“This is a story about heroes. Those who aspire to be heroes, then, are useless.”
Academy city: The place where science became indistinguishable from the realm of fantastic. The land which had reduced the fantastical into mundane, everyday life, where the technological level has reached 30 years beyond what the rest of the world is capable of.
A region west of Tokyo that functions as its own microstate. As the name might suggest, Academy city houses many institutes of learning, from kindergarten to university level, the majority of the people living there being students and their instructors. One could compare academy city, then, to a “school of 2.3 million students”, in addition to researchers, teachers, and other such academics.
Through the application of the Power Curriculum Program, students of Academy City are able to transcend their mortal selves and enter into the realm of manga protagonists or superhero, though 60% of these students are powerless nobodies incapable of bending a single spoon; Useless level 0s. But there are those who train and hone their personal reality to such a degree that it imposed as a rule on the world itself; level 5s. These students coexist and train themselves to improve academically, athletically, and to improve their Esper level.
… But beyond the boundaries of the scientific lies the realm of the “unscientific”. The belief that in a power higher than the mortal world itself, outside of what science is able to observe.
Miracles.
Divine Blessings.
Or, more aptly, Magic, and the magicians or sorcerers who are capable of using them. “To give those without power, power”. The “unobservable” given shape through archaic and occult methods. Magic is a complex system of arts, disciplines, and traditions that are firmly grounded in laws and knowledge that are wholly unknown and beyond the grasp of human sciences, which sought to manipulate and distort certain aspects of reality.
In the moonlit world, there are those who wish to see the end of science and embrace faith once more, though this seems to be a minority in the grander scale of things. However, vocal minorities have the power to mobilize the masses. The empty vessel makes the loudest sound. Most individuals understand that such a conflict would bring about the near extinction of man, and thusly, attempt their best to avoid such rash actions through diplomatic ties and espionage.
There are some, however, whose grudge surpasses this will of humanity.
Fragmented politically, various factions within Academy City have begun moving to take power for themselves. Within the vacuum, various powerful people, level-wise or politically, have begun to take prominence, even to the extent that organizations like Anti-Skill and Judgement are unable to quell flash mobs of students battling other students.
However, this does not mean that the city has fallen to lawlessness. Even still, the students of Academy City are mostly unaffected by these changes, going to school with little knowledge of the backdrop of Academy City’s Dark Side. Anti-Skill and Judgement are doing their best to gain the upper hand in this situation and enforce the status quo to dissenters. Though many claim that the rise of these factions is dubious in nature, others welcome the change to ensure security in the city.
More pressing than either of these is the issue of those outside the city. With the loosening of restraints, various groups from the superpowers of the world wish to obtain the secrets of academy city and will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. This is to speak nothing of the Mage Associations of the world, whom of which are watching those of the science side destroy themselves with a fervent glee.
Welcome to ...
Name: (What is your character’s name? Last, First) Nicknames: (Does your character go by any nicknames? Ex. One-Way Road, One Eyed, Meltdowner, etc) Gender: (Are they male or female?) Age: (How old is your character?) Birthday: (DD/MM) Height: (Centimeters pref) Weight: (Kilograms pref) Nationality: (What nationality is your character? If you get into quarters I will be sad though) Appearance: (Prefer a picture placed at the top of the application in a hider titled "Appearance", though standard text appearance descriptions are just as good)
Personality: (How does your character act?) Biography: (Short history of your character) School: (Do they go to a particular school?) Grade: (What grade is your character in?) Skills: (Abilities not relating to their ESPer or magical ability, but still outside the scope of a normal person. Are they top in academics? Skilled at particular sports or athletics in general? Can they cook exceptionally well? Etc) Faction(s): (Are they a member of any sort of faction or gang? Examples would include Judgement, Necessarius, Roman Catholic Church, DRAGON, etc. If it is a faction you created, I would want to see a short description of who they are, what they stand for, who (if at all) is their leader, and approximate size)
(Mage: Mage Name: (Latin Word and three numbers, along with the deeper meaning behind those. Example: Dedicatus545: "The dedicated lamb protects the knowledge of the strong" would be Index’s title. Though this tends to be a Western tradition, I am going to require it from every mage.) Magical System: (What sort of belief system is their magic based off of? Examples of systems would be Runes, Kabbalah, Onmyoudou, etc. Most people tend to specialize in specific systems, though outliners such as Izzard do exist.) Description: (What effects does your system tend to have? This isn’t a spell list, but rather a general idea and description of what the magic can accomplish)
(ESPer: Ability name: Level: (0-4) Premise: (What scientific principle(s) is(are) your ability based upon?) Description: (Explain the applications of the ability, and how it relates to the science behind the power)
If anyone has any questions, comments, or concerns, please let me know!
Divine Descending Denouement (DDD) Hot Spring, “Hall of the Coronation”, Foreigner’s Lowlands
“I suppose they’ve been waiting long enough,” Benita mused to herself. She had been waiting for the right moment to reveal herself to those she had invited, hoping that she could get this show on the road as quickly as she possibly could, hopefully efficiently at that matter.
While there was a bit of confusion regarding who was allowed in and who was not, in the end, the helpfulness and thoughtfulness of Benita’s unintentional actions had granted a mutual understanding between the two parties.
