn't make any sense,” Scarlett says, “but, if it gets us to the bridge location, then I'll follow along.”

"Just roll with it," Celtchar said, smirking before following Scarlett’s lead.

Scarlett nodded, and tossed three dolls forward; they were on an intersection, so the dolls would take the roads going forward and sideways, while she doubled back to the main road to get access to the rooftops. From there, she could plot a route by popping lights with her gun, which fired magic blood bullets, so it didn't make noise to give away her position, and would cause the skeletons to relocate to the sudden explosion.

However, she wouldn't take her opponent as simple, and created multiple potential paths - creating routes she could travel, and providing support for her dolls. Unfortunately, bullets didn't come free or cheap, and her blood was a finite resource.

Where bullets couldn’t reach, Celtchar would intercept the lights and cut them apart, the lack of light soon depriving the skeletons of their main method of sensing targets without a Master.

“Now, the hard question,” Scarlett says. “what path to take?”

That would be up to Scarlett, as Celtchar awaited her order. But, since the group was currently fighting a bit of a ways away, now would be a good time to secure a path for them once the fighting finished.

Suddenly, Celtchar would find himself enshrouded by the smell of blood, coffee, and peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches, as Scarlett pulled her cloak on him - hiding his overall form and his lance.

“My Alchemy Dolls can route the ones on the sides, and clear paths until they disintegrate,” Scarlett says, “The rest is on you. There's three routes that will lead to the bridge. I leave you to whichever your instincts says is best,” she says, “Draw as much aggro as you can, and led them into a dead end. Then, trust me.”

Celtchar would wordlessly take off after the plan was in motion, taking the roundabout way to the bridge while making as much noise as possible while staying out of sight. A trashcan knocked over here, a rock hitting a window there…the works.

Scarlett would follow him across the rooves, and wait until he got as much as he could into a trap.

With a quarry of skeletons corralled around his Spirit Form, Celtchar would smirk. "Yeah, I figured this would happen. I’m terrible at sneaking up on things…only time I did was to nail hot iron into a guy’s foot."

Scarlett would whistle, as she ran Heartstring in a corkscrew motion down her right arm from her elbow to her wrists, “Bloody, Sticky Rain...”

Enhanced by Magic, and modified by Alchemy, Scarlett's arm would shower the skeletons in her blood, and the VERY light shower would accomplish its task, as the droplets would bind with each other, while missing Celtchar.

All he needed to do was cause them to bump into each other, and result in a katamari of bones that were stuck in a spot.

Collapsing onto the roof, Scarlett leaned against the wall, and focused on closing her wounds, before digging into her bag for a sandwich... the wrapper crinkled, as her hands trembled from blood loss and hyperventilation.

She was panicking.

With the spell cast, Celtchar would maneuver in his Spirit form to go behind the skeletons, before ever-so-gently nudging one from the back of its spine with a push of his finger. And thus, the skeletons would be bound amongst each other, incapable of swinging their weapons with their arms locked with coagulated magical blood ensnaring them.

He'd feel Scarlett breaking down above him.

In a rush, he would arrive on the rooftop to gather his Master in his arms. "This is only the start of the fight. You know that right?" he would ask, looking her in the eyes.

“I'm aware,” Scarlett says, fighting with the bag - her focus was torn between eating, panicking, and the next step. “You don't have time to coddle me. Inform the others of the path we've scouted,” she says, “I just need to eat my sandwich, and replenish my blood supply.”

"...Idiot,"Celtchar said, sitting on the roof after setting her down. "Contact Archimedes instead. You need to rest, and I need to guard you. Even if you don’t like the authority we’re serving, that doesn’t mean you should ignore the advantage of having a nosy mage keeping watch."

Scarlett grunted, before interacting with the radio embedded in the collar of her tee, “Master Ishval, reporting. I'm currently at rest, set a route for the team to enter the city, and acquired a new safe zone.” she reported, before reporting on the house she'd scouted out, as she followed Celtchar. It was secluded, a small attachment to an apartment complex - likely the owner's. “Path is clear, whenever you can be arsed,” she says, using British slang for some reason, “Don't wait on me, though. I'm sure you can secure it yourselves. Over.”

"You’re one stubborn dumbass of a Master," Celtchar noted.

