Prologue - Chapter One/Two/Three
If you could save anyone, but only once, who would you save...
If you could save anyone, but only once, who would you save...
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Prologue - Chapter One/Two/Three
If you could save anyone, but only once, who would you save?
If, after having saved them, they were to die again, what would you say?
Would you believe yourself cheated? Would you think fate an unending, eternal chain of obligations without leeway? At the end of the path laid bare by destiny, after having trudged upon cobblestones as sharp as guillotines, beneath a sky of blood and with cursed rain pouring down, would you still die content, after having saved, having been cursed, and having been cheated out of your happy ending?
Of course you wouldn't. Humans are, by their own nature, greed incarnated. They desire. They want. They wish for more and more. If one person has everything, then they naturally want for nothing. Yet, if they want for nothing, how are they different from the dead? If you do not want, then just die already. Why keep on living? To seek out new wants? To seek out new ways of greed? Is that perhaps it? Is life an eternal cycle of desires, of passions? Of not having, and thus seeking out?
Who can answer such a question truthfully? Is this a result of a willful program, or perhaps just a hole in the code that wasn't thought of? Is this the grand design of an architect, or the random happenstance of poor planning?
In the end, when life ebbs away and your eyes close though, does it truly matter? When your blood leaves your body, when hands gingerly grab hold of your chest and salty tears fall down upon your skin, does it even matter what grand design there is? When the sand roars like an hungry lion, when the moon shines brightly like a resplendent jewel, does it even matter what grand design there is behind it?
Beauty is beauty, isn't it? Though crafted by a great artificer, by a primal love, or by whatever cranky individual there can be, something beautiful is beautiful, regardless of the blood, of the pain, of the agony or the suffering. Regardless of what can be, and what cannot be, beauty is beauty, happiness is happiness, and love is love.
Bread to bread, and wine to wine, we Italians say.
I'm sorry Shiro, but in my death throes, it appears I am actually quite the philosophical individual.
Chapter One
They'll perhaps tell you a lot of stories about the likes of me. They'll also probably be wrong. Then again, being perfection rendered upon flesh isn't easy, and that much I can attest with such tranquility that my humble self blushes at the thought. What kind of guy would ever be so grimly determined in saving his sister that he'd sacrifice everything else in existence just to play the hugest of Xanathos Gambits to bring her back? If life was that easy, then nobody would ever suffer. If all it took to chip down a mountain was to simply keep digging at it day in and day out, then we would live in a realm of plains.
Life doesn't work that way. No matter how much you try to hide the filth lurking beneath the bed, it eventually finds the right gust of wind to send it flying across the room. It's how life works, it throws curveballs that you dodge not because you're skilled, but because you stepped wrongly and thus fell face first against a rock.
"I'm on time, right?" I said as I came to a halt in front of Issei, the flawless class president who could do no wrong and wouldn't date my sister even if he begged me and promised to commit seppuku if he ever hurt her. My eyes naturally narrowed. This flawless example of Japanese education would nitpick every single thing wrong about my appearance whenever he could, and force me to waste time every single day of my life.
"Lovely weather we're having, right?" Issei replied at my question with another question. Mostly, we both asked our question in tandem, and at the same time. I'm not even looking at his face by now, but at the students frolicking about around him. Why aren't they bothered by this uptight member of school justice? Why must I, the most flawless and supreme being of perfection, have to suffer the likes of him so early in the morning? Doesn't he know that with the push of a trigger I can have his head filled with holes? No, of course he doesn't.
Not that I'd fill his head with holes or anything.
This sounded also quite Tsundere-ish.
"Japan to Kagayaku," Issei spoke, lifting a hand in front of my face. It's useless to try that, Issei. My mind wanders anywhere and everywhere whenever there isn't coffee involved. Don't you know that I'm a machine made to write countless billion words, but only as long as proper fuel is provided? "Japan to Kagayaku."
"Kagayaku isn't here. Leave a message after the acoustic signal," I quipped back.
"School's enforcing the new rules, Mister Kagayaku," Issei said as he settled his glasses a bit better. I imitated him, just because I wanted to see if he caught on. He didn't, but I doubted he would in the first place. "I need your ID."
"My what now?" I asked. "You want my contact information so that you can ask me about Shiro's favorite stuff? You're too young a whippersnapper to dare try such an underhanded, crude, horrible method with the best big brother that ever lived." I lifted my chin up, "My flawless self denies you such a privilege, Issei."
Issei blinked, and then sighed loudly. "Just state your name, surname and your gender, Kagayaku Emiya, male."
"You did it for me, so that's all right," I nodded. "As for contraband, I carry a semi-automatic nine millimeter under my armpit and twin Uzis hidden in my trousers."
"Right," Issei drawled, ignoring my rambling as he checks my bag, but doesn't bother patting me down. For shame, Issei. Americans would do a better job than you. Then again, they also have far more reasons to do it than here in Japan. Like, I understand that youth is the future of Japan, but why is it that nobody ponders about a teenager with hidden guns on his person?
Then again, they would be poorly hidden guns if people wondered about them.
"Everything checks out except your attitude," Issei said as he moved to the side. "Then again, knowing your attitude it's probably because it doesn't check out as a model of Tsukumihara Academy Student that you're you."
I blinked as I looked at Issei.
Tsukumihara?
Wait.
Wasn't the school supposed to be Homurahara? Oi, Issei, did you stutter or something?
I didn't bother asking clarifications, though the Student ID in my pocket was pulled out a few moments later once I was out of sight and double checked. Written there as clear as day were the words "Tsukumihara Academy." with my name, surname, and code number. I flipped it on the back, where my home address had been written by young-me to ensure I wouldn't lose the way home, or if I lost the thing, then someone would bring it back to the right place.
Shiro, if this is a prank you prepared together with your never-to-become-official boyfriend in order to piss me off, then congratulations, you've managed to ramp up my paranoia by a good twenty percent.
To the winner the spoils.
To the loser bitter and cold ashes.
There's a chilly breeze. Is it Autumn? Last I checked we were still in that sort of season where spring, summer and winter merge together to form the ultimate seasonal change within the span of a week. It was that kind of season. It was supposed to be that kind of season.
The courtyard was like I remembered it, and so too was the archery range, and the entrance with the shoe lockers and the stairs that went up and down. What wasn't the same was the door to the side which read Supply Closet, Students are Prohibited Entry.
Whatever that strange supply closet was, it didn't belong to the Homurahara school, but had to be an addition of sorts. This was starting to become unnerving, rather than just suspicious. And whenever something unnerved, I had one clear-cut path ahead of me that I had to follow without doubts.
I had to find myself a head to pat and a Shiro to embarrass. It was my most holy duty as the dispenser of headpats, he-who-pats-the-fair-maiden's-head, the ultimate attack of embarrassment plus nine thousand. Yet my classroom was strangely devoid of the bright auburn-haired sister of mine. This was strange. Her going ahead to school wasn't, but her missing out when the lessons were about to start? No, this was strange, quite honestly so.
I took my regular seat, ignoring Shinji's attempts at communicating with me. Though he was snickering a little bit more than usual, two girls standing by his side and cooing at how smart he was.
The seat by my side, which should have belonged to my sister, was empty even as Fujimura Taiga stepped inside.
All right, Shiro. I get it. You were sick and decided not to tell me because otherwise I would have ditched school to take care of you. Now Taiga is going to say just that, and I'm going to get myself suspended to come back home and nurse you to full health.
Because that's clearly what I'm going to do anyway, since if you aren't at school then I can't help but get worried, for I am the Siscon that defines all Siscons, the one who when confessed to by a blue-haired horned demon in the middle of loops answers with Shiro rather than 'Emilia' and I'm an Italian at heart. Italian big brothers are the most ferocious creatures that have ever been born, especially when it comes to defending their little sisters.
We've got bonuses to attack, defense, wisdom and cruelty when it comes to shielding younger siblings from bastards who would sink their filthy claws upon their flesh.
Thus, Shiro, your absence is worrying my poor heart too much.
"And thanks to the nanomachines sicknesses and plagues were defeated..." the bell rang, and as it did my eyes focused on Taiga Fujimura's strange and bizarre techno-babbling final that made no sense at all.
My fingers clasped together as I dropped my chin atop my knuckles. I closed my eyes briefly. Nanomachines, son? Was this a metal gear solid reference? No, no. This was familiar. This felt familiar. This had to be familiar.
This was a part of something greater, but the Holy Grail War had come and gone by and my flawless perfect self had solved everything so neatly and greatly that there wasn't a need for anything else. This was the end of the known ground, and thus while it was true that I was entering into the unknown, at the very least my unknown was greatness personified.
Nanomachines. Shinji. Issei.
The mysteriously prohibited supply closet that couldn't be more suspicious if an old man wearing a wizard robe said it was off-limits for the students to visit.
Thus, clearly, I had to explore the supply closet. Knowing Shiro, she had stumbled inside it doing a favor for Issei and had gotten lost repairing junk in it.
Don't worry, Shiro.
Your brother's coming to save you.
Chapter Two
The Supply Closet was locked. It wasn't locked in the sense that someone had taken a key and spun it around the lock. It was locked in the sense that it refused to open, no matter how much I tried to fiddle with it using the keys taken from the school's aid office. This was beyond bizarre. My paranoia wasn't simply ramping up by now, it was in full-out alert. A mysterious sealed door that clearly had to be magical in nature, how could I not be paranoid about it?
My fingers traced around the edge of the lock. If magic was the problem, then magic would be the solution.
The lock gave way, the pins within breaking as the door itself gave way, revealing the most normal of supply closets. This was, of course, the blandest of lies. Why lock a perfectly normal closet, if not because it is anything but normal? No, there is obviously something magical hidden within, some peculiarly bizarre Magus deciding to experiment in a supply closet perhaps, but still Rin Tohsaka didn't seem the kind of girl to try out her magecraft within the tight confines of this supply closet.
Though the image was amusing, I'd give my whispering voice that, my eyes trailed past the usual supplies as I closed the door behind me and towards the far end of the wall. There was something different in that wall, instinctively, I knew there was something different. Though I had no idea what it was, all of my senses were screaming at me that nothing was as it seemed, that everything was wrong, and that I needed a weapon to advance.
A weapon that was a Servant.
My fingers twitched as my vision blurred and then reasserted itself, revealing a gaping hole with a somewhat digital-like appearance. By the side of the room, a strange mannequin-like entity appeared as if summoned by my will for a blade. It twitched on its shaky limbs, and as I felt my magical circuits ignite, I knew it there and then that this was like the Holy Grail War I had fought in, and won oh so flawlessly.
Indeed, this was the kind of place where such a thing would happen again. I had no idea why, but it felt right for this to be a new arena, a new place where mettle would met skill, and death would linger in the air. Yet there wouldn't be the stench of rotting corpses. It would be a clean death, a cathartic one, one with pain, but without blood or filth.
This was that kind of place.
MY MAKER WAS DIVINE AUTHORITY,
THE HIGHEST WISDOM, AND THE PRIMAL LOVE.
The mannequin twitched as it began to move following my whims. It wasn't a servant, merely a shell of one. Its body thrummed with power, but it wasn't the kind of power that would make even the weakest of servants flinch or worry. It was the kind of thing that could overpower an athlete in its prime, but not an average magus knowing his way around the battlefield.
Yet it moved as well as it was possible for it to move, and as it passed through the hole with me behind it, I glanced at the electronic-like walls that should have nagged me into understanding, and yet failed to form a connection within my mind. This place was eerily familiar, and yet utterly alien and foreign. It was as if there was a Secret of Pedigree over the entire area, or perhaps it was centered around myself?
My flawless, perfect self could not be denied the truth of the matter; something was wrong, someone had the galls to kidnap Shiro, and I would come to her rescue even if I had to tear everything down brick by brick or bit by bit. Oh, an Engineering Pun. How nice. It had been a long time since I last made one.
The corridor was silent even as a strange, spherical thing floated towards the mannequin-servant and my flawless self. It zipped towards us, abruptly igniting in a shower of zeroes and ones as I inwardly chuckled at the sight of my mannequin slamming its right leg against it, sending it to fly like a pinball against the walls. It exploded in a shower of glittering pixels, like a pinata getting struck by a baseball bat.
"Whatever this place is," I grumbled as I kept walking, my hands in my pockets, "It's clearly been built with an hostile intent."
The mannequin and I both came to a halt in front of what I could simply describe as a floating cube of translucent energy, which seemed to gingerly beckon me closer. This was familiar too. Everything, up to now, was utterly familiar.