Primarily, those who were Masters or Servants or were an ambassador would be allowed in. Any attempts to game the system would be met swiftly with retaliation. After all, Benita did not wish to include any wishy-washy elements into this meeting of Magi, though considering the circumstances of this being a Grail War, she felt obligated to allow Servants entry into the area as well.
Being lead into a room behind the main hall, the group would be greeted by an open section within the architecture that seemed to be a courtyard of sorts. Etched into the walls were various carved murals, muted consistency due to their lack of paint; a carving. It appeared that someone’s artistic vision was housed in the confines of these walls, hardly protected from the elements from a marque that protrude slightly past the stoned, cobble-like texture of the flooring in the area.
In the middle of this area was a long table with chairs on either side and a single chair at the end of the table that housed Benita, though she appeared to be raised from her standard, small stature. Upon closer inspection of her chair, it appeared she was housed upon … a stack of books.
“To start off, I would like to say that all of you are idiots.”
Blunt, to the point, and insulting of everyone there. Benita felt that she constantly had to act in the interest of others, and often did not voice her complaints directly unless there was some sort of pressing issue that she felt needed to be addressed at that moment.
This was one of those times.
“Everyone’s actions in this war has been idiotic to the point where at times I cannot even fathom these actions, and I’ve only acted in opposition to these actions. A Holy Grail War from my recollections are not to include these disruptive elements of actions. Though it is a war, it is a war between Magi, one should not show ‘our’ world to those not familiar with it.”
Perhaps Benita had a point in this matter. Of course, she had destroyed herself a large portion of the city during the last few days, but she felt morally justified in her actions to prevent the city from being destroyed in its entirety. A rudimentary surgeon of sorts, removing the leg to save the body; though it likely would not have gotten to this point in the event that the participants of the war did not act in such a shameful manner. Or at least, that was her own justification for her actions.
“That is why I have called this meeting though. I felt it necessary to bring up a few things. In the event that you were not informed or had no clue as to what occurred, there was an attempt to destroy Fuyuki and all of its inhabitants from clocktower due to the actions we had performed here. From the cursed fire to the fantastic tree, we have drawn the ire of various higher-ups and they have declared that we should be wiped off the face of the earth for our transactions.”
“However, due to some meddling between the other magical institutes and the church, their actions have been thwarted for now. But who knows when they are going to strike again? Honestly, a random Japanese city means nothing to me, and I’ve accepted that death is a possible outcome since joining this war, but in the event that the city is destroyed, so to will the Greater Grail be destroyed, and so to will the prospects of obtaining the Grail be lost. A failure upon the duties of the Second Owner."
“I would say if you value your lives, or if you value your life, leaving the city would be preferable. Several pairs have already chosen to do so, and considering the circumstances of the war, it would be the sanest choice for anyone involved.”
To Benita’s knowledge, Evan, The Elder Whitehall, and the Caster-class Servant had left Fuyuki for other lands. After all, that was probably the sane choice. Self-preservation instinct should inform individuals that this war was not worth it in the slightest.
A battle between Magi was something that could be romanticized, but like the dueling of the nobility of centuries prior, this was a foolish act that had a high risk, yet very limited reward. While the path to the root was the end-goal of most traditional Magi, the chances of winning were, in a standard Holy Grail War, a one-in-seven chance, let alone the number of participants in the current Grail War.
“But if you were to stay, I would like for us to agree to a few rules regarding conduct during the war. Regardless of your stance on the matter, I am sure that is a conclusion that would be the most serviceable. Though I am not sure if it would quell the anger of Clocktower, at the very least it would make us less appealing a target.”
“The rules I have come up with are as followed:
No interfering with the lives of civilians to a great extent.
No fighting during the day. This ties back into the first point.
Ensure that fights take place in areas where no prying eyes will view your actions.
If anyone views the fighting who is uninvolved in the war, it is the participant’s job to ensure the matter is dealt with swiftly.
In addition, I have used my contacts to provide a moderator who will enforce these rules. If you have any other stipulations you would like to add, please state them now.”
As she said this, she pointed to a chalkboard which these proposed ideas had been pre-written in the event that someone else might have come late to the meeting. The meeting was an open invitation to the participants of the Grail War. There would surely be others who would find this interesting.
Fredehildr tended to wear the helmet, not due to any belief that it would affect her in combat in any way; her skin was greater protection from an enemy than even the greatest forging money could buy. She simply wore it because someone once told her that it made her appear to be more imposing of a figure, and if there was something that Frede placed great emphasis on was appearing as she believed she should appear: menacingly towards evildoers.
That being said, Fredehildr hated helmets, often losing hers constantly, much to the chagrin of her Knight-Captain, who often questions why an individual would wear a helmet before a battle, only to take it off and throw it on the ground as if it was nothing. Just like Fredehildr did at this moment, despite combat not coming up. As she did this, she placed her greatsword on her back parallel to her arm in an imposing fashion like some sort of Japanese roleplaying game protagonist.