Scarlett would lamely punch his cheek; there was no strength in it, no malice about it - her stomach growled, and she resumed trying to open her kid's snack.

Celtchar knew there was more to it.

Her casting such an alchemical spell was unnecessary. Surely, there was a simpler way to accomplish the goal she had, or even smaller skirmishes of the same tactic. Yet, something possessed her to go big enough to remove almost half of a section in one fell sweep.

Celtchar would snatch it from her hands and open it up, handing it back over. "Here. …Next time, just throw me at the problem so you aren’t half-dead before we even encounter the real monster."

“Sure,” Scarlett says, taking a big bite like it was a double cheeseburger, “when you bleed like I bleed.” Swallowing, Scarlett would trill and kick her legs childishly as happy as the preschooler her meal was intended for. “So yummy~!”

Suddenly, she would thrust the half eaten sandwich puck at Celtchar, “Want a bite?”

"Nah. Treat me to something nice when we’re done with all this," Celtchar said, wanting his master to keep her strength up. "Looks like the other Servants are doing well. But if the thing controlling the skeletons shows up, I’ll head over. Sound good?"

“This is nice! It's mathematically perfect! Alchemically divine! And, yummy!” Scarlett argues, before gobbling it all down; leaving crumbs on her face. “And, that's fine. I'm high enough to stay safe, until I'm good.”

Scarlett looked to the sky, “I'm good...”

Self-assurance.

She was telling herself that, as her tremors ceased.

She was okay.

...for now.

Celtchar would reach over and flick Scarlett’s forehead. "Remember. Trust me. If you die, I die, so I’ll always come to your rescue if I gotta."

“Owie!” Scarlett whined, “Such a bully...” she says, though she smiled. “You really are Irish.”

Exhaling, Celtchar would put his hands behind his head and just kept an eye out.

Scarlett would rest up. They weren't done, yet. They had a war to win.

With the party on the bridge in full motion, Elise would stick by Conner. Most of her Magecraft involved potion-crafting or poisoning someone, and as far as she knew you couldn’t poison a pile of bones. Not that she didn’t think it wouldn’t do anything, but it was better to save something like Ampelos Bakkheia for when something as dangerous as an enemy mage showed up. "Bunbuku Chagama, think you can handle the west flank?"

“Mh~” Bunbuku smirked, as she shook herself, and cracked her elbows in big stretches. “What kind of question is that? Such pathetic summons. Any first-grade Caster could summon these,” she says, before taking a swig from her tokkuri, and clicking her kiseru - igniting the much larger stream of sake she expelled as a liquid flamethrower.

Normally, the hottest sake would be served is “tobikiri-kan” at 131-degrees Fahrenheit, however, Bunbuku was not your average tea kettle, and burned at degrees in the thousands. As such, the bones of the skeletons would be incinerated and melted at the same time - dealing collateral as her stream would catch houses on fire and melt through stone, while leaving puddles of burning sake.

“Phew~!” Bunbuku sighed, fanning herself with her tail. “Next on the agenda, my dear?”

"Mm…stay on the defensive for now. Fran and Mordred have the other fronts covered, so its just a matter of time until these sacks of bones are done for," Elise would say, glad that her Servant’s flame-based magecraft was powerful enough to melt bones.

“I see, I see,” Bunbuku says, before taking another swig; only turning her flaming liquid upon the buildings, and palisade walls that lined the walking paths. If the bone wanted to approach her, they would have to walk through flaming pools of sake, molten stone slag, and burning wood. “That defensive enough?”

"Yeah, I’d say so. …Though, good thing there’s no civilians, because you just destroyed a few apartment complexes…" Elise said, giving a wry smile. "Anyways, just try to reserve some energy for later. After all, we don’t know exactly what we’re up against."

“Two dual Mana Bursts aren’t going to kill me,” Bunbuku says, before she snapped her attention towards the not-so-distant cityscape. “Did you see that?”

"Hm?" Elise asked, narrowing her eyes. "...The lights went out. Think it was the power grid finally giving up the ghost?"

“They are exploding,” Bunbuku says. “I can’t see why, but I know it’s not overloading - they are exploding in too random an order.”

Elise considered the possibilities for a moment before saying: "Maybe its Celtchar and Scarlett? …But why would they be breaking lights at random?"