The hallway had a couple more of strange rolling things, but those were easily dealt with without breaking into a sweat by the mannequin-servant. He was a thing of beauty, a classless thing that yet managed to defeat these simple programs. Programs. Uh. My instinct screamed at me to remember the word. My mind reeled, shocked and wondering if perhaps it was that thing. That thing which I couldn't remember, nor name.
I felt peeved and offended at this thing born clearly out of malice that would keep me in the dark. Mine was the inquisition of a true Italian. Mine was the demanding nature of a good-natured person, found worrying about a strange and unprecedented mystery. If there's a wail at the bottom of a mine shaft, then use dynamite. If there's a foreign hallway in your house, lock it up and burn the house down. Yet if there's a precious little sister gone missing, then brave hell itself with a sword in hand to save her, for that is the true nature of the Siscon!
The mannequin seemed to twitch upon my self-thought thoughts, stumbling as it tried to regain its bearings. I glanced at it, the program somewhat flawless, and yet flawed. I could see it; it could use some fine tuning.
My footsteps halted as I took in a graveyard of corpses. My breathing hitched as I glanced right and left for the auburn hair of my prized sister, only to come up empty and sigh in relief. There was no sister of mine amidst these corpses. It was all right. I would trample upon them too if such was the case, since they were of no concern to me, then I wasn't going to cry for the carnage wrought in this room.
Call me callous, but why should I care for the unknown? I'd rather care for my precious little sister!
"Here one must leave behind all hesitation," I mused, "Here every cowardice must meet its death."
A mannequin rose from a nearby corpse, shambling about awkwardly as it glanced at my own. Their skills were the same. Their strength was the same. There was only one difference.
The moment both mannequin struck one another, the moment their equality was brought to the fray, I raised my left hand and squeezed the trigger of my nine millimeter, slamming a bullet into the sides of the mannequin-servant. The thing turned its emotionless and faceless head towards me, and my mannequin proceeded to slam the thing down on the ground, ripping it into shreds of data within mere seconds.
I holstered the gun, waiting with calm for the purpose of this exercise to reveal itself.
I knew there was something else going on, but I had no idea what it was.
"Appropriate Servant found within the system," a voice spoke through the air, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. "No words will be wasted with the likes of you," it added, as if filled with spite. "No words are needed," it continued, as if excusing itself for what it had just said. "Rejoice, for you have been chosen as a Master."
A set of three glass doors appeared around the circular room, each of them holding on to a painstakingly beautiful depiction of something. No, not of something, but of someone.
A pure-hearted maiden, too good for all of the evils of the world
All three doors seemed to be both judges and jury.
An ebony-skinned narrator, cunning in her weakness
Merciful filled angels, and executioners of foolish men.
A foolish woman who loved so much, her hatred of lies turned her into a dragon
In the end, one of three glass door broke open, as a stream of information, data and soul-like patterns flew out to merge with the mannequin by my side who stopped twitching and exploded, abruptly shaking itself off.
And there, of course, stood a true servant.
She was unlike the mannequin, because if she had been like it, then I would have lost to begin with. She was beautiful, of an unearthly candor that would make my own fingers recoil from daring to touch her. She breathed, and her breath was the cutest, second only to that of Shiro because nobody lived as cutely as my little sister, but she definitely came as a close second.
Her hair was in a blond braid, and that alone made me give her ten out of ten points. I really did have something for blondes with braids, though I was loathe to admit it since there is no way that an Italian can have preferences when it comes to love. Italians love all women equally, and even all men depending on tastes. I was firmly in the loving women camp though, and thus I could proudly declare that this woman was truly a pinnacle of perfection beyond perfection itself.
"Master," she spoke, her lithe body showing off the kind of power that only a saint among saints, a heroic spirit, something out of a fairy tale and a legend, could ever emit. Her amethyst colored eyes were crafted from the purest of amethysts, there was no other reason for why they glinted in such a way. Her gaze bore into my own, and it was only after a while that I realized that I had stopped breathing to gawk at her. "You are my master, are you not?" she asked, her voice filled with the kindness of a worried young girl having perhaps lost the way home.
Though my breath was taken away, I still nodded. "Yes," I said. "I am your master, Kagayaku Emiya."
"Then, master, in the name of my Lord know that I will stand as your shield," the Servant replied, clutching on firmly to the sword by her side. Was she a Saber class then? It was a good thing. Saber-classes tended to be the best in winning Holy Grail Wars. Her clothes were purple, if not for the armor that protected her midriff, but left her chest free. Still, those things were the size of melons.
My eyes were naturally drawn to her eyes, because what kind of lascivious person would I be if I ever dared to ogle my servant's beautiful twin qualities? A poor master, of course.
"Great," I said with a smile. "Then I suppose..." I hissed as my right hand began to burn as if cast in molten iron. Clenching it out of instinct, I brought it up and witness as upon my flesh a tattoo formed of wings came into existence, the three command seals burning brightly of a vivid crimson light, proof of the contract between us. "The contract is sealed," I said in the end.
The pain then increased to the point where it was a blinding thing, something so horrifyingly excruciating that I had to question the sanity of putting such a thing on the back of the hand of a human being. Being branded by a hot rod would have perhaps been less painful, and yet that pain burned from my hand all the way through my nerves, forcing my breathing to an abrupt halt as white light shone from the top, a voice speaking in a tongue that I recognized, and that yet hurt to hear.
"With the Command Seals as proof, welcome to the Holy Grail War, Kagayaku Emiya. Rejoice, for whatever you wish, the holy Grail will bestow upon the winner. Thus fight, thus kill, thus...achieve your innermost desires."
"This...the Moon has decreed."
Chapter Three
I awoke in the school infirmary. By my side, I could hear softly spoken french words. As I heard them, my mind reeled. Something spun, deeply angered like a child forced out of its playpen, at the back of my mind. It coiled upon itself, a deeply forbidden knowledge that was both everything and nothing, a Schroedinger Gambit of unquestionable power, yet terrifyingly limited purpose. It was a thing that held no strength but that of misery, and no grace but that of utter annihilation.
It was more locked than the chastity of a pious nun, or a saint who swore off carnal love in exchange for praying for the souls of men lost in sin.
My brain twitched like a single muscle, countless thoughts intermingling with one another as jumbled memories mixed and formed a poisonous substance, a terrifyingly unclear identity, a potpourri of meaningless drivel.
"Ah," a soft voice spoke, "You have awoken." Sakura Mat-Tohsaka-My foster daughter-killed by my hands and yet saved by my words, possessed and not- looked at me with an apparently neutral gaze. She had no emotions betraying her, no signs that she recognized me, no ideas on whom I was. My mind was in pain, that much I accepted as truth. Then again, I suffered from regular migraines, and this was nothing.
"You got any paracetamol?" I ground out as I massaged my temples, "It's in the cupboard in the bathroom, Sakura. Unless Nero got to it first?" I whispered, shaking my head as the stray thoughts seemed to be caught by the angry snarling snake that rushed across my mind, gobbling up the words, the memories, and the knowledge, leaving behind only a blank state that was yet far more manageable than what had been before.
My words died in my throat, replaced by a stark and clear realization. The Snake that devoured its tail did its job, and thus my memories, as badly restored as they had been, ended up utterly annihilated back into non-existence. There was nothing of value lost within them. I merely wasn't them, or perhaps I was, but I had been poorly treated within this realm.
Yet the memories of this realm flowed back into me. A proper restoration happened by my own accord, the thoughts and patterns of this realm entering my thick skull even as Sakura kept her gaze on me, not a single emotion betraying her inner turmoil, if she ever had one at this point in time. The softly spoken words in French caught my attention next however, coming from my servant which I hadn't recognized, since my memories had been suppressed by the treacherous system of the Moon Cell.
Jeanne D'Arc stood in all of her splendor, her purity, and her seemingly innocent countryside outfit. She looked like a young girl from the countryside headed for the wonders of the big city, only to end up burned as a stripper in a dingy seedy bar. I blinked at my own metaphor, and at the parallels that my head drew. I honestly wasn't at my best if that was what I had come up with, though it did kind-of fit with her history, if one drew parallels to recraft the myth in modern times.
"Saber," I said, catching her attention as the last verse of a holy hymn finished leaving her mouth, "Why are you praying? I wasn't hurt that badly, was I?"
"I pray as is my duty to the Lord," Jeanne replied, "I will pray for your health too, if that is your desire."
"Rather than praying for my health, if you'll just do your best, we will win this without a fault," I answered calmly as I freed myself from the sheets of the infirmary's bed, standing up to face Sakura's uncaring face.
"Your memories have been restored, Master of the Holy Grail War," she spoke without accent, nor care. I reckoned that if I did something really gross like squeeze her chest, she wouldn't even react. Shinji had hacked her into believing they were brother and sister, but that had been the prologue of the story, and not the story itself. Here we were, on the first week of this new battle for the Holy Grail, and things seemed to be looking good.
Servant Jeanne was perhaps a great servant, especially in the Saber Class. Her magic resistance was on the Ex Rank, and that alone meant that any form of magic pretty much was meaningless against her. Her desires or handling was non-existent at best, and at most required but a few nods and softly spoken words. She was a fair maiden, and yet was more than capable of using treachery when the right time came. Honestly, she was a God-Sent. Perhaps it was like that, a message sent by the God of the Moon Cell towards me, telling me that indeed, I was destined to achieve victory.
Though her Noble Phantasm was a self-sacrificing thing, which meant she would never be able to use it less I die too, it didn't truly matter in the grand scope of things. Chipping away at an opponent's health with her sword, or her hidden lance, that would suffice.
"Thank you, Sakura," I said as I turned towards Jeanne. "Saber, would you mind going into astral form?"
Jeanne nodded, disappearing into thin air. I could still sense her presence nearby, a beacon of sunlight and purity in an ocean of turbulence. Sakura took a brief moment to hand me out a wrist-mounted device, some sort of intelligent watch that actually doubled as a Portable Terminal. There were no messages for me, though as I quickly tapped on it, I impulsively sent a message to Shiro's own email.
Shiro, are you all right?
I hit sent, and then closed the messaging application. If she saw and answered me, then I'd deal with it there and then. If she didn't, then all the better, because it meant I wouldn't have to break this whole thing just to save my little sister. If they had kidnapped her and forced her against her will to be a Master, then I would destroy everything in my path and shatter the very Moon.
I opened the door of the infirmary and stepped outside, my resolve firmly settled within my soul, only to come face to face with a couple of students who seemed to have left the infirmary at nearly the same time as me. I blinked. So it was an Instancing-like effect? To prevent spawn-killing, perhaps everyone had their infirmary separated from the rest at least at the beginning?
It made a strange amount of sense, because otherwise the first arrival with half a brain would just wait for the spawn and hit them before the system had the time to act. Though it felt incredibly cheesy, it still was a doable thing for clear-thinking and fast-acting assassins. My eyes glanced towards the far end of the hallway, where the figure of the rotten priest was glancing around with barely a worry on his face.
I neared him because he actually wasn't the rotten priest, otherwise I wouldn't have wasted the chance. He was just an NPC, an artificial intelligence of the Moon Cell. He was merely wearing the skin of the rotten priest, but had none of his soul, though he did share his mannerisms.
"Congratulations for being chosen as a Master of the Holy Grail War," he said with his calm and polite voice, which would have belonged to an emissary of God, had it not come from the throat of a monster in human form. The mere memories of his acts were enough to make my blood boil. Yet it was merely being angry at a picture, or a ghost of the real thing. It was petty, and meaningless. "You will be notified of your next opponent tomorrow, but the arena is already open for today should you wish to test your compatibility with your assigned servant."
Around me, I could see there were many identical faces. All of them belonged to Magus who had, however, been unable to alter their character's appearances from the default. This meant they wouldn't be a problem, unless they willfully did so to hide their abilities. A few were strangely dressed individuals.
Yet the rotten priest wasn't done with his words. "You have access to classroom 4C on the upper floor. It is your private room, and no other Master is allowed entrance without your explicit consent," Kirei Kotomine, for that was the rotten priest's name, spoke with care. "If you have any questions about the tournament, you have the right to ask them as a Master."
"How many rounds and how many contestants will there be?" I asked, for that was the question that pressed me the most to have an answer to. "And is it possible to have a list of them?"
"The list will be made known tomorrow. The total number of Master is one hundred and twenty-eight, and there will be a total of seven rounds, or seven weeks of time before the tournament is declared closed with a winner chosen through skill and mettle," Kirei spoke, "Only one may win and achieve the Holy Grail, all others shall be deleted."
"I know that," I sighed. I bid the program goodbye, heading up the stairs all the way to the privacy of the assigned classroom. The place itself had looked like a normal classroom once, but now white drapes seemed to cover the windows as the desks were instead set as an altar of sorts, a beautifully drawn crucifix etched with chalk on the blackboard, an altar of the greatness of God made with the humblest things possible, and yet divine in its inspiration.
