FetzenApproaching the Habsburg Rental
The straight-four purred like a contented beast as the driver set her foot down. They were finally on the open road, cruising in the opposite direction of those on their morning commute into the city. Buildings faded away to rolling hills and New England's scenic woods. The rich set their estates here, far away from the prying eyes and thrumming noise of urbanite life to contemplate the woes of being painfully rich and empty. She knew that pretty well, her family had one a few miles back the way they came. Home was a faraway thought though. Their destination was a more recent memory. A venue, one rented by some foreign money. It had been a nice party, what little of it she remembered, until her newfound guardian took exception to the premises and pulled her away. She stared down at her clasped hands, delicate knuckles rung white as she kept pressure on the back of her left. She didn't want to see it. The faintly glowing icon burned into her skin, the interlinked sigils that throbbed agonizingly whenever she stole a glance to the left, at the strange person seated behind the steering wheel. Her heart beat against the inside of her throat, her brain felt like it was rebelling against the inside of her skull. They were going to murder a man who'd just invited them to a party. She reached for the cupholder and found nothing.
"You're sure we need to do this? No warning or anything?"
A green eye flickered in her direction as she spoke. A chill ran down her spine as she caught the glare of that grim wraith. They were inhuman, they had said as much to her even if she was still attempting to digest what exactly that meant. A... Servant, they had called themselves. And she was now a Master. That meant fighting for their lives, no matter what. That had been made absolutely clear after the first night. Her ears still rang in the wake of the clashes, her heart still raced as her mind recalled that terrible, hungry creature reaching out at her. Deadened fingers clasping over the seal on her hand, prying at the flesh until...
"Magi don't know the meaning of reason. Every Master will want to kill you. It's nothing so personal that you can convince or grovel your way out of it. The way of the Magus is cold, unfeeling reason. You are weak, weaker even then I am, and to kill either of us is a victory for them." A cold voice pried her mind away from the memories. Assassin, the only name the wraith had given her, was speaking. Even if the terms were still fantastic and alien she could understand the severity dripping from the other woman's voice. Like the doomsayers on the streets, believing every impossible word to stem from their insane thoughts. But Assassin came hand in hand with proof of the hidden world. From the brink of death to rushing through the countryside in the passenger seat of a Kangoo, Assassin had been with her every step of the way and no matter how mad she sounded the she had always been right.
"I'm leaving you here."
"Okay." The roaring of passing traffic almost blotted out her weak voice, but Assassin nodded back at her. Here was a rest stop out of town. Assassin lead her inside, holding her hand tight and steadying her uneasy gait long enough to set her down on a bench inside. Giant windows let light into the interior, the modern glass-heavy architecture offering line of sight to the outside world as the Servant loomed over a map rack, pretending to read about the location as people shuffled by. Satisfied that they weren't already under attack, Assassin turned, dropping her pamphlet back onto the shelf and striding right for her Master. The wraith knelt down, scruffy, dark hair falling across her shoulders as her chartreuse eye bored into her own. She could only stare back into Assassin's stark white eyepatch.
"Remember what I told you. If anything happens..." Nimble hands clasped their Master's, forcing her to look down at the sign emblazoned in her flesh. Her lifelines in this twisted game. At a rest stop twenty minutes from where she grew up, shaking and nauseous on public seating with a pistol against her back and a maniac at her feet, Luna Harsyke never felt further from home.
The Habsburg Rental
The highway bled away in the rearview, the scenery encroaching on the asphalt transforming from open field to forest and then back again as the road began to pitch upwards. The Renault's four-cylinder roared against gravity, the heavy body of the utility van accelerating to the edge of its envelope of control on the uphill. Their heavy glove moved on the gearshift, the sound of a thick rubberized sole sliding across the pedals changing the motor's tune and softly lurching the vehicle through its paces.
Assassin sat expressionless, solo eye glazed over the road surface as their mind set itself on the singular purpose of becoming someone else. Victory required diminishing oneself, extinguishing the traits that made one discernible. In her case she could blend away her very presence, seeming nothing more than 'another person' until the fatal moment. There was nothing inconspicuous about being the only car on its way to that remote estate, but all she had to do was not register as a Servant until the first stone was cast. Already she awaited the distinct tingle of passing a bounded field, the telltale sting that would tell the Magus of the land that a normal human had come to his domain unannounced. A lost tourist, a daylight robber, a traveling salesman, it didn't matter what identity they assigned to the sight of an unmarked gray van speeding recklessly towards the front gate. Ornate, iron, moderately fortified. It was an easier breach than the walls surrounding it. Her eyesight confirmed a single guard manning the morning watch, peacefully stood at the booth inside the walls and idly watching her approach from within. The wraith calmly raised their wrist, inspecting the cracked watch to mark the starting time. Eyes diverted from the wheel, they lowered their head to reach for the floor. The windshield exploded.
Metal screeched and tore, the shrill sound of hinges prying apart filling the peaceful morning air with the tooth shaking rattle of machinery coming apart. The wrought iron gates barred across the drive splintered as the van came through them, cracking further from the point of impact and bending where energy forced the metal into plasticity. The vehicle itself mangled into a mess unrecognizable, the passenger cabin's roof peeled back and the sputtering, smoking engine exposed by the blow. A stray wheel rolled away from the iron enshrouded wreck as the driver side door squealed open on bent tracks. It fell away entirely as it swung, the black clad figure inside crawled from the carnage, dragging a drab colored duffel from the floorspace as they stood erect. The door to the guardhouse opened, the suited man inside stepping out with a hand on his hip, concern on his face for the motorist that just wrecked themselves. "Hold still, stay where you are, you're in shock..." The warnings droned even before they were out in the open.
Assassin's hand snapped behind her back, a subtle twist of her spine offering a clean draw as her stance spread wider. Blued steel flashed in her hand, the slim lines of a pistol produced and leveled on the considerate guardsman. His words froze in his throat, but training carried his motions, his fist clenching around his weapon. Assassin squeezed the trigger. The facade fell away. The blooming light of a Servant's spiritual core fell upon the estate, the light of an Intruder, and the sinister feeling of a Noble Phantasm at work. Plastic cracked as the first bullet shattered through the slide of his weapon. Her wrist canted, twisting the ghost ring sight onto the man's leg and firing again. The heavy bark of gunfire would be the second announcement of her presence, one even for mortal ears. They let their weapon go, the mundane firearm clanking to the ground with its purpose served. The estate's door guard laid screaming, bleeding from extremities and shouting profanities into the morning.
"You're not dying yet."
The wraith said, gravel voice rising over the flames of her ride and the lamentations of her witness. They reached greedily into the bag across their shoulders, sliding the parcel off as they pulled a black tube from within. The stock unfolded neatly in their hands, the pistol grip sitting comfortably in their glove. With a flick of her wrist she turned a black and blue tipped shell into her hand, snapping the breach open and slamming the gas round home. No hesitation, no consideration, the grenade launcher came up to her shoulder and fired up at the enormous windows of the building's front face. The canister fell into the study overlooking the drive, broken glass raining alongside it before its timed fuse burnt down. It hissed and popped, an odious and stinging white cloud bursting from the canister and fuming from the broken window. Unopposed the hooligan stood at the foot of the estate and chambered another quarrel for those inside, this time aiming lower and delivering a shell through the front doors. Glass shrieked, alarms cried, and the Servant began to stride forward. The action rang as it sprang open, a smoking case falling to the asphalt in their wake.