“Didn’t they go to scout,” Bunbuku asks. “The way she carries herself is like a rounin, yet she acts --” Bunbuku paused, watching the lights pop. “You’d think she’d have summoned an Assassin instead of a Lancer...” she says, leaving her previous thought unfinished.

"Hey, Leon. Looks like Scarlett is up ahead breaking the lights. How should we proceed once the bridge is clear?" Elise would ask, using radio comms so that Leon could hear over either the battle, or his own magecraft.

“You should reserve some of your strength, Char,” Scarlett says. “If these are just bog-standard sentries, then, most likely, they spend a lot of time standing around. If that’s the case, their summoner isn’t going to think much of them ceasing movement,” she says, taking a big bite of her baby sandwich, “That said, Assassins pair best with Casters, in my experience; a flashy distraction for a subdued assailant. As such, I’d like to head inside and set up a workshop. See if I can’t transmute more Dolls...”

The Ulster Servant would nod, saying: "Small-fries like that are barely worth the fight. I bet it was kinda boring for the rest too. As for making a workshop," Celtchar would look from the rooftop down to Leon, cupping his hands to half-yell and be heard, saying: "Leader, think we have the time for making a workshop? It could be helpful, with this being a half-rescue. Not to mention, Archimedes did say that one of those Servants was being pursued by another. Could be one of our’s chasing. I can stay here and bring Scarlett as soon as the workshop is established."

It may not be a bad idea to at least have a fallback location, since fighting that many Servants consecutively would take its toll on all of them, the Masters most of all. Adding on at the end, Celtchar would say: "Oh, but if you want to do that at the station, that works too."

“Unless the station is infested with skeletons, in which case, I can do nothing,” Scarlett says, “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t got that far. There’s clearly a heightened enemy presence moving forward,” she says, concluding sarcastically, “and, maybe I’m crazy for not wanting to rush ahead, but a place to set up our bearings and know is safe tends to be good for that.”

Scarlett munched the last of her sandwich, and hashed out, “Buff wuff do I no? Ah’m juff a ‘cout.”

Without looking at her, Celtchar would poke his Master’s stuffed cheeks. ”Don’t talk with your mouth full. If you die to something stupid like a sandwich, I’ll just laugh to death. Anyways, even if we have to wait to set up a workshop, I can keep Scarlett safe."

“Ah woffint!” Scarlett swallowed, nipping at Celtchar’s fingers - something like a playful child or a wild puppy.

That however would get her flicked on her forehead in retaliation.

“Rude!” Scarlett huffed, before looking into the sky. Hard marching into downtime. Rubbing her arm, she released Heartstring from Heartbeat; jamming the knife into her arm - reloading and reuniting the Mystic Codes once again.

Elise did have to admit, getting praised for fighting efficiently felt good, even if most of it was just on the basic fact that Casters were just mana efficient Servants in general. Still, she'd say: "Thanks Archimedes! I'll let you know if Bunbuku needs a power-up."

With the rather…interesting scene unfolding on the rooftop, Elise nearly completely forgot what she was going to say before finally braining hard enough to recall. Turning on her heel to Leon, she would say: "Hey, Leon? I have a proposal. Orson said there was a fading Servant to the South that might be Chaldean. I’m the only one of us with healing magic, and Bunbuku is fast enough that we can get away from a non-Assassin Servant, in most cases. While you guys secure the station, I could try and ensure we have at least one ally in all this."

“Committing myself to the task of running away is easy enough,” Bunbuku says. “I won’t lie, though, I’ve zero interest in rescuing anyone, unless they are on the path. As disagreeable as you all seem to find it, Scarlett was not completely off by suggesting to ditch Team A,” she puffed smoke into the air, “After all, let’s be pragmatic about this. They are lost to sensors, radio, and vital readings indicate no activity in their brains or hearts. So, they are either dead or they removed their Mystic Codes to avoid detection.”

“Sure, finding them would be a boon. I don’t disagree with that, either,” Bunbuku says. “However, if they are in bad shape, wasting our own limited resources on mending them, and babysitting them, detracts from the primarily goal of ending this Singularity,” she tapped her kiseru against her heel, “A goal they failed to accomplish, mind. That doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“Still, as they say, Servants serve. I’m just suggesting pragmatism...” Bunbuku concluded. She wasn’t taking sides, left or right, good or bad, but clearly valuing her own welfare, first and foremost - a common Caster trait.