This was a place where Saber, Jeanne D'Arc, Joan D'Arc, whatever name she would give, could pray to her heart's content and not risk being found out. She materialized near the altar, one of her knees down in prayer and her fingers tightly clenched together in the most earnest of ways. A fair pucelle, as the French would go about naming her, and yet once it was used to remark in an obsolete way the prostitute and the slut.
So ironic that the Pucelle of D'Orleans could be both maiden and prostitute, holy and unholy; De André's song on the Holy Love and the Profane One going hand in hand within the Rose Mouth's chanson was fitting in this circumstance, and hauntingly ironic to witness.
My arms crossed in front of my chest, I glanced at my Servant. I implicitly understood that if I did not stop her, she would recite all of the prayers she knew by heart, and that would take away all of the day in front of us.
"Saber," I said, "Apologies for interrupting your prayers," I continued gently, "But we must speak."
"I understand, master," Jeanne said, making the sign of the cross as she turned to demurely look up at me. "You wish to know of my abilities and skills, perhaps my true name, now that we are alone?"
I shook my head slowly, "That won't be necessary, oh fair maiden of D'Orleans," I whispered, "I would recognize you no matter the circumstances," I smiled. "Though I would have expected your banner rather than your blade."
Jeanne smile softly, "And here I thought I had hidden myself well. I wished to remain with my true name hidden, for in war is that not the best? My banner is easy to recognize, and once seen even the most ignorant of servants would recognize it as belonging to me. If it is master's wish for me to bring it forth, I will gladly do so."
I raised my right hand in a dismissive gesture, "It's better this way. I would have asked you to do the same, had you not done it yourself. I suppose you wish to win the Holy Grail War then?"
The fair maiden of D'Orlean smiled, and then shook her head. "No, not really. I do not have a wish for the Grail. My life, I lived without regrets of any kind, basked in the love of God. Yet if your wish is such, then I will fight to my best for you, master."
Truly, Jeanne was the epitome of the best girl. She really was a miracle servant.
I couldn't help but think that nothing, truly, could ever go wrong.
And in that moment, my wrist-mounted device beeped.
Brother? Where are you right now?
Very well, Moon Cell Holy Grail War. My task is clear. I will destroy you so utterly, they won't even find the scraps of you by the time I'll be done!
If you could save anyone, but only once, who would you save?
If, after having saved them, they were to die again, what would you say?
Would you believe yourself cheated? Would you think fate an unending, eternal chain of obligations without leeway? At the end of the path laid bare by destiny, after having trudged upon cobblestones as sharp as guillotines, beneath a sky of blood and with cursed rain pouring down, would you still die content, after having saved, having been cursed, and having been cheated out of your happy ending?
Of course you wouldn't. Humans are, by their own nature, greed incarnated. They desire. They want. They wish for more and more. If one person has everything, then they naturally want for nothing. Yet, if they want for nothing, how are they different from the dead? If you do not want, then just die already. Why keep on living? To seek out new wants? To seek out new ways of greed? Is that perhaps it? Is life an eternal cycle of desires, of passions? Of not having, and thus seeking out?
Who can answer such a question truthfully? Is this a result of a willful program, or perhaps just a hole in the code that wasn't thought of? Is this the grand design of an architect, or the random happenstance of poor planning?
In the end, when life ebbs away and your eyes close though, does it truly matter? When your blood leaves your body, when hands gingerly grab hold of your chest and salty tears fall down upon your skin, does it even matter what grand design there is? When the sand roars like an hungry lion, when the moon shines brightly like a resplendent jewel, does it even matter what grand design there is behind it?
Beauty is beauty, isn't it? Though crafted by a great artificer, by a primal love, or by whatever cranky individual there can be, something beautiful is beautiful, regardless of the blood, of the pain, of the agony or the suffering. Regardless of what can be, and what cannot be, beauty is beauty, happiness is happiness, and love is love.
Bread to bread, and wine to wine, we Italians say.
I'm sorry Shiro, but in my death throes, it appears I am actually quite the philosophical individual.
Chapter One
They'll perhaps tell you a lot of stories about the likes of me. They'll also probably be wrong. Then again, being perfection rendered upon flesh isn't easy, and that much I can attest with such tranquility that my humble self blushes at the thought. What kind of guy would ever be so grimly determined in saving his sister that he'd sacrifice everything else in existence just to play the hugest of Xanathos Gambits to bring her back? If life was that easy, then nobody would ever suffer. If all it took to chip down a mountain was to simply keep digging at it day in and day out, then we would live in a realm of plains.
Life doesn't work that way. No matter how much you try to hide the filth lurking beneath the bed, it eventually finds the right gust of wind to send it flying across the room. It's how life works, it throws curveballs that you dodge not because you're skilled, but because you stepped wrongly and thus fell face first against a rock.
"I'm on time, right?" I said as I came to a halt in front of Issei, the flawless class president who could do no wrong and wouldn't date my sister even if he begged me and promised to commit seppuku if he ever hurt her. My eyes naturally narrowed. This flawless example of Japanese education would nitpick every single thing wrong about my appearance whenever he could, and force me to waste time every single day of my life.
"Lovely weather we're having, right?" Issei replied at my question with another question. Mostly, we both asked our question in tandem, and at the same time. I'm not even looking at his face by now, but at the students frolicking about around him. Why aren't they bothered by this uptight member of school justice? Why must I, the most flawless and supreme being of perfection, have to suffer the likes of him so early in the morning? Doesn't he know that with the push of a trigger I can have his head filled with holes? No, of course he doesn't.
Not that I'd fill his head with holes or anything.
This sounded also quite Tsundere-ish.
"Japan to Kagayaku," Issei spoke, lifting a hand in front of my face. It's useless to try that, Issei. My mind wanders anywhere and everywhere whenever there isn't coffee involved. Don't you know that I'm a machine made to write countless billion words, but only as long as proper fuel is provided? "Japan to Kagayaku."
"Kagayaku isn't here. Leave a message after the acoustic signal," I quipped back.
"School's enforcing the new rules, Mister Kagayaku," Issei said as he settled his glasses a bit better. I imitated him, just because I wanted to see if he caught on. He didn't, but I doubted he would in the first place. "I need your ID."
"My what now?" I asked. "You want my contact information so that you can ask me about Shiro's favorite stuff? You're too young a whippersnapper to dare try such an underhanded, crude, horrible method with the best big brother that ever lived." I lifted my chin up, "My flawless self denies you such a privilege, Issei."
Issei blinked, and then sighed loudly. "Just state your name, surname and your gender, Kagayaku Emiya, male."
"You did it for me, so that's all right," I nodded. "As for contraband, I carry a semi-automatic nine millimeter under my armpit and twin Uzis hidden in my trousers."
"Right," Issei drawled, ignoring my rambling as he checks my bag, but doesn't bother patting me down. For shame, Issei. Americans would do a better job than you. Then again, they also have far more reasons to do it than here in Japan. Like, I understand that youth is the future of Japan, but why is it that nobody ponders about a teenager with hidden guns on his person?
Then again, they would be poorly hidden guns if people wondered about them.
"Everything checks out except your attitude," Issei said as he moved to the side. "Then again, knowing your attitude it's probably because it doesn't check out as a model of Tsukumihara Academy Student that you're you."
I blinked as I looked at Issei.
Tsukumihara?
Wait.
Wasn't the school supposed to be Homurahara? Oi, Issei, did you stutter or something?
I didn't bother asking clarifications, though the Student ID in my pocket was pulled out a few moments later once I was out of sight and double checked. Written there as clear as day were the words "Tsukumihara Academy." with my name, surname, and code number. I flipped it on the back, where my home address had been written by young-me to ensure I wouldn't lose the way home, or if I lost the thing, then someone would bring it back to the right place.
Shiro, if this is a prank you prepared together with your never-to-become-official boyfriend in order to piss me off, then congratulations, you've managed to ramp up my paranoia by a good twenty percent.
To the winner the spoils.
To the loser bitter and cold ashes.
There's a chilly breeze. Is it Autumn? Last I checked we were still in that sort of season where spring, summer and winter merge together to form the ultimate seasonal change within the span of a week. It was that kind of season. It was supposed to be that kind of season.
The courtyard was like I remembered it, and so too was the archery range, and the entrance with the shoe lockers and the stairs that went up and down. What wasn't the same was the door to the side which read Supply Closet, Students are Prohibited Entry.
Whatever that strange supply closet was, it didn't belong to the Homurahara school, but had to be an addition of sorts. This was starting to become unnerving, rather than just suspicious. And whenever something unnerved, I had one clear-cut path ahead of me that I had to follow without doubts.
I had to find myself a head to pat and a Shiro to embarrass. It was my most holy duty as the dispenser of headpats, he-who-pats-the-fair-maiden's-head, the ultimate attack of embarrassment plus nine thousand. Yet my classroom was strangely devoid of the bright auburn-haired sister of mine. This was strange. Her going ahead to school wasn't, but her missing out when the lessons were about to start? No, this was strange, quite honestly so.
I took my regular seat, ignoring Shinji's attempts at communicating with me. Though he was snickering a little bit more than usual, two girls standing by his side and cooing at how smart he was.
The seat by my side, which should have belonged to my sister, was empty even as Fujimura Taiga stepped inside.
All right, Shiro. I get it. You were sick and decided not to tell me because otherwise I would have ditched school to take care of you. Now Taiga is going to say just that, and I'm going to get myself suspended to come back home and nurse you to full health.
Because that's clearly what I'm going to do anyway, since if you aren't at school then I can't help but get worried, for I am the Siscon that defines all Siscons, the one who when confessed to by a blue-haired horned demon in the middle of loops answers with Shiro rather than 'Emilia' and I'm an Italian at heart. Italian big brothers are the most ferocious creatures that have ever been born, especially when it comes to defending their little sisters.
We've got bonuses to attack, defense, wisdom and cruelty when it comes to shielding younger siblings from bastards who would sink their filthy claws upon their flesh.
Thus, Shiro, your absence is worrying my poor heart too much.
"And thanks to the nanomachines sicknesses and plagues were defeated..." the bell rang, and as it did my eyes focused on Taiga Fujimura's strange and bizarre techno-babbling final that made no sense at all.
My fingers clasped together as I dropped my chin atop my knuckles. I closed my eyes briefly. Nanomachines, son? Was this a metal gear solid reference? No, no. This was familiar. This felt familiar. This had to be familiar.
This was a part of something greater, but the Holy Grail War had come and gone by and my flawless perfect self had solved everything so neatly and greatly that there wasn't a need for anything else. This was the end of the known ground, and thus while it was true that I was entering into the unknown, at the very least my unknown was greatness personified.
Nanomachines. Shinji. Issei.
The mysteriously prohibited supply closet that couldn't be more suspicious if an old man wearing a wizard robe said it was off-limits for the students to visit.
Thus, clearly, I had to explore the supply closet. Knowing Shiro, she had stumbled inside it doing a favor for Issei and had gotten lost repairing junk in it.
Don't worry, Shiro.
Your brother's coming to save you.
Chapter Two
The Supply Closet was locked. It wasn't locked in the sense that someone had taken a key and spun it around the lock. It was locked in the sense that it refused to open, no matter how much I tried to fiddle with it using the keys taken from the school's aid office. This was beyond bizarre. My paranoia wasn't simply ramping up by now, it was in full-out alert. A mysterious sealed door that clearly had to be magical in nature, how could I not be paranoid about it?
My fingers traced around the edge of the lock. If magic was the problem, then magic would be the solution.
The lock gave way, the pins within breaking as the door itself gave way, revealing the most normal of supply closets. This was, of course, the blandest of lies. Why lock a perfectly normal closet, if not because it is anything but normal? No, there is obviously something magical hidden within, some peculiarly bizarre Magus deciding to experiment in a supply closet perhaps, but still Rin Tohsaka didn't seem the kind of girl to try out her magecraft within the tight confines of this supply closet.
Though the image was amusing, I'd give my whispering voice that, my eyes trailed past the usual supplies as I closed the door behind me and towards the far end of the wall. There was something different in that wall, instinctively, I knew there was something different. Though I had no idea what it was, all of my senses were screaming at me that nothing was as it seemed, that everything was wrong, and that I needed a weapon to advance.
A weapon that was a Servant.
My fingers twitched as my vision blurred and then reasserted itself, revealing a gaping hole with a somewhat digital-like appearance. By the side of the room, a strange mannequin-like entity appeared as if summoned by my will for a blade. It twitched on its shaky limbs, and as I felt my magical circuits ignite, I knew it there and then that this was like the Holy Grail War I had fought in, and won oh so flawlessly.
