Right, that's it. This fight has gone on long enough. Did I think fight? I meant farce. This Fafnir was too crazy and kill happy for me to allow him to stay around, even for a Berserker.
Time to finish him off and head home. Leaping forward, I charge straight at him and hope that Archer doesn't shoot me in the back. Still, I have one surprise if he tries.
Drawing my sword, and deliberately not activating my Noble Phantasm just yet, I take a few somewhat cautious stabs and slices. Time to gauge his defenses before I really get going.
A man barreling down Fafnir's way in a heavy suit of armor with a bushy beard and crown wasn't exactly the most inconspicuous of things, but Berserker's preoccupation with his gold left him vulnerable to the Saber's approach all the same. The dwarf rolled backwards in a panic to narrowly avoid a stab aimed at his throat, which of course left him somewhat irked.
"THE MIGHTY FAFNIR JUST GOT HIS FREAKIN' GOLD BACK AND PEOPLE ARE ALREADY TRYIN' TO STEAL IT AGAIN! NO WAY, NUH-UH, THAT AIN'T GONNA FLY!" A golden sword of his own materialized in Fafnir's grip, with which he parried Saber's next few swings skillfully despite his rough, savage demeanor. "BUT IF YOU WANT SOME GOLD, THE MIGHTY FAFNIR HAS GOT SOME RIGHT HERE FOR YA!" Berserker whipped his sword across the ground before his own feet with a flourish, unleashing a shower of molten sparks as the blade screeched against the pavement and then made a 'come hither' gesture with one hand.
"THE MIGHTY FAFNIR JUST GOT HIS FREAKIN' GOLD BACK AND PEOPLE ARE ALREADY TRYIN' TO STEAL IT AGAIN! NO WAY, NUH-UH, THAT AIN'T GONNA FLY!" A golden sword of his own materialized in Fafnir's grip, with which he parried Saber's next few swings skillfully despite his rough, savage demeanor. "BUT IF YOU WANT SOME GOLD, I'VE GOT SOME RIGHT HERE FOR YA!" Berserker whipped his sword across the ground before his own feet with a flourish, unleashing a shower of molten sparks as the blade screeched against the pavement and then made a 'come hither' gesture with one hand.
I give a few more experimental swings with my blade, testing my opponent.
"I just want to kill you."
I activate my Noble Phantasm. That should give me the edge.
That done, I launch an all out assault, aiming to use my superior strength and skill to end this before the dwarf biker can utilize his own Phantasm to even the playing field again.
Surprisingly enough, Saber's claim seemed to strike an even deeper nerve than his assault on Fafnir after having reclaimed his gold. Veins danced and bulged across his face, which was turning red from fury. "THAT'S WHAT ALL OF YA DAMN CHUMPS SAY! ALWAYS CALLIN' YERSELF HEROES AND TRYIN' TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE YER HEART IS CLEAR, BUT YA NEVER CHANGE! EVERYONE ALWAYS COMES TO THE MIGHTY FAFNIR, ALWAYS HUNGERIN' AFTER HIS TREASURE! AND THEY ALWAYS DENY THAT DARK PART OF 'EM, THE PART THAT KNOWS THEY ONLY CAME TO KILL THE MIGHTY FAFNIR BECAUSE THEY WERE GREEDY! I'LL TELL YA SOMETHING SABER: IT PISSES THE MIGHTY FAFNIR OFF SOMETHIN' FIERCE!" Berserker snorted twin clouds of smoke out his nostrils and his pupils narrowed into reptilian slits as his teeth elongated and sharpened themselves to razor points in his mouth. Fafnir had activated his Monstrous Strength skill, bolstering his Strength parameter even higher than it had been boosted with Mad Enhancement.
I activate my Noble Phantasm. That should give me the edge.
That done, I launch an all out assault, aiming to use my superior strength and skill to end this before the dwarf biker can utilize his own Phantasm to even the playing field again.