Elise always had a feeling she’d have to butt heads with her Servant over something, but wasn’t expecting it to be now of all things. Listlessly going along with a plan wasn’t exactly the greatest thing, especially when she was sure Bunbuku could just knock Elise out and drag her back if it came down to a rescue going south. Even still-

"Just because its pragmatic doesn’t make it the best choice," Elise said outright. "Saving one person doesn’t mean our mission succeeds. I’m aware of that. But any person we rescue is bound to have a better idea of what’s going on than any of us here, or in the command room. And that’s why I’m the person best suited to try and find anyone in a position to go off and heal someone, with your efficient fighting style and my potion-craft." Approaching her Servant, Elise would add: "Besides, If we were the smart, pragmatic, snicker behind fifty five seal kind of mages, we’d be in our cozy little workshops instead of actively doing dangerous work. Think of it as firefighting, if it makes the illogical nature of my decision any more palatable."

Standing directly before Bunbuku, Elise wasn’t backing down from her plan unless Leon outright denied it. "I won’t use a Command Spell on you to make you follow my plan if you don’t want to. But right now, information and manpower are things we’re utterly outclassed in by whoever could take all of Team A down."

Bunbuku hummed, before she clicked the flint in her kiseru, and passed it to Elise. “Hm.” she held it with intention.

Elise would take a drag of it, blowing the smoke into the air before handing it back.

“Alright, Firefighter Master o’ mine,” Bunbuku says, clapping her hand, “Let’s go follow the smoke. I’ll extinguish the flames, and you save the lives.”

Bunbuku was a simple Caster. Aimless, beyond her smoking and drinking. A peace pipe was as simple as an agreement she needed. It was timeless, rife with honor, and acknowledged equality between those that shared it.

It was probably a little hard on Elise, though, smoking Earl Grey tea leaves.

Oh definitely, considering she was hacking up a lung, expecting tobacco and getting a potent herbal scent flooding her nose and mouth. "Ugh…y-yeah…Leon? That plan sound good?"

Her messenger bag refilled with toys and a few extra goodies, Scarlett would study the bridge as she had been consigned to do, for Leon had taken Elise and Conner and left her - never having noticed that she was inside the house; seamlessly, she’d swapped herself for an Alchemical Doll, and set up her workshop while she took care of things remotely. However, she would have thought Leon smart enough to realize something was off, when the Doll so brazenly approached Mordred without an inkling of fear.

It was true that Scarlett, herself, didn’t fear Mordred or her blade, but she was fully understanding of the Master/Servant difference in power. To so boldly challenge the Rebellious Knight was a fool’s errand, even for other Servants - surely, something was amiss. And, yet, Leon was blind -- Ignorant, and arrogant -- to it, focusing solely on his driving need to be a hero.

Scarlett had to wonder, if anyone had ever told him, “Heroism is the shortest lived profession.” before?

However, beyond the growing affirmation that her Captain would lead her into death, either on purpose or out of pure incompetence, Scarlett had over concerns.

“Celtchar, do you despise me?”

Shuffling along beside his Master, Celtchar would say: "Eh. I dislike your tactics and stubbornness, but you’re alright enough as far as Mages go."

“That doesn't answer the question,” Scarlett says.

"You’re looking for a direct answer then? Alright…" Celtchar said, before looking her dead-on. "I despise just about everyone, honestly. But…not you. So no."

“Curious,” Scarlett says. “Next question, then. Same honesty,” she says, “Would you stab me to fuel your Noble Phantasm, if that's the best option? I've rationalized that it involves blood. So, I ask, would you?”

"The hell? No. Then, my Noble Phantasm would just keep pointing at you until I doused it in poison. That’s why its effective. When it consumes blood, it gets laser focused on someone. Using it on you would mean it’d kill you as fast as possible to drink more," Celtchar said. "...Though, I have used it on myself. Just a pinprick to wake it up."

“Sounds like laser-targeting,” Scarlett says, “I could paint a Servant in my blood, then you stab me, and have another target to go for. Relentlessly, of course.”