“You have to be crazy to think that a few love marks on my back would do anything to dissuade me, ” Fredehildr responded, as if there was not even a doubt in her mind, a brazen, confident smile across her face. Of course, one might question the use of the word “love marks” as strange, though if questioned about it, Fredehildr would probably respond something along the lines of “Yeah, those guys are the tavern were talking in hushed tones and I thought the word sounded fun to use~” when pressed about it.
“You said it was a tie, though? No way. I won that fair and square. A few scratches on my back ain’t gonna matter much. Got in a bit of trouble for using real weapons for sparing, but Capt’s face was priceless though. Considering that, I think it is only fair you pay for drinks today. Ain’t that how it goes?”
… Well, it wasn’t as if Frede had ever paid for a cent if she lost anything unless it was specifically said in the contest, often forcing this obligation towards other people whenever she had the chance to. One might expect this might be due to some deep-rooted financial issue facing the Merogasque due to the loss of two heirs consecutively in battle, but that was far from the case.
Fredehildr’s wealth was not the issue in this case. She had money to throw around any which way she wanted due to her family. If need be, the Merogasque family had assets to burn, and while their social standing perhaps was not as high as their sister family, the von Freytag, their political pull reached far into even the east due to their mercantilist hold on the trade’s flow.
The issue was simpler than this. She simply did not like the idea of spending her own money when she could get someone else to pay for her in her stead. Notorious for borrowing money but never paying it back; that was the kind of friend Fredehildr was.
“Up ta’ you’ though.”
She had entered the building with the intent of seeing people arrested. Those were her commands. To investigate the area, and bring whatever she had found to her lord. However, she could not imagine seeing “that” there. It was large, but not impossibly so. It was great but felt the power of existence lesser than that of “that” monster by many magnitudes.
But it was still great.
It was still large.
But it didn’t matter to the knight Fredehildr.
With bestial agility, the creature leapt at the helpless woman.
With monstrous strength, the creature struck towards the helpless woman.
… yet …
To fight a beast one must become a beast themselves, surpassing their humanity to the realms of absurdity. That was the rule. A lowly knight was not expected to defeat a creature on his own. That would never
With bestial agility, Fredehildr leapt in between the helpless woman and the beast.
With monstrous strength, Fredehildr struck at the beast.
The floor itself shook at the great strength pushed between her feet and the ground, causing cobblestone and mortar and set to break in the burst of speed.
“Sit.”
A simple command was uttered by Fredehildr as she spectacularly tried to wrestle the beast before her, attempting to stop the beast from attacking the lady and overpower him in order to defeat him.
Regardless of if it worked or not, Fredehildr had a duty to her people. Even if she wished for fame and glory, behind this facade was a commitment to a core belief; the same that her father and brother had believed in. A commitment to the citizens she was to govern over, and those her Lord had governed over.
“Don’t come back too late. If you come late to the meeting I’ll be upset,” Benita called out to Gin as he left, waving a handkerchief in his direction as he left. Gin would probably be fine. After all, his new shades looked pretty cool. The “older sister”’ had business to take care of. Whatever it was, even if Benita did think of Gin as a cool individual, it was little to her concern.
But regardless of what he did, Benita was sure he would be a star.
A gangster.
… A Gangstar?
As Gin had left, Benita finally turned towards Sofia, whom of which had a few questions for Benita. Being the rather straightforward type, Benita saw no gain from lying to the person before her and began to speak.
“You mentioned allies … I suppose I wouldn’t consider us allies. After all, I had just attempted to murder you hardly a day ago. My goal is to simply grant the Matous the victory I was asked to provide them. Regardless of my recent changes, I am a lady of principles. And my actions there should not waver from this path. Truthfully, I have no grand wish for the Grail. I am not someone designed to be a magus, regardless of my skill as a mage, so I have no desire for that swirl of nothing so many lose themselves over. I have no deeper motivations than that.”
Benita was blunt in her statement. But everything that she said seemed genuine. SOmething that she considered to be completely infallible in her conception. She did not consider the girl, Sofia Whitehall, to be an ally in the same regard as she considered the Matou to be. In fact, Benita was against the whole conception of this alliance. To place a target above the head of an already massive target would be foolish. Regardless of her stance on the matter, she would serve the role of a weapon properly for the head of the Matou estate.
“That being said, if you were to ask me if I see you as an “enemy” in this grail war, I’d hardly find you to be a dubious individual. From what you have told me, I do not believe you would threaten my goals in the end, so the conflict we had was merely a misunderstanding of the situation if what you said was true.”
“If I may, I don’t think you to be the brightest bulb in the bunch, regardless of what my stance is on your actions if your claimed ‘accident’ was truthful.”
Benita’s wryness in her conversation regarding her stance on the girl before her seemed to transition to a more flippant tone. After all, regardless of what her personal opinion was on the matter. Perhaps in an abstraction of the situation, a person with Benita’s perception would consider the macabre actions taken to be rather comical in hindsight.
Her anger was drawn out merely from circumstances, therefore the superficial high she had felt from it was long forgotten as of Benita’s current self. Perhaps if Achilles arrived earlier or her view of the fight were to have been different, circumstances could have lead to other such actions taken by both parties. And while this thought of Sofia as perhaps not the smartest Master in the war, she had a feeling that her genuineness, as if a child.