As Saber's Noble Phantasm activated, his sword became wreathed in a shell of flames that howled with such intensity as to drive any mere mortal away lest they be claimed by the raging inferno. The forked tongues of flame reached out and burned not Fafnir's body, but instead ate away at the intensity of his power. The scathing wrath of the firebrand sword eliminated the bonuses from Mad Enhancement to bring Fafnir back down to the level of Saber's own equal, but the influence of Monstrous Strength still gave him a minuscule edge over his foe's own considerable might. Even if Berserker had a higher degree of power, his opponent made up in refined skill for what Fafnir had in raw strength. Fafnir faced Saber's onslaught head-on, gold and steel clashing with one another in sparking bursts of molten fury and colliding in booming thunderclaps of sheer force. Both sides of the skirmish were wounded, countless small scratches and negligible damage accruing on each Servant's body in that moment of rapid swordplay too quick for human eyes to follow.
Fafnir's biker jacket had been ripped to tatters in the initial flurry of savage blows, causing him to discard the garment at the cost of getting a few more gashes across his chest for his trouble. His torso was now bare for all to see, a stout frame sculpted from pure muscle whose skin was beginning to grow mottled patches of green and white.
Status Class: Berserker
Titles: Dragon of Greed
True Name: Fafnir
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Parameters Strength: A (A+) [A++]
Endurance: B (A)
Agility: C (B)
Mana: C
Luck: D-
Class Skills Mad Enhancement (E): While not insane in the conventional sense, Berserker is possessed by an intense greed. If an enemy steals from his amassed treasure, Berserker gains a rank-up to his Strength, Endurance and Agility until it has been taken back. His anger at being robbed drives him into a furious rampage that is difficult to calm down, as he will not desist until his wealth has been reclaimed.
Personal Skills Golden Rule (C-): Berserker is guaranteed a lifetime untroubled by money, but his Luck is decreased one rank.
Magic Resistance (A): Cancels spells of A-Rank and below. Even if targeted by High Thaumaturgy and Greater Rituals, it is difficult for Berserker to be affected. An attribute born of his hybrid nature as a Phantasmal Species of immense power.
Monstrous Strength (A): An ability owned by monsters and beasts. Temporarily boosts the Strength parameter when under this skill's influence. The longer and more frequently Berserker utilizes this skill, the closer he grows to transforming into a deadly Dragon with poisonous breath. Stacks with Mad Enhancement.
Noble Phantasms ???
Status Class: Saber
Titles: El Campeador
True Name: Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, El Cid
Alignment: Lawful Good
Parameters Strength: A Endurance: B Agility: C Mana: D Luck: C
Class Skills Magic Resistance (C): Cancels spells with a chant below two verses. Cannot defend against Magecraft on the level of High Thaumaturgy and Greater Rituals.
Riding (C): All animals below the level of Phantasmal Species can be ridden. Does not extend to vehicles of the modern era.
Personal Skills
???
Noble Phantasms The Tizona, Firebrand The Unworthy Shall Fear Rank: C Type: Anti-Unit Description: The legendary sword Tizona is infamous for its ability to make unworthy opponents terrified, having them give up upon sighting the blade, making Ferrán González surrender when he sights the blade. However, any being that qualifies for Servanthood by definition is a worthy opponent, so such extreme effects are not present. Instead, those without an anti-mental skill of B rank or higher, and those who do not have Eternal Arms Mastership of C or higher, have a rank down in all parameters when engaging Saber in single combat.
Hakuno sighed, then looked out into the street. "There's a lot of people coming in, it seems. Think when we're done with these, you can pickpocket one of them so we have some actual money?"
"I'll show you why they used to call me the Super Alloy, kiddo." Tiffany replied with a smirk, taking the recently vacated seat along with the abandoned utensils.