"I’m gonna say no to that tactic before you do something dumb that makes me kill you by accident, instead of on-purpose," Celtchar said, rolling his eyes.

“If you even could,” Scarlett says, pointing to her right.

Across from them, on another rooftop, was another Scarlett; hood up, and giving a suppressed wave, in mirror to the Scarlett before Celtchar. They were 100% identical, down to the visible weight and girth of her messenger bag.

“If I'm immortal, Celtchar,” Scarlett asks, “Could you kill me, if it helped you become strong enough to get Orson from killing me on purpose as a pawn, or Leon by accident of being his useless self?”

"Its not a question of wanting to kill you, really," Celtchar said, scratching the back of his neck. "I know I’m not big and famous for an Ulster hero but…at least read my damn legend. I’m a knight that fucks up, and I already wound up killing the one thing I shouldn’t have in life," Celtchar would keep walking, before gently tugging on Scarlett’s cheek as if she were a toddler, not even looking at her. "Best you keep not telling me which one’s really you. …But if I get all emotional and hold a doll dying and you laugh at me, I will kick your ass. You and your dolls."

“Thank you,” Scarlett says, as the other came over, and hugged his back. “Now, I know, I can trust you with my life,” she smiled, a sad, yet beautiful smile of hope and internal validation.“I’m a little like a wolf pup, I guess - to reuse that analogy; growling at everything bigger than me, gnaw at the leg of the powerful...”

Scarlett chuckled, “Such a queer relationship we have, as Master and Servant. Heee.... ruff~!”

Dissolving, the Doll would cease to hug Celtchar, but whisper, “Take care of her. She’s never this open. Perhaps, this is your redemption?” before an assortment of items fell onto the roof: a liter bag of blood, a single lens camera, a small loudspeaker, and a rather hefty crystal that had grown a sort of nervous system-like structure to attach it all together.

Sighing, the old gray knight of Ulster would say: "Not interested in redemption I don’t deserve. I just wanna save the damn world for once and kick back once its done."

“What,” Scarlett asks, collecting her items. “I don’t know why you are talking about redemption, but saving the world is a good way to achieve that”” she says, “Also -- ” Scarlett bonked Celtchar on the head, “ -- I was really cute, just now, and you said nothing,” she admonished, wagging her discoloured hand at him.

A testament to years of self-mutilation to use a weapon that no-one else would...

Not wanting to argue about what her doll said, Celtchar would just lightly bonk her back. "I’ve seen cuter, so work on it a bit before you start expecting praise, Oh Adorable Master."

Scarlett cocked her hands on her hips, and snorted with a firm nod, before she pulled her hood closed, and seemed to tremble a little.

Celtchar would roll his eyes, before pulling her in for a side-hug. "...Alright, I guess it was pretty cute."

Scarlett beamed, popping her hood off her head. “I tricked you,” she seemed... happy.

Celtchar would sigh, before following after her, a wry smile on his face.

Unfortunately, the smile on her face would fall, as she put her attention on the bridge, and reached into her messenger bag. “Time to go to work,” she says, holding a clementine-sized balls of grayish clay, “A bit of C4 to spice things up...” Scarlett pressed a finger to her ear, “Ladies, let’s get ready for our grand opening. Start cooking...”

Across the city blocks she’d traveled, Scarlett would trigger her Alchemical Dolls, and start a steady stream of alchemical production. Dolls to make Dolls, make C4 from looted explosive materials, to ferry materials, and play keep away with the Dragon Tooth Skeletons. It was turning the city into an ant farm with herself as the Queen Ant and her Dolls as the colony.

It had taken her a while to seed them in, but now, she was rolling. Alchemy wasn’t as powerful or all-commanding as Magecraft, but what it lacked in grandiosity, it made up for in subtly. It was just a matter of how skilled the Alchemist was.

“Ready, Celtchar,” Scarlett asks, as she moulded the clay into a small goblet. “Let’s win this thing.”

"You got it," the gray knight of Ulster would say, taking his lance from his back and holding it, keeping an eye out for the inevitable stray skeleton or two.

The plan was simple: blow up the bridge, the docks, and the station. She had the bodies to do so with. “If I’m not dead by the end of this,” Scarlett says, “Remind me to make a Doll out of you. That will come in helpful later.”