“Besides, I think my Servant would be upset if I tried anything against you. I feel he might take those things too seriously, but at the very least I can say that I have no intentions of harming you, and so long as you feel the same way, I do not see a reason to conflict with your actions. And as long as we don’t fully book this resort, I see no reason not to allow you use of that spare room, so long as you act within reason. Of course, you may leave if you wish. If Achilles told me not to harm you, then I shall not act against that interest. That being said, careful about entering the water here. There are some dangers one needs to consider.”
While Benita seemed mostly cold in her assessment, it was clear that she was not hostile towards Sofia. Perhaps it was just not easy for her to easily display her emotions, but what was clear was that Benita did not consider the girl before her an enemy, nor did she have any intention of fighting in the foreseeable future, so long as she kept herself in line.
In addition to this, Benita, as a Master, was peering into the conflict arising between Darius and Achilles. Benita could not believe the noble phantasm she was seeing from the opposing Servant. It was macabre. The fight against the loser king. The person who had lost his entire kingdom to someone who claimed to be the descendant of her very Servant. Benita began to call to her Servant through the mental link the two shared.
Another episode of “what heroic spirit did Achilles piss off this time’. Your host, Benita Garibaldi.
“Achilles, you are to return to base. Enough playtime. Your Master cannot take this constant foolery.”
A simple demand Benita called into action against her Servant before the maddened king of Persia could even consider leaving his territory. A command t5o the Servant known to disregard all others around him in favor of his own pleasure and interests.
However, his constant state of fighting was to Achilles’ Master a nuisance. Not only because of his actions drawing ire from others. That was what Benita specialized at, after all. The actual tactics used by her Servant were unquestionably reasonable to her perception of autonomous action between the two parties.
“Lancer, I am not looking for a flashy victory. If you cannot defeat this Servant within a few moments, I want to retreat.”
Those words she spoke as the first orders barked during combat. Perhaps at the time Achilles might have presumed they were simply orders from his Master to direct him in combat, but this was to ensure victory in the conflict. Killing the Servant of the Einzberns would have done nothing and would have had a substantial cost.
A Servant of Lancer Prime’s caliber required an exceptional amount of prana to sustain. Even without his chariots, which acted in a manner that would completely reduce Achilles’ effectiveness in terms of combat, he still held several high-ranking noble phantasms that constantly drained from his magical energy supply, thusly affecting his Master in such a way.
Currently, Benita was not in a position of danger, weighing the advantages of continuing the fight to her own survival ability to allow Achilles to go all out in this situation, the answer became clear in her mind. From the start, she never wished for a flashy, awe-inspiring Servant like the legendary hero of the Trojan war for a Servant. Her mentality was original to serve others, after all. A Caster or an Assassin would better relate to that previously mentioned mentality, after all. Not the Lancer of the Golden Armor; the swiftest feet ever to walk the earth.
“Do not force my hand on this matter.”
For a moment, Benita considered enforcing this command with the mantras upon her hand; the proof of her contract with her Servant, but eventually decided against it. Of course, if he would refuse her request, she would be forced to enact one of them. However, she would never force her Servant to do an action he did not see fit.
“While I have no qualms about you defeating your opponent, nor resistance to your actions, I would like for you to consider it a personal request from your Master. Return to me, Lancer Prime. Regardless of the outcome, the spear you covet is already gone.”
But one final option was presented by Benita to Achilles. Something that pained her to come to this conclusion, but regardless of this aspect, she was not the sort to waver from such a commitment she had made between herself and her Servant.
“If you’d wish to take the life of your opponent, then I shall accept the fate that awaits me. We are partners, after all. I told you when we met I was willing to die for this war.”
Not that the Guinavyr cared in the slightest about these actions against the people in front of her. She was not called into the battlefield to fight; likely would have refused to do so if that was the case. After all, she had someone that would be very sad not to see her return home in her life. Even if this mission could be dangerous, it was unlikely that someone would act in such a brash manner, right?
The Mafia before the Penguin were assaulted by some sort of blur that even Guinavyr could not see. Not because of a lack of capacity too, but because they were, at this time, deeply entranced by something in their hands.
A note of some sort with text written in a beautiful script that seemed to show a well-off upbringing. The penguin before the Mafia members asking to enter the hot springs was looking at a sheet of paper, nervously looking around and around As if the Penguin familiar had some sort of dark secret they were trying to prevent others from learning, embarrassment thinly concealed by an attempt of stoicism.
“W-what is your name? A-Are all of you Masters?"
A cute voice bellowed out of the penguin as it asked Enzo and his goons for their name. There was no way that they would all be allowed into the facility. Benita had direct, simple instructions laid out to Guinavyr. Something she wished to follow to the exact letter of such.
Pengaeologus VII was not the sort to play games. Even if he was still a grunt in regards to ranking, he was still a rather seasoned familiar, often being called upon to clean up messes left behind by, in his own words, that absolute moron Pinkheironuínos. It was almost as if he was purposely designed to be a defect by their creator.
… No way. Pengaeologus VII did not believe their exalted creator would have such a twisted sense of humor.
But that was neither here nor there. Before him was A clockwork man with a botched plan.