"It's pretty simple!" Berserker's voice thundered, "Just take some of these here flapjacks-" He made a show of skewering no less than seven pancakes in a stack on his fork and began shoving them all in his slovenly harvester maw, chewing them loudly with an open mouth. -"and keep eatin' until you pass the fuck out!" The burly barbarian grabbed a nearby bottle of maple syrup and squeezed it furiously to release an arterial spray of maple-flavored goodness straight into his mouth to wash down the glob of pancakes, followed by a large swig of vodka. "First one to kick the bucket loses! Breakfast of champions, right there."
Fafnir's biker jacket had been ripped to tatters in the initial flurry of savage blows, causing him to discard the garment at the cost of getting a few more gashes across his chest for his trouble. His torso was now bare for all to see, a stout frame sculpted from pure muscle whose skin was beginning to grow mottled patches of green and white.
Instead of an edge, he was now merely even with his mighty foe, if that. He had no further tricks to pull, either.
He was now engaging in a contest of straight up might with a Berserker.
Oh, and if he was unlucky Archer would end both of them with a backstab. Just wonderful
For someone famed for military tactics, he hadn't really though this one through very much. Well, personal combat had never been his exact forte...
Nothing for it. It was time to keep going.
Ignoring his wounds, he continued to lash out, trying to use his superior skill to counter his opponent's strength more directly. This was the first part of his plan. Refusing to engage in lengthy clashes of blades, and dodging instead of parrying heavy swings, he instead preferred quick darts in and out of his enemies reach to take a lightning-fast stab before backing off. Denying his foe the chance to use their strength at all.
And that was his second advantage. It may seem strange that in the battles of vastly superhuman Servants, reach could be a deciding factor, but when the two were so close in capabilities, and fought the same way, it could be. Only a fool would deny any advantage they could get. While it didn't work perfectly, or even a lot, attempts to stay out of Fafnir's path but in his own striking distance met with some success.
Lastly, the killing blow. He had to look for a way to eliminate Fafnir before he powered up any more or brought a new ability to bear. This part of his tactics remained the same as when they first locked blades. Although he may win the long fight without new factors, he could not count on that.
Those were the three points of his Dragon Slayer strategy.
As soon as Tsubaki entered the diner, she was hit by a wave of heat and the smell of all things delicious, but none of these things were the first thing she noticed. No, her eyes were drawn to parade of scantily-clothed male specimens everywhere her eyes drifted. Each man would've made a Greek statue cry tears of envy with the muscles rippling across their masculine bodies. The men standing by the leaning towers of brown batter and golden liquid had six packs that Tsubaki was certain she could grate cheese off of. If that wasn't enough, their appearances leaned towards handsomely rugged, just her type.
There were enough majestic specimens of masculinity to make a lesser woman's panties wet. A surge of yearning hit the young woman like a physical blow. It was almost too much for an emotional maiden like Tsubaki who was barely out of her teens. She tried to keep the hunger out of her gaze, but it was difficult. The young magus was never more thankful for her anal father and mother's lessons on propriety; those hard-drilled memories were the only thing keeping her from openly drooling.
After Tsubaki shook the haze of desire from her mind, her aqua orbs did a second sweep of the diner and then she stuck her head back outside just to make sure the sign said UHOP and not Chippendales.
Archer. I've made a grievous mistake. I don't think I brought enough small dollars... Tsubaki communicated to her Servant as her eyes stealthily drifted to the men's waistlines.
Some of these guys had to be Servants. There was no other reasonable explanation for this exemplary gathering of testosterone in her mind.
"Woohoo!" Called Taiga, as she felt the wind blow through her hair. "Faster!"
She took a moment to look around and identify her location, confirming that Caster was heading in the general direction of the pancake place, before a thought occurred to her.
"Wait." She said. "Aren't people going to see us if you just jump around like this? We're wide in the open!"
<Well, Master, the options presented were either to flee and avoid being detected by the other Servant or stay and possibly have no avenue of escape. People are willing to dismiss so many things they see. Besides, it is late, and there are few people walking the streets. At most they would see a blur and think it was a bird or a bat and their eyes just played a trick on them.> Caster assured her, telepathically. He settled down on the roof of a gas station, looking over his shoulder at the woman sitting on his back.