Indeed, this was the kind of place where such a thing would happen again. I had no idea why, but it felt right for this to be a new arena, a new place where mettle would met skill, and death would linger in the air. Yet there wouldn't be the stench of rotting corpses. It would be a clean death, a cathartic one, one with pain, but without blood or filth.
This was that kind of place.
MY MAKER WAS DIVINE AUTHORITY,
THE HIGHEST WISDOM, AND THE PRIMAL LOVE.
The mannequin twitched as it began to move following my whims. It wasn't a servant, merely a shell of one. Its body thrummed with power, but it wasn't the kind of power that would make even the weakest of servants flinch or worry. It was the kind of thing that could overpower an athlete in its prime, but not an average magus knowing his way around the battlefield.
Yet it moved as well as it was possible for it to move, and as it passed through the hole with me behind it, I glanced at the electronic-like walls that should have nagged me into understanding, and yet failed to form a connection within my mind. This place was eerily familiar, and yet utterly alien and foreign. It was as if there was a Secret of Pedigree over the entire area, or perhaps it was centered around myself?
My flawless, perfect self could not be denied the truth of the matter; something was wrong, someone had the galls to kidnap Shiro, and I would come to her rescue even if I had to tear everything down brick by brick or bit by bit. Oh, an Engineering Pun. How nice. It had been a long time since I last made one.
The corridor was silent even as a strange, spherical thing floated towards the mannequin-servant and my flawless self. It zipped towards us, abruptly igniting in a shower of zeroes and ones as I inwardly chuckled at the sight of my mannequin slamming its right leg against it, sending it to fly like a pinball against the walls. It exploded in a shower of glittering pixels, like a pinata getting struck by a baseball bat.
"Whatever this place is," I grumbled as I kept walking, my hands in my pockets, "It's clearly been built with an hostile intent."
The mannequin and I both came to a halt in front of what I could simply describe as a floating cube of translucent energy, which seemed to gingerly beckon me closer. This was familiar too. Everything, up to now, was utterly familiar.
The hallway had a couple more of strange rolling things, but those were easily dealt with without breaking into a sweat by the mannequin-servant. He was a thing of beauty, a classless thing that yet managed to defeat these simple programs. Programs. Uh. My instinct screamed at me to remember the word. My mind reeled, shocked and wondering if perhaps it was that thing. That thing which I couldn't remember, nor name.
I felt peeved and offended at this thing born clearly out of malice that would keep me in the dark. Mine was the inquisition of a true Italian. Mine was the demanding nature of a good-natured person, found worrying about a strange and unprecedented mystery. If there's a wail at the bottom of a mine shaft, then use dynamite. If there's a foreign hallway in your house, lock it up and burn the house down. Yet if there's a precious little sister gone missing, then brave hell itself with a sword in hand to save her, for that is the true nature of the Siscon!
The mannequin seemed to twitch upon my self-thought thoughts, stumbling as it tried to regain its bearings. I glanced at it, the program somewhat flawless, and yet flawed. I could see it; it could use some fine tuning.
My footsteps halted as I took in a graveyard of corpses. My breathing hitched as I glanced right and left for the auburn hair of my prized sister, only to come up empty and sigh in relief. There was no sister of mine amidst these corpses. It was all right. I would trample upon them too if such was the case, since they were of no concern to me, then I wasn't going to cry for the carnage wrought in this room.
Call me callous, but why should I care for the unknown? I'd rather care for my precious little sister!
"Here one must leave behind all hesitation," I mused, "Here every cowardice must meet its death."
A mannequin rose from a nearby corpse, shambling about awkwardly as it glanced at my own. Their skills were the same. Their strength was the same. There was only one difference.
The moment both mannequin struck one another, the moment their equality was brought to the fray, I raised my left hand and squeezed the trigger of my nine millimeter, slamming a bullet into the sides of the mannequin-servant. The thing turned its emotionless and faceless head towards me, and my mannequin proceeded to slam the thing down on the ground, ripping it into shreds of data within mere seconds.
I holstered the gun, waiting with calm for the purpose of this exercise to reveal itself.
I knew there was something else going on, but I had no idea what it was.
"Appropriate Servant found within the system," a voice spoke through the air, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. "No words will be wasted with the likes of you," it added, as if filled with spite. "No words are needed," it continued, as if excusing itself for what it had just said. "Rejoice, for you have been chosen as a Master."
A set of three glass doors appeared around the circular room, each of them holding on to a painstakingly beautiful depiction of something. No, not of something, but of someone.
A pure-hearted maiden, too good for all of the evils of the world
All three doors seemed to be both judges and jury.
An ebony-skinned narrator, cunning in her weakness
Merciful filled angels, and executioners of foolish men.
A foolish woman who loved so much, her hatred of lies turned her into a dragon
In the end, one of three glass door broke open, as a stream of information, data and soul-like patterns flew out to merge with the mannequin by my side who stopped twitching and exploded, abruptly shaking itself off.
And there, of course, stood a true servant.
She was unlike the mannequin, because if she had been like it, then I would have lost to begin with. She was beautiful, of an unearthly candor that would make my own fingers recoil from daring to touch her. She breathed, and her breath was the cutest, second only to that of Shiro because nobody lived as cutely as my little sister, but she definitely came as a close second.
Her hair was in a blond braid, and that alone made me give her ten out of ten points. I really did have something for blondes with braids, though I was loathe to admit it since there is no way that an Italian can have preferences when it comes to love. Italians love all women equally, and even all men depending on tastes. I was firmly in the loving women camp though, and thus I could proudly declare that this woman was truly a pinnacle of perfection beyond perfection itself.
"Master," she spoke, her lithe body showing off the kind of power that only a saint among saints, a heroic spirit, something out of a fairy tale and a legend, could ever emit. Her amethyst colored eyes were crafted from the purest of amethysts, there was no other reason for why they glinted in such a way. Her gaze bore into my own, and it was only after a while that I realized that I had stopped breathing to gawk at her. "You are my master, are you not?" she asked, her voice filled with the kindness of a worried young girl having perhaps lost the way home.
Though my breath was taken away, I still nodded. "Yes," I said. "I am your master, Kagayaku Emiya."
"Then, master, in the name of my Lord know that I will stand as your shield," the Servant replied, clutching on firmly to the sword by her side. Was she a Saber class then? It was a good thing. Saber-classes tended to be the best in winning Holy Grail Wars. Her clothes were purple, if not for the armor that protected her midriff, but left her chest free. Still, those things were the size of melons.
My eyes were naturally drawn to her eyes, because what kind of lascivious person would I be if I ever dared to ogle my servant's beautiful twin qualities? A poor master, of course.
"Great," I said with a smile. "Then I suppose..." I hissed as my right hand began to burn as if cast in molten iron. Clenching it out of instinct, I brought it up and witness as upon my flesh a tattoo formed of wings came into existence, the three command seals burning brightly of a vivid crimson light, proof of the contract between us. "The contract is sealed," I said in the end.
The pain then increased to the point where it was a blinding thing, something so horrifyingly excruciating that I had to question the sanity of putting such a thing on the back of the hand of a human being. Being branded by a hot rod would have perhaps been less painful, and yet that pain burned from my hand all the way through my nerves, forcing my breathing to an abrupt halt as white light shone from the top, a voice speaking in a tongue that I recognized, and that yet hurt to hear.
"With the Command Seals as proof, welcome to the Holy Grail War, Kagayaku Emiya. Rejoice, for whatever you wish, the holy Grail will bestow upon the winner. Thus fight, thus kill, thus...achieve your innermost desires."
"This...the Moon has decreed."
Chapter Three
I awoke in the school infirmary. By my side, I could hear softly spoken french words. As I heard them, my mind reeled. Something spun, deeply angered like a child forced out of its playpen, at the back of my mind. It coiled upon itself, a deeply forbidden knowledge that was both everything and nothing, a Schroedinger Gambit of unquestionable power, yet terrifyingly limited purpose. It was a thing that held no strength but that of misery, and no grace but that of utter annihilation.
It was more locked than the chastity of a pious nun, or a saint who swore off carnal love in exchange for praying for the souls of men lost in sin.
My brain twitched like a single muscle, countless thoughts intermingling with one another as jumbled memories mixed and formed a poisonous substance, a terrifyingly unclear identity, a potpourri of meaningless drivel.
"Ah," a soft voice spoke, "You have awoken." Sakura Mat-Tohsaka-My foster daughter-killed by my hands and yet saved by my words, possessed and not- looked at me with an apparently neutral gaze. She had no emotions betraying her, no signs that she recognized me, no ideas on whom I was. My mind was in pain, that much I accepted as truth. Then again, I suffered from regular migraines, and this was nothing.
"You got any paracetamol?" I ground out as I massaged my temples, "It's in the cupboard in the bathroom, Sakura. Unless Nero got to it first?" I whispered, shaking my head as the stray thoughts seemed to be caught by the angry snarling snake that rushed across my mind, gobbling up the words, the memories, and the knowledge, leaving behind only a blank state that was yet far more manageable than what had been before.
My words died in my throat, replaced by a stark and clear realization. The Snake that devoured its tail did its job, and thus my memories, as badly restored as they had been, ended up utterly annihilated back into non-existence. There was nothing of value lost within them. I merely wasn't them, or perhaps I was, but I had been poorly treated within this realm.
Yet the memories of this realm flowed back into me. A proper restoration happened by my own accord, the thoughts and patterns of this realm entering my thick skull even as Sakura kept her gaze on me, not a single emotion betraying her inner turmoil, if she ever had one at this point in time. The softly spoken words in French caught my attention next however, coming from my servant which I hadn't recognized, since my memories had been suppressed by the treacherous system of the Moon Cell.
Jeanne D'Arc stood in all of her splendor, her purity, and her seemingly innocent countryside outfit. She looked like a young girl from the countryside headed for the wonders of the big city, only to end up burned as a stripper in a dingy seedy bar. I blinked at my own metaphor, and at the parallels that my head drew. I honestly wasn't at my best if that was what I had come up with, though it did kind-of fit with her history, if one drew parallels to recraft the myth in modern times.
"Saber," I said, catching her attention as the last verse of a holy hymn finished leaving her mouth, "Why are you praying? I wasn't hurt that badly, was I?"
"I pray as is my duty to the Lord," Jeanne replied, "I will pray for your health too, if that is your desire."
"Rather than praying for my health, if you'll just do your best, we will win this without a fault," I answered calmly as I freed myself from the sheets of the infirmary's bed, standing up to face Sakura's uncaring face.
"Your memories have been restored, Master of the Holy Grail War," she spoke without accent, nor care. I reckoned that if I did something really gross like squeeze her chest, she wouldn't even react. Shinji had hacked her into believing they were brother and sister, but that had been the prologue of the story, and not the story itself. Here we were, on the first week of this new battle for the Holy Grail, and things seemed to be looking good.
Servant Jeanne was perhaps a great servant, especially in the Saber Class. Her magic resistance was on the Ex Rank, and that alone meant that any form of magic pretty much was meaningless against her. Her desires or handling was non-existent at best, and at most required but a few nods and softly spoken words. She was a fair maiden, and yet was more than capable of using treachery when the right time came. Honestly, she was a God-Sent. Perhaps it was like that, a message sent by the God of the Moon Cell towards me, telling me that indeed, I was destined to achieve victory.
Though her Noble Phantasm was a self-sacrificing thing, which meant she would never be able to use it less I die too, it didn't truly matter in the grand scope of things. Chipping away at an opponent's health with her sword, or her hidden lance, that would suffice.
"Thank you, Sakura," I said as I turned towards Jeanne. "Saber, would you mind going into astral form?"
Jeanne nodded, disappearing into thin air. I could still sense her presence nearby, a beacon of sunlight and purity in an ocean of turbulence. Sakura took a brief moment to hand me out a wrist-mounted device, some sort of intelligent watch that actually doubled as a Portable Terminal. There were no messages for me, though as I quickly tapped on it, I impulsively sent a message to Shiro's own email.
Shiro, are you all right?
I hit sent, and then closed the messaging application. If she saw and answered me, then I'd deal with it there and then. If she didn't, then all the better, because it meant I wouldn't have to break this whole thing just to save my little sister. If they had kidnapped her and forced her against her will to be a Master, then I would destroy everything in my path and shatter the very Moon.
I opened the door of the infirmary and stepped outside, my resolve firmly settled within my soul, only to come face to face with a couple of students who seemed to have left the infirmary at nearly the same time as me. I blinked. So it was an Instancing-like effect? To prevent spawn-killing, perhaps everyone had their infirmary separated from the rest at least at the beginning?