A push from Pengaeologus. it was a simple playful tug in the mind of Pengaeologus, but regardless, he did not seem too keen on joining the D4R1U5 on his adventure. He was not here to play and have fun like that ‘other’ familiar. He took his profession rather seriously. And while it could be considered a “hostile” action, it was simply an honest reaction from a penguin who has seen his fair share of silliness in his lifetime.
“I don’t like to be touched, and I don’t care for your games, metal man. Consider that a warning, iron giant!” Pengaeologus said, taking out a cigar he had in his parcel, lighting it with his trusty box of matches, and blowing out a huge drag from the cigar.
This would have likely been a cool moment in any other circumstance.
… But regardless of age and design, Pengaeologus still had a cute, penguin voice as if he were the mascot of a magical girl anime.
“Boss, I knew you'd show up,” Ashimoto, the gruff spoken man who was sitting at the main help desk, limping as he shifted his position from his previously sitting self to a salute of sorts to honor his boss. Of course to someone like Ashimoto, whom of which already believed Gin to be the “coolest possible boss”, the effect of his transformation was lost on him.
“Hey did you cut your hair or something,” the giant oaf of a man said as he scratched the back of his head in a rather quizzical fashion. Though he could not directly place his finger on it, it was clear that something was different. But still, from his perspective, it would be impossible for him to figure out what it was exactly.
As suddenly as she felt the presence enter the area of the hot springs, Benita was confused. It was no presence the recognized from the Yakuza. Was it a Servant? Or perhaps some sort of aggressor who wished to challenge Benita in a fight? For a moment, she considered recalling her Servant. Even in his position, Benita was sure that Achilles could instantaneously arrive at her position, as he had so many times before.
But this presence, regardless of its alien-like nature, also felt a degree of familiarity. As if she had met this person before. Therefore, it was no shock to Benita that Gin was standing in the main lobby.
“I see you’re here to see the grand unveiling of the hot springs, no?” Benita told Gin, a bit of a muse in her voice as she stated this to him.
“I guess you look a bit different. You look cooler now ... Like an older sister or something.”
Older sister?
Well, to someone like Benita who had only known her SIsters and Mother as a family, it only made sense that she could not understand nor have the word “brother” in her vocabulary. To Benita, her eyes shining like the sun itself while looking at Gin was trying to pay him a compliment, regardless of the terminology she used. To her, the "coolest" someone could be would be an "older sister", considering out of the twenty sisters she had, twenty-one including herself, she only had a single older sister.
But was being called an “older sister” uncool?
Or was shooting down a child fan uncool?”
Such a troubling statement brought forward by a troubling child.
The sun had set. The day was over. And unfortunately for Benita, she had been greatly harmed in the previous engagement. A stab through the chest, which was not a lot in regards to a magus as herself, was something that would be considered “painful”. Her wound had been healed rather quickly due to this.
A battle between two people in the Grail War. A battle between two Magi.
Benita would not have been so amicable to protecting Sofia after she had lost her Servant in the event that someone had not asked her to do so. Breaking bread with an enemy was something that Benita was familiar with, perhaps even fond of. She had fond memories of her Sisters, after all, regardless of what sort of battle they would be forced to fight in order to claim the Legacy of her Father.
The conflict was also one born out of misunderstanding. Perhaps, then, it made sense that Sofia would come to hate Benita for her actions, and Benita would accept that as a suitable punishment. If not for Achilles’ request, it was likely that they would have continued to fight until someone was to fall, regardless of who it might have been. But Benita had come to respect her Servant as a partner.
However, a stab to the chest was the least of her worries.
“Something” had occurred.
“Something” inconceivable that Benita still didn’t believe it had occurred.
Perhaps it would be better to say that she simply did not wish that it was real. A denial of reality would be the easiest way to cope with this. Perhaps if the young homunculus did not have a mission to complete in the Grail War, she would have been on the first boat out of here just like “that man”.
At first, it was merely a whisper. Rumors of impossibility through the grapevine that she had learned through the contacts of hers throughout the world.
And so the sun rose again, bring about high noon once more.
“Ugh, this always happens when I drink wine,” the groggy little lady said as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
At least three bottles of wine, empty and occasionally rolling on the ground due to the slightest provocation. Perhaps Benita should have been more careful to clean the room she made for herself. Even if it had only been a few hours in the room, it had various items thrown about in a slobbish manner.
And yet it had only been a few hours.
Benita herself felt sickly. She hardly resisted the urge to shutdown herself, close her blinders, and continue sleeping on her bed, though the pressing issues were, well, pressing. She could no longer afford to shutdown anymore.
If this was only a few years ago ...
If it had been only a few months ago …
If it had been only a few days ago ...
If it had been only a few hours ago …
Benita would not have cared about her potential annihilation.
She was drinking to celebrate, regret, and to cope all at the same time.
She was a doll created for an express purpose. Someone who was bound to her fate and fated to accomplish this goal regardless of their thoughts or agency. Even if she no longer was willing to die for this cause like she had been so willing to do previously when she had first entered the city, a familiar “something” gnawed at her person.
Perhaps she wanted to leave.