"My priority is to keep you safe, Master. I am not confident in my ability to stand against the first foe we come across without some time to prepare ourselves. But if you do believe we've made it far enough, I'm willing to settle down to street level and we can proceed on foot. You are the one in command." He bowed his head respectfully. He stepped from the roof and down into the alleyway between the station and the next building, landing with unnatural grace for such a large dog. He then paused to wait for Taiga's response.
As soon as Tsubaki entered the diner, she was hit by a wave of heat and the smell of all things delicious, but none of these things were the first thing she noticed. No, her eyes were drawn to parade of scantily-clothed male specimens everywhere her eyes drifted. Each man would've made a Greek statue cry tears of envy with the muscles rippling across their masculine bodies. The men standing by the leaning towers of brown batter and golden liquid had six packs that Tsubaki was certain she could grate cheese off of. If that wasn't enough, their appearances leaned towards handsomely rugged, just her type.
There were enough majestic specimens of masculinity to make a lesser woman's panties wet. A surge of yearning hit the young woman like a physical blow. It was almost too much for an emotional maiden like Tsubaki who was barely out of her teens. She tried to keep the hunger out of her gaze, but it was difficult. The young magus was never more thankful for her anal father and mother's lessons on propriety; those hard-drilled memories were the only thing keeping her from openly drooling.
Archer raised an eyebrow in surprise when she saw the vast exhibition of musculature that was currently occupying the house of pancakes. "Huh. Isn't this against some sort of health code?" she remarked.
To be perfectly honest, while her master was obviously quite taken by the, ahem, scenery, it was all lost on Archer. Yes, the men were half-naked and quite ruggedly handsome, but she didn't feel any sort of want for them. Not even a little jolt. If anything, they were kind of distracting.
After Tsubaki shook the haze of desire from her mind, her aqua orbs did a second sweep of the diner and then she stuck her head back outside just to make sure the sign said UHOP and not Chippendales.
Archer. I've made a grievous mistake. I don't think I brought enough small dollars... Tsubaki communicated to her Servant as her eyes stealthily drifted to the men's waistlines.
Wait, what do small dollars have to do with anything? she thought back.
There was a brief transfer of information from the Grail to her mind which answered her question. In great detail.
She blushed a little.
Oh. Oh my.
Coughing a bit to cover up her embarrassment, Archer followed her Master into the diner. Immediately, her senses picked up the presence of multiple Servants. Which would explain a lot, really.
Could this be some sort of neutral ground for the Holy Grail War?
Before she could continue on that train of thought, she sniffed the air, and immediately shoved that concern from her mind to make room for more pressing matters.
Ahh...The sweet scent of pancakes slathered in maple syrup. How I missed you...
Quickly wiping away some drool, she moseyed on over to an empty booth, and plunked herself down on one of the seats. It was time to partake in the food of the gods.
"It's pretty simple!" Berserker's voice thundered, "Just take some of these here flapjacks-" He made a show of skewering no less than seven pancakes in a stack on his fork and began shoving them all in his slovenly harvester maw, chewing them loudly with an open mouth. -"and keep eatin' until you pass the fuck out!" The burly barbarian grabbed a nearby bottle of maple syrup and squeezed it furiously to release an arterial spray of maple-flavored goodness straight into his mouth to wash down the glob of pancakes, followed by a large swig of vodka. "First one to kick the bucket loses! Breakfast of champions, right there."
I give a few more experimental swings with my blade, testing my opponent.
"I just want to kill you."
I activate my Noble Phantasm. That should give me the edge.
That done, I launch an all out assault, aiming to use my superior strength and skill to end this before the dwarf biker can utilize his own Phantasm to even the playing field again.