It made a strange amount of sense, because otherwise the first arrival with half a brain would just wait for the spawn and hit them before the system had the time to act. Though it felt incredibly cheesy, it still was a doable thing for clear-thinking and fast-acting assassins. My eyes glanced towards the far end of the hallway, where the figure of the rotten priest was glancing around with barely a worry on his face.
I neared him because he actually wasn't the rotten priest, otherwise I wouldn't have wasted the chance. He was just an NPC, an artificial intelligence of the Moon Cell. He was merely wearing the skin of the rotten priest, but had none of his soul, though he did share his mannerisms.
"Congratulations for being chosen as a Master of the Holy Grail War," he said with his calm and polite voice, which would have belonged to an emissary of God, had it not come from the throat of a monster in human form. The mere memories of his acts were enough to make my blood boil. Yet it was merely being angry at a picture, or a ghost of the real thing. It was petty, and meaningless. "You will be notified of your next opponent tomorrow, but the arena is already open for today should you wish to test your compatibility with your assigned servant."
Around me, I could see there were many identical faces. All of them belonged to Magus who had, however, been unable to alter their character's appearances from the default. This meant they wouldn't be a problem, unless they willfully did so to hide their abilities. A few were strangely dressed individuals.
Yet the rotten priest wasn't done with his words. "You have access to classroom 4C on the upper floor. It is your private room, and no other Master is allowed entrance without your explicit consent," Kirei Kotomine, for that was the rotten priest's name, spoke with care. "If you have any questions about the tournament, you have the right to ask them as a Master."
"How many rounds and how many contestants will there be?" I asked, for that was the question that pressed me the most to have an answer to. "And is it possible to have a list of them?"
"The list will be made known tomorrow. The total number of Master is one hundred and twenty-eight, and there will be a total of seven rounds, or seven weeks of time before the tournament is declared closed with a winner chosen through skill and mettle," Kirei spoke, "Only one may win and achieve the Holy Grail, all others shall be deleted."
"I know that," I sighed. I bid the program goodbye, heading up the stairs all the way to the privacy of the assigned classroom. The place itself had looked like a normal classroom once, but now white drapes seemed to cover the windows as the desks were instead set as an altar of sorts, a beautifully drawn crucifix etched with chalk on the blackboard, an altar of the greatness of God made with the humblest things possible, and yet divine in its inspiration.
This was a place where Saber, Jeanne D'Arc, Joan D'Arc, whatever name she would give, could pray to her heart's content and not risk being found out. She materialized near the altar, one of her knees down in prayer and her fingers tightly clenched together in the most earnest of ways. A fair pucelle, as the French would go about naming her, and yet once it was used to remark in an obsolete way the prostitute and the slut.
So ironic that the Pucelle of D'Orleans could be both maiden and prostitute, holy and unholy; De André's song on the Holy Love and the Profane One going hand in hand within the Rose Mouth's chanson was fitting in this circumstance, and hauntingly ironic to witness.
My arms crossed in front of my chest, I glanced at my Servant. I implicitly understood that if I did not stop her, she would recite all of the prayers she knew by heart, and that would take away all of the day in front of us.
"Saber," I said, "Apologies for interrupting your prayers," I continued gently, "But we must speak."
"I understand, master," Jeanne said, making the sign of the cross as she turned to demurely look up at me. "You wish to know of my abilities and skills, perhaps my true name, now that we are alone?"
I shook my head slowly, "That won't be necessary, oh fair maiden of D'Orleans," I whispered, "I would recognize you no matter the circumstances," I smiled. "Though I would have expected your banner rather than your blade."
Jeanne smile softly, "And here I thought I had hidden myself well. I wished to remain with my true name hidden, for in war is that not the best? My banner is easy to recognize, and once seen even the most ignorant of servants would recognize it as belonging to me. If it is master's wish for me to bring it forth, I will gladly do so."
I raised my right hand in a dismissive gesture, "It's better this way. I would have asked you to do the same, had you not done it yourself. I suppose you wish to win the Holy Grail War then?"
The fair maiden of D'Orlean smiled, and then shook her head. "No, not really. I do not have a wish for the Grail. My life, I lived without regrets of any kind, basked in the love of God. Yet if your wish is such, then I will fight to my best for you, master."
Truly, Jeanne was the epitome of the best girl. She really was a miracle servant.
I couldn't help but think that nothing, truly, could ever go wrong.
And in that moment, my wrist-mounted device beeped.
Brother? Where are you right now?
Very well, Moon Cell Holy Grail War. My task is clear. I will destroy you so utterly, they won't even find the scraps of you by the time I'll be done!
Chapter Four
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Four
I stared at the treacherous message in front of me, the carefully written words that betrayed the nervousness and worry of the sender. This was Shiro. She was unmistakably my sister, and she was within the Holy Grail War of the Moon Cell. For if she wasn't, then was the Moon Cell allowing communication between parties inside and outside it? Was that a possibility?
I'm at school in classroom 4C. What about you?
I waited with bated breath, a reply coming within mere seconds.
4C? Since when does our school have a fourth year, brother?
I bristled at the implication that I had let such an information glide, and then sighed. Well, this Shiro was apparently not in the Holy Moon Grail War. If she were, then she wouldn't have bothered with asking such a question. Perhaps this classroom hadn't been in the original plans, but since there had to be enough rooms for one hundred and twenty-eight masters, then new rooms had to be created.
If one considered the rooms going from A to C, and from one to three, then one had at most nine classrooms. There wouldn't be enough space to house all masters and their servants if such was the case. Even considering the chance that all classrooms had double sets of doors, and that each door lead one into a separate room, then there would still be at most eighteen rooms, and not one hundred and twenty eight. It was puzzling, but I reckoned that such was the way of life within the Moon Cell.
Still, one hundred and twenty-eight rooms meant that if there were at most three rooms per level, then a grand total of forty-three floors had to be added at the very least. Unless this was similar to an instancing protocol? Which meant that I stood within a realm that didn't house all masters, but only those that would be immediate adversaries, appearing and disappearing as time went by.
This made sense, but in that case, why bother adding a whole new floor?
Unless there was something special about this mysterious fourth floor, but if that was the case, then what was the gimmick that belonged to it?
My finger slipped, Shiro. I meant 3C. I'll be late coming back home today.
I gave a nod to Jeanne, who stood up and disappeared in thin air as I walked outside in the hallway, the students around me talking to one another about forming alliances, or being careful of people they knew of. Some even gave suggestions about how to best face other masters, since it was in their interests to see them die. I took the stairs up, the last floor being that of the rooftop.
There was no Rin Tohsaka standing on the rooftop. This definitely wasn't the school where the protagonist of Fate/Extra faced off his foes.
But then, why an extra floor?
I turned, ready to descend, and stopped abruptly. There was a figure on the rooftop, longingly gazing at the sky. Its eyes were cast from rubies, and its skin a flawless porcelain. Yet all I could call it was an it, a thing, for it was unearthly, unquestionably not-human, and definitely problematic. The eyes were crimson, but hidden by a mask of porcelain. That was why the skin felt to me like porcelain, for a mask was covering it.
It was more of a doll than an individual, more of a thing than a human being. It was a Servant. It was definitely, without doubt nor question, a servant. He wore clothes meant for a somber setting, not black as a funeral, but neither light like an everyday occurrence. There was an air to him, an air of surprise and yet a pressure, a pressure unlike any other. This was the kind of thing that when it spoke, you stopped by to listen.
Its right hand was already in the air, like a performer of the opera ready to sing the first tune. It stopped when it realized I was staring at it, and its eyes bore into me with a look of disgust and distaste, for I had dared interrupt and sully with my presence the grandeur that was only achievable in solitude. It disappeared, carried away by the wind. Not a word was spoken, not a word was shared.
Hauntingly as it had come, the strange servant disappeared.
"I cannot sense him nearby any longer, master," Saber spoke, remaining in thin air, her words a whisper to my ear. "Presence concealment is the sign of an Assassin."
"He was...strange," I muttered. "Still, let's go explore the Arena."
This time, nothing strange happened as I reached for the lower floors where the Arena was located. The doors to it slid open with ease, revealing a long hallway made of translucent energy with a Tron-like appearance.
Ask and ye shall receive,
Seek, and ye will find.
The walls were devoid and sparse of furniture, and while there was most certainly a theme to it, it was something hauntingly unfamiliar to my eyes. There were curtains of red, columns of white marble, long and ancient hallways, but that was it. This place gave me the creeps, as if there was an all-seeing eye fixed on the ceiling, witnessing my every move.
Jeanne manifested herself by my side, attentive and inquisitive of our surroundings. My steps echoed on the digital floor, hers in tandem with mine. Enemy programs were visible through the walls, walking alongside predetermined paths. They were half-cubes split and yet connected by a spring, and while they moved I couldn't help but be puzzled by their appearance, as well as their perceived levels of power.
This wasn't something meant to be tough; the programs were annoyances at best, however they had to be fought in order to reach the Cypher keys and access the arena to fight the enemy's servant. Something within me lurched, a blossoming sensation that something was wrong, and yet also awfully right. It was as my eyes glanced towards Jeanne's unworried form that I realized what the problem was.
"Saber," I said. "You're strong."
"Uhm...Master?" Jeanne turned to look at me, "Is there a reason for those words? Or is it just your nature to give praise?"
I shook my head. "No, I mean...you're strong. I'm comparing strength through my perception, so the enemies here are weak, while you are strong. I'm stating the obvious," I passed a hand through my hair. "I'm...I'm not used to being on the winning side to begin with. It usually invites disaster when it happens."
"Ah, I understand," Jeanne nodded. "It is the feeling of facing off superior enemies time and time again, defeating them, and then wondering if the same fate awaits you once the tide turns," she looked at me. "It is that sort of feeling, is it not, Master?"
"Yeah, exactly," I said with a small grimace. "Let's do our best, Saber."
"May the Lord watch over us," she replied with her sword in hand, rushing ahead with grace and elegance beyond that of a mere human. Her purple dress fluttered from her speed, her braid dancing like a hypnotic snake. Her armor glinted under the fake rays of a digital spotlight, and as her blade sliced neatly through the spring of the Klein-type enemies, I rushed behind her to keep the distance small. Though the attack programs were greater in number, and began to swarm towards her, she danced like a breath-taking ballerina amidst a stage set only for her.
If beauty could ever be pure and holy, then the Pucelle D'Orleans would incarnate it upon this stage set to test the arena, the bond between master and servant, and to deliver a holy proclamation of victory for them both. This was the strength of the Saber-Class Jeanne D'Arc, which was second to none, at least in my humble view. The spring-connected cubes exploded in pixels one after the other, leaving behind only a trail of glinting data that held absolutely no worth, and which was soon enough reabsorbed by the system.
This felt too good to be true.
There was no silly enemy too strong for us to fight on this floor, and while we explored it to our hearts' content, there wasn't any trace of the enemy servant, nor was there the Cypher key to begin with. Digital-like cubes floated about containing strings and bits of data that meant absolutely nothing, and which passed by me without a care in the world. Something was off, but I couldn't understand what it was.
"Master," Jeanne spoke in the end. "I had doubts before, but I think we are being watched," she turned towards me, drawing near to the point where I could see her lips thinning from sheer determination, one of her armored hands engulfing my shoulders as if I were the maiden to be protected. She lifted her blade up high, pointing at the ceiling from which I had felt something wrong too. "Reveal yourself! Face me properly, or not at all!"
The digital spotlights turned off abruptly. And in that moment, I understood.
This wasn't the first floor of the Arena.
This was a reality marble meant to imitate the first floor of the Arena.
As a certain Star Wars admiral would claim shocked and surprised, the answer was clear.
"It's a trap!"
The crimson curtains that decorated the walls began to rot and deteriorate as the marble columns covered themselves in moss. A haunting music played in the background, the start of an orchestra which was tuning itself, a matter of minutes before a song would begin, a song that definitively wouldn't be happy, nor filled with mirth.
And yet, even as I stood definitely in the middle of the enemy's servant trap, even as I knew that it was springing, I couldn't help but smile and laugh.
This was exactly as it was supposed to be.
Blindside me, lie to me, sucker-punch me.
What you call an ambush is to me merely a Monday morning.
I stared at the treacherous message in front of me, the carefully written words that betrayed the nervousness and worry of the sender. This was Shiro. She was unmistakably my sister, and she was within the Holy Grail War of the Moon Cell. For if she wasn't, then was the Moon Cell allowing communication between parties inside and outside it? Was that a possibility?