But if there was one thing that Benita Garibaldi, one of the many Inheritors of the Legacy, wasn’t was a liar. She would not leave the Grail unless ordered to. After all, once a mercenary takes a mission, it would be against their code to revoke their guarantee. Benita would win the Grail for the Matou line, and then she would continue on her life, regardless of how short it might be.
“This city is cold, especially when I’m all alone here.”
A wave of melancholy washed over Benita as she considered her possibilities. She had existed for six years as a doll for this purpose. But the unwavering desire for the Grail was wavering bit by bit ever since she had begun her journey. Though it was occasionally wavering, she had decided that if she truly was to hold the sins of her actions to its natural conclusion, she would not be able ...
"A 'personality' starts off as something like a cube. When you’re young, you clumsily bump corners against other people in the form of childish conflicts. Eventually, sharp edges are worn away to leave something like a sphere. That's more or less what people describe when they say someone's 'softened.'
Moderate collisions with others help one mature. But when those first impacts are too strong, they can have a different effect: instead of losing corners little by little, you splinter in strange, harsh ways, warping into crooked shapes. Once crooked, it's hard to become a sphere. Even as the people around them mellow, their sharpness only grows harsher, and everyone who approaches ends up getting hurt. But even the most warped human beings started the same as everyone else.
“‘Lancer Prime’”, Benita mused at her Servant,
She had given him a temporary replacement for the time being, but that legendary spear was the weapon that gave him the right to be a heroic spirit of the Lancer-Class. Perhaps one could imagine losing his spear would be considered a rather devastating blow to one that would call themselves a “Lancer”.
“You are to recover your spear today. Honestly, I don’t understand you Servants. You’d just leave around your toys anywhere you go?”
It might not have been the wisest thing to provoke a heroic spirit, but to Benita, who perhaps understood two-fold the situations at hand, one being the loss of her Servant’s greatest armament, and the other being the potential annihilation of everyone in the city.
“I’ll be trying to prevent us all from dying I guess. Time to save the world, one city at a time.”
Less of a bold declaration and more of a dejected resignation to her fate.
Looking down at her cabal’s contact device, Benita was embarrassed to see that the record of her transactions seemed to display the same contact several … dozen times.
It was time to call “them”
“This is Jackal, I need to request something of you."
“Honestly,” a voice called out from the receiver. Although it attempted to be calm, collected, and refined, it seemed almost strained as though the owner of the voice was under a lot of stress from working an office job for several decades and never getting that promotion they always wanted, even though they claim to deserve it more than that bitch in marketing.
“What are you doing that is making me stay up ALL NIGHT doing this paperwork for the last 4 days that I should be aware of!? I don’t get paid overtime this is a salary job! Have some consideration.” And with that declaration, one could hear over the receiver the sound of something being tipped over, and with it came a pained, shrill voice of the lady in the penguin outfit make muffled yells of pain.
“Ahhhhhhh, and now I have coffee stains on my suit. Do you realize how difficult it is to dry clean this thing? The looks I get when I send it in? I hardly want to pick up my own laundry anymore. I need a vacation, but UNFORTUNATELY, my vacation days got declined because someone just had to start a Grail War and I had to help them. But guess what, while I was doing the logistics of everything behind the scenes, they never even thought to call me once to say "Thank you, Miss Penny, for helping me out" or "Miss Penny sure works hard for me, better thank her"
A loud thud is heard as the lady in the penguin suit slumps onto her desk. If she didn’t need sleep so badly, perhaps she would have been a lot less of a rambling mess of a person right now. But even so, Benita, or “Jackle” in this case, had caused her a lot of discomfort in the last 96 hours without even calling her. She was the only person in the entire “office”. Everyone else got their application for vacation approved except for her. It was no wonder she was so annoyed.
She likely would have continued to ramble on in the event that no one was there to stop her. Hell, she probably would have continued to ramble in the event that no one was there to hear her.
But eventually, Benita was able to convince her to actually submit her requests into the proper file.
Strange, penguin-like familiars began to fall from the sky from any location where there was a Master. Hopefully, these people would be nice to these cute, little guys.
A single message was given to any of the Masters in the war, so long as they wished to see it. It simply read:
GREETINGS MASTER AND/OR SERVANTS OF THE SECOND HOLY GRAIL WAR IN FUYUKI. DUE TO RECENT ISSUES REGARDING THE MAGES ASSOCIATION, I WOULD LIKE TO HOLD AN EMERGENCY MEETING IN ORDER TO RECTIFY THIS ISSUE. THE LOCATION SHALL BE IN THE DIVINE DESCENDING DENOUEMENT (DDD )HOTSPRINGS. I WOULD ASK THAT YOU ATTEND IN PERSON, HOWEVER INPUT REGARDLESS OF SOURCE WILL BE IMPORTANT. THIS MEETING WILL BE HELD AT SUNDOWN. BRING YOUR OWN BEER.
It should be noted that Gudrun was not the sort of person to act in the interests of others. In the event someone was dying before her, she could hardly begin to care for their well being if they were not someone she had a connection to. Perhaps, then, one could consider her a villainous individual, and indeed, this was the case. She was the murderer of several canon Germanic heroes if only because she wished to avenge her Husband’s murder.