Surprisingly enough, Saber's claim seemed to strike an even deeper nerve than his assault on Fafnir after having reclaimed his gold. Veins danced and bulged across his face, which was turning red from fury. "THAT'S WHAT ALL OF YA DAMN CHUMPS SAY! ALWAYS CALLIN' YERSELF HEROES AND TRYIN' TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE YER HEART IS CLEAR, BUT YA NEVER CHANGE! EVERYONE ALWAYS COMES TO THE MIGHTY FAFNIR, ALWAYS HUNGERIN' AFTER HIS TREASURE! AND THEY ALWAYS DENY THAT DARK PART OF 'EM, THE PART THAT KNOWS THEY ONLY CAME TO KILL THE MIGHTY FAFNIR BECAUSE THEY WERE GREEDY! I'LL TELL YA SOMETHING SABER: IT PISSES THE MIGHTY FAFNIR OFF SOMETHIN' FIERCE!" Berserker snorted twin clouds of smoke out his nostrils and his pupils narrowed into reptilian slits as his teeth elongated and sharpened themselves to razor points in his mouth. Fafnir had activated his Monstrous Strength skill, bolstering his Strength parameter even higher than it had been boosted with Mad Enhancement.
Instead of an edge, he was now merely even with his mighty foe, if that. He had no further tricks to pull, either.
He was now engaging in a contest of straight up might with a Berserker.
Oh, and if he was unlucky Archer would end both of them with a backstab. Just wonderful
For someone famed for military tactics, he hadn't really though this one through very much. Well, personal combat had never been his exact forte...
Nothing for it. It was time to keep going.
Ignoring his wounds, he continued to lash out, trying to use his superior skill to counter his opponent's strength more directly. This was the first part of his plan. Refusing to engage in lengthy clashes of blades, and dodging instead of parrying heavy swings, he instead preferred quick darts in and out of his enemies reach to take a lightning-fast stab before backing off. Denying his foe the chance to use their strength at all.
And that was his second advantage. It may seem strange that in the battles of vastly superhuman Servants, reach could be a deciding factor, but when the two were so close in capabilities, and fought the same way, it could be. Only a fool would deny any advantage they could get. While it didn't work perfectly, or even a lot, attempts to stay out of Fafnir's path but in his own striking distance met with some success.
Lastly, the killing blow. He had to look for a way to eliminate Fafnir before he powered up any more or brought a new ability to bear. This part of his tactics remained the same as when they first locked blades. Although he may win the long fight without new factors, he could not count on that.
Those were the three points of his Dragon Slayer strategy.
Noe had been merely watching in curiosity up until now. But now, she could feel something coiled up--burning--inside her. That drive to win, to overcome--it made her insides feel like a furnace. It didn't hurt in the slightest.
She could not see any of the outlines. But that didn't mean anything.
She left the bedroom, and began to walk down the hallway.
Instead of an edge, he was now merely even with his mighty foe, if that. He had no further tricks to pull, either.
He was now engaging in a contest of straight up might with a Berserker.
Oh, and if he was unlucky Archer would end both of them with a backstab. Just wonderful
For someone famed for military tactics, he hadn't really though this one through very much. Well, personal combat had never been his exact forte...
Nothing for it. It was time to keep going.
Ignoring his wounds, he continued to lash out, trying to use his superior skill to counter his opponent's strength more directly. This was the first part of his plan. Refusing to engage in lengthy clashes of blades, and dodging instead of parrying heavy swings, he instead preferred quick darts in and out of his enemies reach to take a lightning-fast stab before backing off. Denying his foe the chance to use their strength at all.
And that was his second advantage. It may seem strange that in the battles of vastly superhuman Servants, reach could be a deciding factor, but when the two were so close in capabilities, and fought the same way, it could be. Only a fool would deny any advantage they could get. While it didn't work perfectly, or even a lot, attempts to stay out of Fafnir's path but in his own striking distance met with some success.
Lastly, the killing blow. He had to look for a way to eliminate Fafnir before he powered up any more or brought a new ability to bear. This part of his tactics remained the same as when they first locked blades. Although he may win the long fight without new factors, he could not count on that.
Those were the three points of his Dragon Slayer strategy.