I'm at school in classroom 4C. What about you?
I waited with bated breath, a reply coming within mere seconds.
4C? Since when does our school have a fourth year, brother?
I bristled at the implication that I had let such an information glide, and then sighed. Well, this Shiro was apparently not in the Holy Moon Grail War. If she were, then she wouldn't have bothered with asking such a question. Perhaps this classroom hadn't been in the original plans, but since there had to be enough rooms for one hundred and twenty-eight masters, then new rooms had to be created.
If one considered the rooms going from A to C, and from one to three, then one had at most nine classrooms. There wouldn't be enough space to house all masters and their servants if such was the case. Even considering the chance that all classrooms had double sets of doors, and that each door lead one into a separate room, then there would still be at most eighteen rooms, and not one hundred and twenty eight. It was puzzling, but I reckoned that such was the way of life within the Moon Cell.
Still, one hundred and twenty-eight rooms meant that if there were at most three rooms per level, then a grand total of forty-three floors had to be added at the very least. Unless this was similar to an instancing protocol? Which meant that I stood within a realm that didn't house all masters, but only those that would be immediate adversaries, appearing and disappearing as time went by.
This made sense, but in that case, why bother adding a whole new floor?
Unless there was something special about this mysterious fourth floor, but if that was the case, then what was the gimmick that belonged to it?
My finger slipped, Shiro. I meant 3C. I'll be late coming back home today.
I gave a nod to Jeanne, who stood up and disappeared in thin air as I walked outside in the hallway, the students around me talking to one another about forming alliances, or being careful of people they knew of. Some even gave suggestions about how to best face other masters, since it was in their interests to see them die. I took the stairs up, the last floor being that of the rooftop.
There was no Rin Tohsaka standing on the rooftop. This definitely wasn't the school where the protagonist of Fate/Extra faced off his foes.
But then, why an extra floor?
I turned, ready to descend, and stopped abruptly. There was a figure on the rooftop, longingly gazing at the sky. Its eyes were cast from rubies, and its skin a flawless porcelain. Yet all I could call it was an it, a thing, for it was unearthly, unquestionably not-human, and definitely problematic. The eyes were crimson, but hidden by a mask of porcelain. That was why the skin felt to me like porcelain, for a mask was covering it.
It was more of a doll than an individual, more of a thing than a human being. It was a Servant. It was definitely, without doubt nor question, a servant. He wore clothes meant for a somber setting, not black as a funeral, but neither light like an everyday occurrence. There was an air to him, an air of surprise and yet a pressure, a pressure unlike any other. This was the kind of thing that when it spoke, you stopped by to listen.
Its right hand was already in the air, like a performer of the opera ready to sing the first tune. It stopped when it realized I was staring at it, and its eyes bore into me with a look of disgust and distaste, for I had dared interrupt and sully with my presence the grandeur that was only achievable in solitude. It disappeared, carried away by the wind. Not a word was spoken, not a word was shared.
Hauntingly as it had come, the strange servant disappeared.
"I cannot sense him nearby any longer, master," Saber spoke, remaining in thin air, her words a whisper to my ear. "Presence concealment is the sign of an Assassin."
"He was...strange," I muttered. "Still, let's go explore the Arena."
This time, nothing strange happened as I reached for the lower floors where the Arena was located. The doors to it slid open with ease, revealing a long hallway made of translucent energy with a Tron-like appearance.
Ask and ye shall receive,
Seek, and ye will find.
The walls were devoid and sparse of furniture, and while there was most certainly a theme to it, it was something hauntingly unfamiliar to my eyes. There were curtains of red, columns of white marble, long and ancient hallways, but that was it. This place gave me the creeps, as if there was an all-seeing eye fixed on the ceiling, witnessing my every move.
Jeanne manifested herself by my side, attentive and inquisitive of our surroundings. My steps echoed on the digital floor, hers in tandem with mine. Enemy programs were visible through the walls, walking alongside predetermined paths. They were half-cubes split and yet connected by a spring, and while they moved I couldn't help but be puzzled by their appearance, as well as their perceived levels of power.
This wasn't something meant to be tough; the programs were annoyances at best, however they had to be fought in order to reach the Cypher keys and access the arena to fight the enemy's servant. Something within me lurched, a blossoming sensation that something was wrong, and yet also awfully right. It was as my eyes glanced towards Jeanne's unworried form that I realized what the problem was.
"Saber," I said. "You're strong."
"Uhm...Master?" Jeanne turned to look at me, "Is there a reason for those words? Or is it just your nature to give praise?"
I shook my head. "No, I mean...you're strong. I'm comparing strength through my perception, so the enemies here are weak, while you are strong. I'm stating the obvious," I passed a hand through my hair. "I'm...I'm not used to being on the winning side to begin with. It usually invites disaster when it happens."
"Ah, I understand," Jeanne nodded. "It is the feeling of facing off superior enemies time and time again, defeating them, and then wondering if the same fate awaits you once the tide turns," she looked at me. "It is that sort of feeling, is it not, Master?"
"Yeah, exactly," I said with a small grimace. "Let's do our best, Saber."
"May the Lord watch over us," she replied with her sword in hand, rushing ahead with grace and elegance beyond that of a mere human. Her purple dress fluttered from her speed, her braid dancing like a hypnotic snake. Her armor glinted under the fake rays of a digital spotlight, and as her blade sliced neatly through the spring of the Klein-type enemies, I rushed behind her to keep the distance small. Though the attack programs were greater in number, and began to swarm towards her, she danced like a breath-taking ballerina amidst a stage set only for her.
If beauty could ever be pure and holy, then the Pucelle D'Orleans would incarnate it upon this stage set to test the arena, the bond between master and servant, and to deliver a holy proclamation of victory for them both. This was the strength of the Saber-Class Jeanne D'Arc, which was second to none, at least in my humble view. The spring-connected cubes exploded in pixels one after the other, leaving behind only a trail of glinting data that held absolutely no worth, and which was soon enough reabsorbed by the system.
This felt too good to be true.
There was no silly enemy too strong for us to fight on this floor, and while we explored it to our hearts' content, there wasn't any trace of the enemy servant, nor was there the Cypher key to begin with. Digital-like cubes floated about containing strings and bits of data that meant absolutely nothing, and which passed by me without a care in the world. Something was off, but I couldn't understand what it was.
"Master," Jeanne spoke in the end. "I had doubts before, but I think we are being watched," she turned towards me, drawing near to the point where I could see her lips thinning from sheer determination, one of her armored hands engulfing my shoulders as if I were the maiden to be protected. She lifted her blade up high, pointing at the ceiling from which I had felt something wrong too. "Reveal yourself! Face me properly, or not at all!"
The digital spotlights turned off abruptly. And in that moment, I understood.
This wasn't the first floor of the Arena.
This was a reality marble meant to imitate the first floor of the Arena.
As a certain Star Wars admiral would claim shocked and surprised, the answer was clear.
"It's a trap!"
The crimson curtains that decorated the walls began to rot and deteriorate as the marble columns covered themselves in moss. A haunting music played in the background, the start of an orchestra which was tuning itself, a matter of minutes before a song would begin, a song that definitively wouldn't be happy, nor filled with mirth.
And yet, even as I stood definitely in the middle of the enemy's servant trap, even as I knew that it was springing, I couldn't help but smile and laugh.
This was exactly as it was supposed to be.
Blindside me, lie to me, sucker-punch me.
What you call an ambush is to me merely a Monday morning.
Wishful Thinking
A Drop of Humanity For a Sea of Power
- Location
- USA
HELL. YES!!! I've been waiting for more Fate fics by you for a looong time. Thank you, and Godspeed.
Madou Sutegobana
Autocorrupt has been disabled.
- Location
- Twin Realms Mandala
Shade has moved on. He now has his eyes on Ruler.
Ruler is the worst waifu of all, yandere is trash-tier. Shade confirmed for 0 tastes in waifus even Nero is better, Alas we shall probably never see god tier berserker waifu.
Wishful Thinking
A Drop of Humanity For a Sea of Power
- Location
- USA
You must be mistaken good sir, Jeanne is one of the (if not just THE) best waifus in Fate series. Along with the likes of Nero, Mordred and a couple others.
P.S I also wanted to add Astolfo, buuut.....
Orion Zete
[verify weaboo]
- Location
- Malaysia
Shit shadenight
Why hell I read you story
Now I going all paranoid again
ALLRIGHT PEOPLE YOU KNOW THE DRILL
Check for invisible text,check every conner this shadenight we talking about
Btw
Is this sequel for you last fate stay night fic?
Why hell I read you story
Now I going all paranoid again
ALLRIGHT PEOPLE YOU KNOW THE DRILL
Check for invisible text,check every conner this shadenight we talking about
Btw
Is this sequel for you last fate stay night fic?
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
If you're referencing Kiyohime, that's one of the trio of routes for this fanfic. The other is Scheherazade, iirc.
- Location
- Finland
Been doing that with every story on this site, and so far, nothing to report, well, aside from the Servant hints.
- Location
- Elsewhere
Ahh...Fate Extra...my favorite version of Rock, Paper, Scissors...in all seriousness, this was the first piece of type moon media I consumed through to the end. I have a soft spot for it.
Last edited:
- Location
- Finland
The same, well, the same as in it's my favorite rock-paper-scissors, and it's the first Fate/ Game I played.
Chapter Five
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Five
The true shape of the Arena welcomed me in all of its grisly and gory show. The programs that lurked beneath the facade weren't as weak as those I had perceived. They were no match for Saber, but their weakness wasn't due to some strange, lingering fake mask put over them. At the same time, we were still at the mercy of this reality marble, though it couldn't last for long, all things considered.
Saber's blade came up faster than I could see to block an incoming Klein-type enemy, this one fast enough to actually be beyond my skills to face. It spun, agitated and it ferociously lurched back only to spin faster upon itself, circling to Jeanne's flank for another attack. Though the light around us was diminishing, Jeanne herself emitted a faint amount of light, her own body a beacon of safety in an ocean of encroaching darkness.
"We must find the exit of this place," I said with a snap, lighting up my portable terminal. "I guess this is the kind of thing that a hacker could deal with easily," I mumbled. I knew there were the so-called Code_Casts, or Code-Casts, or whatever strange name they had, which replaced magecraft. Yet to my fingers which traced the wall's sides, all that came into my head were the concepts of reinforcement and destruction, of death and birth, the eternal, never-ending cycle that saw no beginning and would see no end.
Tiny streaks of green light sailed across the walls, pushing themselves across countless lines of code too foreign for my mind to comprehend, through binary information and vast amounts of data to reach, in the end, a conclusion. There was a weakness in the program, a hole in the code, a theater did need an exit, a stage exit right, a signal to mark the end of the play.
A theater.
"I got you," I snapped as I opened my eyes, Saber's blade an inch away from my face as most of it was dug into the cube-like form of a Klein-creature. "I got us a path out, Saber."
"Good for us, Master," Jeanne replied calmly, easily moving the blade away as the remains of the program died, and yet became glittering bits and pieces of data which sailed forth to enter my terminal, like the digital currency they would come to represent. It truly was a game-like thing, this world. Though it didn't follow the rules of rock, paper and scissors, it still went terrifyingly close to it.
My steps carried us through a sludge-filled terrain made of filth, of broken programs that acted in such a way as to slow us down and through a truly infernal amount of galleries that made no sense, both geometrically and figuratively. The exit was however there, and as I spread open the doors we emerged on the other side of the Arena, the spot behind us disappearing in a shower of pixels as the Reality Marble came less.
I exhaled, closing the doors behind us and then propping my back against the wall near it.
"We're out," Jeanne said, disappearing into thin air, yet remaining by my side. Eventually, after what felt like a few hours, but was at most thirty minutes, two figures emerged from the doors of the arena. It was the porcelain-masked servant, coupled with a pudgy-looking woman that I had never seen before. Either my memories were playing games with me, or it was pretty clear that I wouldn't be facing any known masters until the next round, or the one after that yet. It made sense, since this was an elimination tournament, that I would face unknown masters eventually, but...but judging by how quickly they moved, shouldn't I have found myself fighting against a known one from the get-go?
No, not really. There were sixty-four couples of fighters on the first round. If I ended up being at the top, and the protagonist at the bottom, then we wouldn't meet until the finals. This meant something obvious. Leo was on my side of the tournament bracket. If I was lucky, I'd face him last. If I was unlucky, I'd face him next.
The pudgy woman's haughty appearance made me glance at her only briefly, such was her average shape that I couldn't help but understand why she hadn't made it past the preliminaries, unless she had fallen to Leo? Perhaps such average shape hid a true and mighty power.
Saber, prepare yourself to defend me.