However, there was a loophole to this. If her husband asked her to do something, regardless of what it was, it was very likely that she would commit to this action, regardless of what sort of action he would have her do. After all, a loyal wife believed in the cause of her husband until the end, never deviating from his side. Always supporting him, and always cheering him on.
“That man” was in this war, but he was irrelevant. Of course, her Husband could beat him with his hands tied behind his back, but he was something of a nuisance. After all, he had defeated that “other” Sigurd. But he would not lose to “her” Sigurd.
“I finished healing this one, darling. I’d ask if you’d want to go on a date with me, but I think the entire city might be collapsing. Not very romantic getting ice cream together when there are people looting like they just found Fafnir’s treasure, huh?”
Really, such a date probably would be fine with Gudrun, so long as she was with her darling. He was the man she gave her life avenging. Someone who she was obsessed with. Perhaps “that’ woman was a good spirit, but she could not fill the void that Sigurd left in her heart after he had died. In fact, she was responsible for “her” death in the end, if only to fulfill what she believed was “justice” on the side of her husband, even though it was unlikely that Sigurd wished for her to commit to such an evil act against people who were his friends.
“If you want, we could just forget this city honey~ We could go have a date on the other side of you want. Forget about these people~. Who are they to you, anywho?”
A laughter bellowed from the young, dauntless knight before the group, and haughty; prideful, yet therein seemed to exist some sort of justification for this sort of action.
She had simply allowed the other to hit her jaw point-blank without even the slightest bit of movement to evade the attack. After all, that was what
“IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?! IS YOUR HAND BROKEN?! SHATTERED!? DON’T MAKE ME LAUGH, SCUMBAG. YOU WILL NEVER STAND ON THE SAME LEVEL AS ME, BASTARD!”
Another laugh that seemed to carry in it the weight of a god itself, bellowing from the deepest reaches of her existence. As if defying the people before her. Defying their expectations. But there was something more to that. Something greater than even the pride that Fredehildr held towards her own ability and nature.
She was enjoying this.
“Here, I’ll tell you what. Want another go at it? You still got one hand. Try it again, kid. Come on, hurt me!”
Alistair, giving into her provocation, proceeded to ram his other hand into the iron-wall of a knight before him, again, shattering his other hand as he has the previous one.
“I guess you aren’t smart. You got guts though, I’ll give you that. Even if they are on the floor behind you. Pity. Your will was great, but your body was weak. I was hoping for a better challenge here.”
A flash.
Perhaps hardly understood by the eyes of anyone in the room, aside from the trained [Lugnican] knights and their heightened senses or blessed beings as detached from the vulgar, common crowd, would comprehend.
And in that exact moment of acceleration, her body stopped. The sword she had carried on her and stabbed into the dirt was formerly in her hand, but as if a bullet had gone off, she had let go of the sword and it had been propelled at flame at inhuman speeds.
In addition to this, her freehand had been brought forward to the person before here.
… With the hand not gripping the sword in her hand barreled straight into Alistair’s chest, likely killing him instantly.
“Maybe in another life, you could give me that challenge, asshole. But don’t forget the name: Fredehildr Merogasque. Take it with you to the afterlife. You made one mistake though. You pissed me off.”
But there was a sigh of regret in her voice. Something was off.
“I wish I could have gotten his name though.”
Taking a look at the last person remaining, Fredehildr began to speak again, casually, as if none of the bloodied violence had occurred previously.
“You can either surrender now or end up like these two. Your pick.”
@Kyuuzen It's more an aspect of trying to match a 1888's asthetic. It'd be impossible to get a relic for characters who weren't even born yet.
NAhh it is more like "It is impossible to obtain fame as a heroic spirit after the age of heroes is over" kinda deal. Like a sniper's sniper is more likely to get heroic spirit status than the sniper himself.
Like a flame flickering. Like the crackling of a fire. Standing amongst the flickering flames; amongst the pieces of broken building falling down, broken down by the sudden exposure of heat. She called her name and held out her hand to them.
To grasp them one last time.
To hold them close to them as they did long before.
To dance and sing and laugh again.
But those memories were nothing more than memories.
She refused to come out of the sea of flame. She remembered that wetness upon her cheek. And the feeling of helplessness she had felt at that very moment. A being smaller than anything else. A bug on the side of the road, insignificant to those people walking around it.
A slave to her own fate.
“There was a much simpler way, wasn’t there? I should have done this a long time ago. Then at last I could have returned I want to go back to a time before all of this. Then I don’t have to ■■■■ ■■■”
…
…
...
Ha.
Ha ha ha.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
The distance between Sofia and Benita was too great. There was no way that Benita’s arm could close the distance. There was no way her hand could break it’s way through the unrelenting force of the attack that was coming towards her. It was impossible for her hand to break through that wind. After all, her body was “compact”; something that her siblings had teased her about many times before this.
Therefore, it was impossible for Benita to break through the spell. It was impossible for her to catch her opponent. It was impossible for her to claim victory in this fight.
But …
Demons are beings of “impossibility” given form.
“My right hand cannot grab you,” Benita said, a look of triumph upon her face. However, behind her stare there was malice. Absolute hatred. She hated this person.