Fafnir was many things. Any bystander could tell within five minutes of observation that 'smart' wasn't exactly one of them. Perhaps he wasn't intelligent by any rubric, but he nonetheless had a decent degree of common sense nestled in that noggin on his shoulders. Given sufficient motivation toward the completion of a task, the dwarf could indeed prove to be quite competent and not just a brute with a one-track mind made of tinker toys. Even if he was a Berserker, he was still quite capable of planning ahead.
Which brings us to his current situation. While Fafnir had an edge over the strength of his opponent, that mattered little thanks to Saber's superior maneuverability. His dwarven stature left him at a significant disadvantage in combat against a foe with superior range who was darting in and out of his reach to deliver many swift blows. Often they were parried, but all the little ones that got through his defenses were beginning to add up. It was a war of attrition, and sooner or later Fafnir knew he would lose this confrontation.
The constant motion of the two fighters weaving across the street as they exchanged blows eventually led Fafnir back to the exact position where he had carved the ground with his sword and goaded Saber to approach him earlier. Seeing that now was as good a time as ever to introduce a new element to the battle, he activated his contingency plan.
"Aegishjálmr!" He intoned as the earth beneath Fafnir's feet erupted in a sickly emerald glow. With nefariously subtlety for a Heroic Spirit of his class, Berserker had previously engraved the asphalt with a unique rune in the shape of eight spiked tridents radiating out from a central ring. The air rippled around Fafnir rippled in a wave of distortion that could be felt as sharp and invasive even from a distance. Even with his Magic Resistance, Saber could feel a powerful spike of danger radiating from the rune's green light.
Runecraft (D): Training in the thaumaturgical system of the Norse runic language, the Elder Futhark. Saber's comprehension of this magic system is very poor for the most part, but he has proficient usage of the Primal Rune Aegishjálmr - the Helm of Awe.
As soon as Tsubaki entered the diner, she was hit by a wave of heat and the smell of all things delicious, but none of these things were the first thing she noticed. No, her eyes were drawn to parade of scantily-clothed male specimens everywhere her eyes drifted. Each man would've made a Greek statue cry tears of envy with the muscles rippling across their masculine bodies. The men standing by the leaning towers of brown batter and golden liquid had six packs that Tsubaki was certain she could grate cheese off of. If that wasn't enough, their appearances leaned towards handsomely rugged, just her type.
There were enough majestic specimens of masculinity to make a lesser woman's panties wet. A surge of yearning hit the young woman like a physical blow. It was almost too much for an emotional maiden like Tsubaki who was barely out of her teens. She tried to keep the hunger out of her gaze, but it was difficult. The young magus was never more thankful for her anal father and mother's lessons on propriety; those hard-drilled memories were the only thing keeping her from openly drooling.
After Tsubaki shook the haze of desire from her mind, her aqua orbs did a second sweep of the diner and then she stuck her head back outside just to make sure the sign said UHOP and not Chippendales.
Archer. I've made a grievous mistake. I don't think I brought enough small dollars... Tsubaki communicated to her Servant as her eyes stealthily drifted to the men's waistlines.
Some of these guys had to be Servants. There was no other reasonable explanation for this exemplary gathering of testosterone in her mind.
Archer raised an eyebrow in surprise when she saw the vast exhibition of musculature that was currently occupying the house of pancakes. "Huh. Isn't this against some sort of health code?" she remarked.
To be perfectly honest, while her master was obviously quite taken by the, ahem, scenery, it was all lost on Archer. Yes, the men were half-naked and quite ruggedly handsome, but she didn't feel any sort of want for them. Not even a little jolt. If anything, they were kind of distracting.
Wait, what do small dollars have to do with anything? she thought back.
There was a brief transfer of information from the Grail to her mind which answered her question. In great detail.
She blushed a little.
Oh. Oh my.
Coughing a bit to cover up her embarrassment, Archer followed her Master into the diner. Immediately, her senses picked up the presence of multiple Servants. Which would explain a lot, really.
Could this be some sort of neutral ground for the Holy Grail War?