"Oh, you must be the master I'm meant to defeat," the woman said with a soft, mirthful voice. It didn't reek of arrogance, though her face predictably made it feel as such. Was she one of those failed protagonists, or perhaps had she some warped senses of value, some bizarre reasons for this war, or was she instead just seeking some personal desires? "It's little use trying to hide who I am, since I am the fabled Carlotta..."
I raised an eyebrow. "Carlotta...who?"
"Well, having an enemy who's a barbarian might be the best in this circumstance," the pudgy woman replied, "I guess that knowing your opponent is still a valuable thing even when you're pretty much outclassed under all shapes and forms."
"I'm wondering whether I'm the barbarian, or perhaps you're just someone who's putting up airs without reasons," I quipped back, rubbing my chin in thought, "Perhaps you're one of those fading starlets? A dying trout who splashes a bit before going still?"
The pudgy woman glared, and this glare had true heat behind it. It was a nerve the one I had touched. It fit, somehow, with the image of her servant. Servants were the ones most compatible, so it pretty much meant that if her servant had ties to a theater, abandoned as it may be, then so too did the master need something similar to it.
"Witless critics never scared me," she huffed, lifting her chin. "You'd better spend your last days making peace with your harlot."
My eyebrows both rose at the same time, as a feeling akin to pure anger blossomed in my chest. It was a strange feeling, but while I wouldn't have normally batted an eyelid, all for the sake of the game, the mere mentioning of someone as pure as Joan being considered a harlot made my blood boil. It had to be a skill or something belonging to my servant, of that much I was sure.
"At least she's not a pig trudging on two varicose-filled legs with enough lard on her to feed a whole country," I blithely spoke back, "her career has just begun, yours has beached just like the whales you resemble."
The reaction was unmistakable. Her servant had been quiet throughout the exchange, though his eyes had kept drilling holes into me. The moment my words had left my mouth, he struck. Well, he had tried to strike. His glove-covered fingers had come an inch away from my face before Saber's blade had intercepted them, sending sparks to fly in the air as something hard was hidden beneath them. Without a doubt, this servant's weapon were his fists, or fingers, or anything hidden beneath those gloves. The moment his attack had come, and had been parried, the SE.RA.PH system came online with blasting crimson lights and alerts shaking my vision.
Differently from the arena, where fighting would be stopped after a few rounds, a fight within the realm of the dormitories incurred in an immediate rank down penalty.
"Christine," he angrily spoke, "Is the star of the show," he added even as the system finished punishing him, his eyes angry and hard. I faced them without batting an eyelid, Saber now materialized fully by my side even as nearby, other masters came to look and take notes. "She will shine brighter than all other stars!"
His voice was melodious, his determination clear.
His strength that of a servant, but his true might remained in his voice. He was someone of fame, who had ties with the theater, and wore a mask. Someone who loved a certain Christine and, yet again, I found it truly ironic how even in this sort of things, the creator of the franchise couldn't help but give his own spin to the events.
"Hello there, Phantom of the Opera," I said with a small smile. "Your play has ended, I'm afraid. The stage is closed, the lights are gone. Your theater burns, and you have died. Erik is dead...so says the press."
Somewhere in the back of my head, I imagined the telltale sound of the Servant Matrix lighting up to final rank.
The pudgy woman's face turned puce-like in color.
Goodbye, random face of no worth nor value.
Death awaits you, and unfortunately, I don't care.
I must protect Shiro's smile above all else.
The true shape of the Arena welcomed me in all of its grisly and gory show. The programs that lurked beneath the facade weren't as weak as those I had perceived. They were no match for Saber, but their weakness wasn't due to some strange, lingering fake mask put over them. At the same time, we were still at the mercy of this reality marble, though it couldn't last for long, all things considered.
Saber's blade came up faster than I could see to block an incoming Klein-type enemy, this one fast enough to actually be beyond my skills to face. It spun, agitated and it ferociously lurched back only to spin faster upon itself, circling to Jeanne's flank for another attack. Though the light around us was diminishing, Jeanne herself emitted a faint amount of light, her own body a beacon of safety in an ocean of encroaching darkness.
"We must find the exit of this place," I said with a snap, lighting up my portable terminal. "I guess this is the kind of thing that a hacker could deal with easily," I mumbled. I knew there were the so-called Code_Casts, or Code-Casts, or whatever strange name they had, which replaced magecraft. Yet to my fingers which traced the wall's sides, all that came into my head were the concepts of reinforcement and destruction, of death and birth, the eternal, never-ending cycle that saw no beginning and would see no end.
Tiny streaks of green light sailed across the walls, pushing themselves across countless lines of code too foreign for my mind to comprehend, through binary information and vast amounts of data to reach, in the end, a conclusion. There was a weakness in the program, a hole in the code, a theater did need an exit, a stage exit right, a signal to mark the end of the play.
A theater.
"I got you," I snapped as I opened my eyes, Saber's blade an inch away from my face as most of it was dug into the cube-like form of a Klein-creature. "I got us a path out, Saber."
"Good for us, Master," Jeanne replied calmly, easily moving the blade away as the remains of the program died, and yet became glittering bits and pieces of data which sailed forth to enter my terminal, like the digital currency they would come to represent. It truly was a game-like thing, this world. Though it didn't follow the rules of rock, paper and scissors, it still went terrifyingly close to it.
My steps carried us through a sludge-filled terrain made of filth, of broken programs that acted in such a way as to slow us down and through a truly infernal amount of galleries that made no sense, both geometrically and figuratively. The exit was however there, and as I spread open the doors we emerged on the other side of the Arena, the spot behind us disappearing in a shower of pixels as the Reality Marble came less.
I exhaled, closing the doors behind us and then propping my back against the wall near it.
"We're out," Jeanne said, disappearing into thin air, yet remaining by my side. Eventually, after what felt like a few hours, but was at most thirty minutes, two figures emerged from the doors of the arena. It was the porcelain-masked servant, coupled with a pudgy-looking woman that I had never seen before. Either my memories were playing games with me, or it was pretty clear that I wouldn't be facing any known masters until the next round, or the one after that yet. It made sense, since this was an elimination tournament, that I would face unknown masters eventually, but...but judging by how quickly they moved, shouldn't I have found myself fighting against a known one from the get-go?
No, not really. There were sixty-four couples of fighters on the first round. If I ended up being at the top, and the protagonist at the bottom, then we wouldn't meet until the finals. This meant something obvious. Leo was on my side of the tournament bracket. If I was lucky, I'd face him last. If I was unlucky, I'd face him next.
The pudgy woman's haughty appearance made me glance at her only briefly, such was her average shape that I couldn't help but understand why she hadn't made it past the preliminaries, unless she had fallen to Leo? Perhaps such average shape hid a true and mighty power.
Saber, prepare yourself to defend me.
"Oh, you must be the master I'm meant to defeat," the woman said with a soft, mirthful voice. It didn't reek of arrogance, though her face predictably made it feel as such. Was she one of those failed protagonists, or perhaps had she some warped senses of value, some bizarre reasons for this war, or was she instead just seeking some personal desires? "It's little use trying to hide who I am, since I am the fabled Carlotta..."
I raised an eyebrow. "Carlotta...who?"
"Well, having an enemy who's a barbarian might be the best in this circumstance," the pudgy woman replied, "I guess that knowing your opponent is still a valuable thing even when you're pretty much outclassed under all shapes and forms."
"I'm wondering whether I'm the barbarian, or perhaps you're just someone who's putting up airs without reasons," I quipped back, rubbing my chin in thought, "Perhaps you're one of those fading starlets? A dying trout who splashes a bit before going still?"
The pudgy woman glared, and this glare had true heat behind it. It was a nerve the one I had touched. It fit, somehow, with the image of her servant. Servants were the ones most compatible, so it pretty much meant that if her servant had ties to a theater, abandoned as it may be, then so too did the master need something similar to it.
"Witless critics never scared me," she huffed, lifting her chin. "You'd better spend your last days making peace with your harlot."
My eyebrows both rose at the same time, as a feeling akin to pure anger blossomed in my chest. It was a strange feeling, but while I wouldn't have normally batted an eyelid, all for the sake of the game, the mere mentioning of someone as pure as Joan being considered a harlot made my blood boil. It had to be a skill or something belonging to my servant, of that much I was sure.
"At least she's not a pig trudging on two varicose-filled legs with enough lard on her to feed a whole country," I blithely spoke back, "her career has just begun, yours has beached just like the whales you resemble."
The reaction was unmistakable. Her servant had been quiet throughout the exchange, though his eyes had kept drilling holes into me. The moment my words had left my mouth, he struck. Well, he had tried to strike. His glove-covered fingers had come an inch away from my face before Saber's blade had intercepted them, sending sparks to fly in the air as something hard was hidden beneath them. Without a doubt, this servant's weapon were his fists, or fingers, or anything hidden beneath those gloves. The moment his attack had come, and had been parried, the SE.RA.PH system came online with blasting crimson lights and alerts shaking my vision.
Differently from the arena, where fighting would be stopped after a few rounds, a fight within the realm of the dormitories incurred in an immediate rank down penalty.
"Christine," he angrily spoke, "Is the star of the show," he added even as the system finished punishing him, his eyes angry and hard. I faced them without batting an eyelid, Saber now materialized fully by my side even as nearby, other masters came to look and take notes. "She will shine brighter than all other stars!"
His voice was melodious, his determination clear.
His strength that of a servant, but his true might remained in his voice. He was someone of fame, who had ties with the theater, and wore a mask. Someone who loved a certain Christine and, yet again, I found it truly ironic how even in this sort of things, the creator of the franchise couldn't help but give his own spin to the events.
"Hello there, Phantom of the Opera," I said with a small smile. "Your play has ended, I'm afraid. The stage is closed, the lights are gone. Your theater burns, and you have died. Erik is dead...so says the press."
Somewhere in the back of my head, I imagined the telltale sound of the Servant Matrix lighting up to final rank.
The pudgy woman's face turned puce-like in color.
Goodbye, random face of no worth nor value.
Death awaits you, and unfortunately, I don't care.
I must protect Shiro's smile above all else.
- Location
- Finland
Well, I know what Servant we're fighting.
As does Kagayaku, well, GG PotO, no hard feelings.
The face when a two star assassin thinks they can get passed a 4-5 star saber lol.
- Location
- Finland
I don't know about you, but I get this face.
- Location
- Tunisia
With his meta knowledge it would be kinda embarrassing if he didn't figure out most servants early on.
Though I imagine a few people would call HAX, I don't think he cares as long as he gets out of the moon cell and to Shiro.
Though I imagine a few people would call HAX, I don't think he cares as long as he gets out of the moon cell and to Shiro.
Ryven Razgriz
I need a Gun and I'll let you know 'What's up?'.
- Location
- South East Asia
He really did it! The absolute madman!
Zerith
Meltryllis is love, she is life.
- Location
- Earth
You know, I don't know if it's just me but Kaga seems too cocky. Is there a reason that I missed for this occurrence? I'm not familiar with this particular branch of Fate so this knew territory for me, is there a setting reason for it? Pls don't hurt me too much for my lack of knowledge ;-;
SkyCrack
Hanging by a thread
- Location
- Little Red Dot
Just to confirm, we will eventually get all 3 routes roght? I really need more fics with Kiyo in em, partly cuz shes one of best girls, partly because im curious how you will show her fight. Fireballs and no melee seem really out of place for a berserker, as shown in fgo.
Mizu
Software Developer
- Location
- Victoria, Australia
In the /Extra videogame, the protag went about learning about their foes weaknesses, and used them to take advantage of foes in battle - although this was just a gameplay 'lower their health/attack/reveal their rock-paper-scissors cards' thing. In a reality version of /Extra, or indeed any HGW, knowing who your opponent's Servant is and thus their historical weaknesses is really helpful.
So it's understandable Shade's cocky about figuring out the Phantom's identity here.
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- Location
- Elsewhere
GilliamYaeger
M'crazy.
It also lets you work out what tricks they've got up their sleeve, which renders tricksy-sneaky Servants that can't win in a straight up fight, Servants like the Phantom, somewhat toothless because you can guess what abilities they've got hidden up their sleeve and how to counter them before the fight even begins. Without his tricks and traps, Erik is right fucked against even a mediocre beatstick Servant.
Honestly our first victim has already revealed how amateurish she is by not even trying to hide Erik's identity... though I suppose she tried to kill our protagonist BECAUSE he saw Erik on the roof. I'll give her points for the quick and decisive coverup attempt, but the first thing she should have done when she got free time was to conceal that mask in some way. Cover his head in bandages, replace it with a Hotline Miami style animal mask...however, I suppose her pride as an opera star would have prevented her from taking an action like that?