This person was everything that Benita hated about others.
This person was everything that Benita hated about her Sisters.
This person was everything that Benita hated about herself.
She focused herself into her hand. That beautiful right hand from behind. She saw the entirety of “it”. “Hope” taken shape as a hand. The hand of a god smiting those who had committed sin. A hand of pure “affection” that gently caressed those whom had committed their wrongdoings, absolving them of their crimes.
Clash. The hand tore through the runic assault like it was nothing but glass, shattering into nothing before the presence of a greater “it”. What was once a “mystery” was reduced to nothing before this hand. This beautiful hand of “love”. A clawed hand that tore.
“But ‘their’ hand can.”
She silently extended her hand forward and so too did their body. It was “impossible” to dodge. But even if they had managed to dodge the claws, their minds would have been flayed by the tear in information space, drilling into the world with such deep claws blackness into the world.
She also extended that “other” hand forward, as if she was tracing a path towards its target. A superficial existence of “love” that Benita was marked with. Those beings that existed as her “arm” were things that wished only for “love”. One should never set foot before “it” if they valued their life. The phenomenon occurred and the beast that scattered death.
“Too slow.”
There was something that “it” on her back could do. There was something that “it” and she had to do. What would she do with this hand? Benita knew what she wanted to do, and that was why ーーー
“Don’t cry.”
Tearing apart, melting, and whipping out; that “other hand” is a blade that vanquishes evil. This “hand” breaks through the body of Sofia as if they were nothing. This demonic hand that was the pinnacle of her magecraft; the culmination of her craft and the knowledge implanted onto the girl.
She didn’t need her instrument for this. After all, it was merely a bug on the side of the road. Something insignificant to those around it. A being whose powerlessness would only bring ruin and despair. Benita was an arbitrating angel, and this was her punishment.
The hand raised.
A being of joy.
A being of grudge.
A being of love.
A being of hate.
Of imagination and destruction.
“You of steel: My arm. I say this to you. Melt, like the sun.”
The girl, Sofia Whitehall, was no more. And with her, “justice” was served. Benita only hoped that her death was painful. “That hand” would make sure of it. Even if she was not dead, the alternative was much, much worse.
“Benita, won’t you laugh for me? I made quite a bit of a detour.”
Static.
She was alone. No, that is wrong. She heard something else. It wasn’t just the sound of her hasty footsteps. It wasn’t just her breathing. The breathing of another within the lowlands of the former foreigner’s district.
There was nobody here.
There was nobody here.
Yet …
…. She saw her.
The only other person in the world. The only other person that at this time Benita could see.
The Traitor. To the person who had betrayed her own sister, there would be no quarter. And there would be no hesitation. Benita had to act as an arbiter for those who had been wronged. Perhaps under normal circumstances, this action would not be taken by someone who was designed to “save the world”, but for whatever reason, Benita could not allow this transgression to continue. After all, what did that mean for ■■■■■■■■■■?
“I see you have come to challenge me in person, Sofia Whitehall.”
The words were spoken out of pure disgust.
“I’ll give your corpse to your sister. And then she will praise me. And I will get that praise and I alone. However, you shall not leave this place.”
The thing grafted upon Benita’s arm, it was a thing of infinite darkness. Something that “should not exist”, and yet it was there. Pertrutions like thrones covered the length of her arms like the vines of a rose. If the darkness were to catch the Whitehall, it will kill her. It will consume her. As long as the screams of that sacrificial doll continued, “she” could kill anything. One should never set foot before “her” if they valued their life. With a single action from Benita, the phenomenon occurred and the beast that scattered death. Even if the Whitehall held armor that rejected that of the weapons of humanity, the arm behind Benita’s back was nothing but far from humanity.
The difference between the two magi was shown in that instant.
Run.
Run.
Run.
“But the fate of a dog would suit you much better. I’ll rend your flesh and keep you alive. I will destroy your body but leave your mind to wallow away. You will die as you suffer. And while you die you will learn that your actions will not be tolerated, scum!”
That “thing” moved. It actually moved. Something appeared wrong in Benita’s vision. ■■■■■■■■■■ no longer clouded her thoughts. ■■■■■■■■■■ no longer obstructed her vision. Instead, there was only the fantastic shadow behind her. She extended her arm, and so too did the “fantastic thing”. It was burning. Just like that time Six years ago. Her right hand directed the thing of “steel” behind her. There was nothing that the fantastic being behind her could not do. It was a being that was her own. A shadow of her own self. Something that was born into the world at her desire.
“Show me what you can do. No quarter will be given to you. You shall die where you stand, Sofia Whitehall.”
This was a battle between two Magi.
A battle between two Masters.
A battle between two Sisters.
Even if they were not related. Even if Benita had no true reason to assist the other Whitehall …
It would gouge out her eyes. It would rip her limbs from her body. It would rend her flesh. It would crush her until nothing but a pulpy mess of flesh and blood and sinew remained. And even then, it would continue until nothing remained.
But first …
Justice would be served. And with a single, simple command, Her arm from moved towards her opponent. And so did the right arm behind her back. It would strike against her opponent. Like a mass of darkness, it would consume the Whitehall.