Before she could continue on that train of thought, she sniffed the air, and immediately shoved that concern from her mind to make room for more pressing matters.
Ahh...The sweet scent of pancakes slathered in maple syrup. How I missed you...
Quickly wiping away some drool, she moseyed on over to an empty booth, and plunked herself down on one of the seats. It was time to partake in the food of the gods.
A Russian man with an eternally weary expression emerged from the kitchen with a large stack of pancakes, bottle of vodka and another bottle of maple syrup. Once the pair had been properly equipped with all the necessary materials, he had skulked back into his lair with an irate grumble.
Fafnir was many things. Any bystander could tell within five minutes of observation that 'smart' wasn't exactly one of them. Perhaps he wasn't intelligent by any rubric, but he nonetheless had a decent degree of common sense nestled in that noggin on his shoulders. Given sufficient motivation toward the completion of a task, the dwarf could indeed prove to be quite competent and not just a brute with a one-track mind made of tinker toys. Even if he was a Berserker, he was still quite capable of planning ahead.
Which brings us to his current situation. While Fafnir had an edge over the strength of his opponent, that mattered little thanks to Saber's superior maneuverability. His dwarven stature left him at a significant disadvantage in combat against a foe with superior range who was darting in and out of his reach to deliver many swift blows. Often they were parried, but all the little ones that got through his defenses were beginning to add up. It was a war of attrition, and sooner or later Fafnir knew he would lose this confrontation.
The constant motion of the two fighters weaving across the street as they exchanged blows eventually led Fafnir back to the exact position where he had carved the ground with his sword and goaded Saber to approach him earlier. Seeing that now was as good a time as ever to introduce a new element to the battle, he activated his contingency plan.
"Aegishjálmr!" He intoned as the earth beneath Fafnir's feet erupted in a sickly emerald glow. With nefariously subtlety for a Heroic Spirit of his class, Berserker had previously engraved the asphalt with a unique rune in the shape of eight spiked tridents radiating out from a central ring. The air rippled around Fafnir rippled in a wave of distortion that could be felt as sharp and invasive even from a distance. Even with his Magic Resistance, Saber could feel a powerful spike of danger radiating from the rune's green light.
Runecraft (D): Training in the thaumaturgical system of the Norse runic language, the Elder Futhark. Saber's comprehension of this magic system is very poor for the most part, but he has proficient usage of the Primal Rune Aegishjálmr - the Helm of Awe.
This was a real problem. If he couldn't finish this extremely quickly, Rodrigo knew he was done for. There was no way around it, he couldn't keep fighting his foe like this.
Yet there was one last plan to play. The Rune did not ensure immediate victory for Fafnir, and that was an advantage to him. He could switch things up, confuse and defeat the dwarf biker here and now. A death or glory attack in order to seize victory from the jaws of defeat.
In a complete reversal of his earlier strategy, Saber lunged forward with a silent and cold vengeance. Aiming to momentarily disorientate his foe by this total change in stance, he launched into a series of numerous attempted death blows on Berserker. His Magic Resistance hopefully giving him enough protection from the Helm to finish this, he would have to hope that his foe was worn down enough to allow this murderous flurry of attacks from Tizona to finish him off.
If he failed for whatever reason, then he was in big trouble. But his position was clear. Should he try to retreat without any support, Fafnir would merely kill him by blows to the back instead of the front.
A fine first battle. He could only imagine what his Master would think when this was over, for better or worse.
Archer watched as Saber charged forward to clash swords with the dragon, sending out a new flock of ravens to search the battle field and follow after his Master. It wouldn't do to let her die because he wished to battle away from her.
The flock grew and spread quickly, their song directing Archer around the battle field to a new firing platform. The buildings were to close, provided to much cover and obscuration to his shot for him to be happy about it, he'd much rather have a clear view of the mark if he was to avoid harming Saber. And so with a great leap he bounded into the air and to the roofs of one of the many buildings, his line of sight was still obscured but the arrows would be allowed to fly more freely.
All around the two Servants, ravens began to settle, perching on roofs, on streetlights, on cars, on trees, anywhere that a bird could find to sit and watch the battle as the moved only to avoid errant strikes or rubble while Archer watched through their eyes. He stood quite on his roof, layering rune after rune into his arrows to overcome the dragons resistance while he analysed the battle, old habits die hard after all as he watches for any magics he may be able to learn and gathers information, the most precious commodity in the war.
Finally with a smile beneath his heavy helmet he draws his arrow laden down with masterful runework, the sort that a novice like Fafnir could barely be said to comprehend, and fires. The storm of bolts splitting as the arc towards Fafnir, careful to avoid Archer's current ally in the battle.
A Russian man with an eternally weary expression emerged from the kitchen with a large stack of pancakes, bottle of vodka and another bottle of maple syrup. Once the pair had been properly equipped with all the necessary materials, he had skulked back into his lair with an irate grumble.
Archer inhaled deeply, and then sighed in contentment. She tucked in her napkin, picked up her knife and fork, and then proceeded with the operation.
Step 1. Divide stack of pancakes exactly in half, giving her and her Master equal proportions.
Step 2. Apply maple syrup.
Step 3. Pour herself several shots of vodka
Preliminary steps completed, Archer then proceeded to chow down, consuming the pancakes at an alarmingly high rate, only pausing to knock back the occasional shot of vodka. If the occasional contented sigh was any indication, then she was loving every minute of this repast.
<Well, Master, the options presented were either to flee and avoid being detected by the other Servant or stay and possibly have no avenue of escape. People are willing to dismiss so many things they see. Besides, it is late, and there are few people walking the streets. At most they would see a blur and think it was a bird or a bat and their eyes just played a trick on them.> Caster assured her, telepathically. He settled down on the roof of a gas station, looking over his shoulder at the woman sitting on his back.
"My priority is to keep you safe, Master. I am not confident in my ability to stand against the first foe we come across without some time to prepare ourselves. But if you do believe we've made it far enough, I'm willing to settle down to street level and we can proceed on foot. You are the one in command." He bowed his head respectfully. He stepped from the roof and down into the alleyway between the station and the next building, landing with unnatural grace for such a large dog. He then paused to wait for Taiga's response.
"Let's see..." She muttered. "The pancake place is only a block or so away from here... We can totally walk there without having to worry about anyone catching up to us!"
Taiga paused, and reached for Tora-shinai. "Unless this is one of those horror movie things where the monster is already right behind me and is just waiting for me to turn around. In that case..."
Moving suddenly, the Master stabbed her wooden weapon behind her a few times, as if striking at an invisible foe. After the fifth jab, she stopped.
"Nah, we're fine." She declared. "Now onward, Caster!"
With that, Taiga suddenly marched off, out of the alley and towards the direction of those delicious, delicious pancakes.
"Let's see..." She muttered. "The pancake place is only a block or so away from here... We can totally walk there without having to worry about anyone catching up to us!"
Taiga paused, and reached for Tora-shinai. "Unless this is one of those horror movie things where the monster is already right behind me and is just waiting for me to turn around. In that case..."
Moving suddenly, the Master stabbed her wooden weapon behind her a few times, as if striking at an invisible foe. After the fifth jab, she stopped.
"Nah, we're fine." She declared. "Now onward, Caster!"
With that, Taiga suddenly marched off, out of the alley and towards the direction of those delicious, delicious pancakes.
"Master, I assure you, if there were any monsters lurking behind you, I would be able to se-" As Caster followed Taiga out of the alleyway, his fur suddenly stood on end as new information came to light. Large, powerful jaws clamped down on the hem of Taiga's dress, the large dog attempting to halt her movement.
<Master, there are...I'm not even sure how many, but there are numerous Servants located in the direction you're walking.> And yet curiously, nothing ahead of them seemed to be on fire. Yet. <We may be walking towards a battle royale, Master. It just hasn't sparked off yet.>