Chapter Six
- Location
- https://discord.gg/z9tBvbh
Chapter Six
I walked back and forth within the privacy of the classroom. "We have a problem," I said in the end. Jeanne's form, knelt in prayer at her altar, turned her head to look at me. "It's the reality marble," I quipped, glancing at her eyes firmly set on mine. "The master isn't that great of a person, but the servant's marble crafts a labyrinthine projection that can't be ripped off. If he keeps it up all week, he can superimpose his theater of the opera to the real arena, and prevent us from taking the two cypher keys we need. I don't have any code cast abilities, so...I can only find the exit, but if the exit is the same as that of the arena...we won't win this match."
Jeanne remained silent for a bit, mulling over my thoughts before shaking her head in the end. "Unfair as such a trick it may be, I do not believe that to be the case, Master. The servant's might isn't that great to allow such a thing to endure for so long without an external source of power. My belief is that for such a thing to occur, Command Seals need to be used. She may perhaps flaunt her chances at victory by denying us, but know that to be a lie. She may not keep such a thing up for long. Even if we end upon a stage, it will be a brief happenstance."
I thoughtfully stroked my chin, and then nodded. "It felt like we spent hours in that place, but maybe only minutes went by? Going to a theater play usually does distort one's sense of time, I guess." I neared the window, both of my hands crossed behind my back as I straightened my spine. "Or we could burn down the theater. Though a reality marble is a world by itself and follows its own rules."
Jeanne shook her head meaningfully, "It cannot be a true reality marble, merely a fake one. Perhaps that is the true might of such a servant; it crafts a stage for others to set on, such as to give an aspect of his world to others. That's as far as I would be willing to consider our foe's power. He is no Caster, nor is there anything in his master to show great power or hidden mysteries."
"A part of his noble phantasm then," I hummed. "Never fully activated, but yet altering the realm of the arena all the same."
Ruler nodded, "Indeed, that would be the most apt answer," she quietly glanced at the altar near which she was knelt, and then folded her hands on her lap, sitting with her back against it. "I would like to ask, should we find any holy item of faith, to bring them back here. I feel the Moon Cell would oblige us during our trips in the arena, if you were to actively look for them as a Master. I, being a Servant, have no say on this important matter concerning the soul." She appeared kind of displeased at that, as if the lack of holy instruments of faith was a truly jarring prospect for the likes of her.
Then again, she was the fairest and purest of maidens of the Christian faith. When a fat, potbelly priest eats roast and truffles and asks for gold to dress up his church, one might naturally be inclined to disagree. Saber was none of those things. If she wanted her crosses and holy bibles, then she would have her implements of faith.
"Very well," I nodded. "I'll do my best to find them."
She smiled, a smile of candor and purity the likes of which would make even the most hardened of hearts beat. "Thank you, my Master."
You have NerMordKar-No One.
A sharp feeling slammed into my brain. A hot poker of molten iron, a bloody mass of pummeling concrete, it felt like those things had decided to drum into my skull, bypassing the bone and hitting straight for the softest parts. Jeanne's eyes didn't miss my flinching, or my hiss of pain as I brought my knuckles to my teeth, biting down on them as the blinding pain soon passed, soft hisses of anger and agony rushing across the back of my head, the ever-spinning serpent angered by something, definitely feeling as if a poacher had come upon the prized lands of its lord to steal the bounties.
That strange feeling aside, Jeanne was staring at me still. The question at the top of her lips, and yet not pronounced for she expected me to speak up. I didn't at first, simply shaking my head as I felt the weight of the pain recede, the agony disappear.
"I suffer from migraines, blinding ones at that," I answered in the end. "Seems like even in this digital world, physical ailments such as this remain."
Jeanne nodded, and then glanced around. "Master," she said in the end, "Though this room is meant for resting, there isn't a proper bed to begin with. Though the altar might look more comfortable than the rest due to the cloth upon it, if you were to avoid using it I will find a suitable substitute."
"I might not regularly go to church, but I'd never do something as crude as trample upon another person's faith just because I want somewhere comfy to sleep," I replied, "Who do you even take me for?"
Jeanne looked at me, and then opened her mouth to speak, "Kagayaku Emiya, the unpredictable spiteful monster born of humanity's sins."
Not a fly buzzing could be heard between us, or a pin drop on the floor. My breathing stopped, while hers remained candidly unchanged, as if she had merely said something so obvious even the most dumb of trolls would acknowledge as truth without second-guessing it.
I stared at her, inclined my head to the side, and then chuckled nervously, "What? Where's it even written, in my character designation or something? Why does that sound chuuni? Why is that my description? I'm not going to argue on the unpredictable, or the spiteful, but monster born of humanity's sins is too much don't you believe?" as I spoke and my voice rose slightly in pitch, Jeanne daintily shrugged her shoulders. Hers wasn't an accusation, merely a statement.
"That is what was told to me, and that is why I chose to answer your call. Compatibility aside, I sought to save the soul of a fellow Christian from eternal damnation in hell. You should not worry about having a wrong designation. I was, after all, branded a witch and burned to the stake. Is that not something that we have in common?" as she spoke primly, as if stating something obvious, she somehow ended up feeling cute. It was a strange thing. One would argue that 'cuteness' couldn't be felt, but in this case, that was a lie. It was perhaps the innocence with which she spoke. The kindness, or the purity that held no traces of condescension, or spite.
She would probably be capable of walking up to Hitler at the cusp of his election as Fuhrer, politely tell him to keep trying as a painter, and inspire him to become the most beloved pacifist-loving painter of the world. This was the sort of Charisma that Jeanne had, and I couldn't help but be captivated by it. Certainly, if she told me to go fight the enemy servant in her place, I would gladly put my body in front of hers, though my mind would scream at the sheer impossibility of being helpful.
I took a small breath, and then decided to sit down with my legs crossed and my back against the wall. "Fine," I said in the end, "I am no match for the kindness of spirit of the fair maiden of D'Orleans," I closed my eyes, exhaling one last time. "See you tomorrow, Saber."
"May the Lord watch over your dreams, Master," Jeanne replied simply, her whispered prayers becoming the lullaby by which I fell asleep.
The next day, I awoke covered by the softest of silks. It was such a soft bed sheet that it made me feel sad for having tarnished it. My eyes too a moment to adjust, and as they did I realized what the softness was all about. It was Jeanne's banner, which used as a bed sheet of sorts covered me and her beneath it. As a Servant, a digital one at that too, she shouldn't have had a need for sleep. All things said, neither should I.
My stomach growled however, though food wasn't truly needed, it was apparently clear that the cafeteria wouldn't be just for show, or for buying off clothes and healing items.
The most pressing thing though were two round things, which were pressing all the more against my arm. The sensation was dulled by cloth, but there was no doubt they would feel divine if the mere sensation was already electrifying me beyond belief.
I was a gentleman, however, and did not do impure things.
Impure thoughts, unfortunately, could not be stopped.
Thankfully, there was no thought police.
I walked back and forth within the privacy of the classroom. "We have a problem," I said in the end. Jeanne's form, knelt in prayer at her altar, turned her head to look at me. "It's the reality marble," I quipped, glancing at her eyes firmly set on mine. "The master isn't that great of a person, but the servant's marble crafts a labyrinthine projection that can't be ripped off. If he keeps it up all week, he can superimpose his theater of the opera to the real arena, and prevent us from taking the two cypher keys we need. I don't have any code cast abilities, so...I can only find the exit, but if the exit is the same as that of the arena...we won't win this match."
Jeanne remained silent for a bit, mulling over my thoughts before shaking her head in the end. "Unfair as such a trick it may be, I do not believe that to be the case, Master. The servant's might isn't that great to allow such a thing to endure for so long without an external source of power. My belief is that for such a thing to occur, Command Seals need to be used. She may perhaps flaunt her chances at victory by denying us, but know that to be a lie. She may not keep such a thing up for long. Even if we end upon a stage, it will be a brief happenstance."
I thoughtfully stroked my chin, and then nodded. "It felt like we spent hours in that place, but maybe only minutes went by? Going to a theater play usually does distort one's sense of time, I guess." I neared the window, both of my hands crossed behind my back as I straightened my spine. "Or we could burn down the theater. Though a reality marble is a world by itself and follows its own rules."
Jeanne shook her head meaningfully, "It cannot be a true reality marble, merely a fake one. Perhaps that is the true might of such a servant; it crafts a stage for others to set on, such as to give an aspect of his world to others. That's as far as I would be willing to consider our foe's power. He is no Caster, nor is there anything in his master to show great power or hidden mysteries."
"A part of his noble phantasm then," I hummed. "Never fully activated, but yet altering the realm of the arena all the same."
Ruler nodded, "Indeed, that would be the most apt answer," she quietly glanced at the altar near which she was knelt, and then folded her hands on her lap, sitting with her back against it. "I would like to ask, should we find any holy item of faith, to bring them back here. I feel the Moon Cell would oblige us during our trips in the arena, if you were to actively look for them as a Master. I, being a Servant, have no say on this important matter concerning the soul." She appeared kind of displeased at that, as if the lack of holy instruments of faith was a truly jarring prospect for the likes of her.
Then again, she was the fairest and purest of maidens of the Christian faith. When a fat, potbelly priest eats roast and truffles and asks for gold to dress up his church, one might naturally be inclined to disagree. Saber was none of those things. If she wanted her crosses and holy bibles, then she would have her implements of faith.
"Very well," I nodded. "I'll do my best to find them."
She smiled, a smile of candor and purity the likes of which would make even the most hardened of hearts beat. "Thank you, my Master."
You have NerMordKar-No One.
A sharp feeling slammed into my brain. A hot poker of molten iron, a bloody mass of pummeling concrete, it felt like those things had decided to drum into my skull, bypassing the bone and hitting straight for the softest parts. Jeanne's eyes didn't miss my flinching, or my hiss of pain as I brought my knuckles to my teeth, biting down on them as the blinding pain soon passed, soft hisses of anger and agony rushing across the back of my head, the ever-spinning serpent angered by something, definitely feeling as if a poacher had come upon the prized lands of its lord to steal the bounties.
That strange feeling aside, Jeanne was staring at me still. The question at the top of her lips, and yet not pronounced for she expected me to speak up. I didn't at first, simply shaking my head as I felt the weight of the pain recede, the agony disappear.
"I suffer from migraines, blinding ones at that," I answered in the end. "Seems like even in this digital world, physical ailments such as this remain."
Jeanne nodded, and then glanced around. "Master," she said in the end, "Though this room is meant for resting, there isn't a proper bed to begin with. Though the altar might look more comfortable than the rest due to the cloth upon it, if you were to avoid using it I will find a suitable substitute."
"I might not regularly go to church, but I'd never do something as crude as trample upon another person's faith just because I want somewhere comfy to sleep," I replied, "Who do you even take me for?"
Jeanne looked at me, and then opened her mouth to speak, "Kagayaku Emiya, the unpredictable spiteful monster born of humanity's sins."
Not a fly buzzing could be heard between us, or a pin drop on the floor. My breathing stopped, while hers remained candidly unchanged, as if she had merely said something so obvious even the most dumb of trolls would acknowledge as truth without second-guessing it.
I stared at her, inclined my head to the side, and then chuckled nervously, "What? Where's it even written, in my character designation or something? Why does that sound chuuni? Why is that my description? I'm not going to argue on the unpredictable, or the spiteful, but monster born of humanity's sins is too much don't you believe?" as I spoke and my voice rose slightly in pitch, Jeanne daintily shrugged her shoulders. Hers wasn't an accusation, merely a statement.
"That is what was told to me, and that is why I chose to answer your call. Compatibility aside, I sought to save the soul of a fellow Christian from eternal damnation in hell. You should not worry about having a wrong designation. I was, after all, branded a witch and burned to the stake. Is that not something that we have in common?" as she spoke primly, as if stating something obvious, she somehow ended up feeling cute. It was a strange thing. One would argue that 'cuteness' couldn't be felt, but in this case, that was a lie. It was perhaps the innocence with which she spoke. The kindness, or the purity that held no traces of condescension, or spite.
She would probably be capable of walking up to Hitler at the cusp of his election as Fuhrer, politely tell him to keep trying as a painter, and inspire him to become the most beloved pacifist-loving painter of the world. This was the sort of Charisma that Jeanne had, and I couldn't help but be captivated by it. Certainly, if she told me to go fight the enemy servant in her place, I would gladly put my body in front of hers, though my mind would scream at the sheer impossibility of being helpful.
I took a small breath, and then decided to sit down with my legs crossed and my back against the wall. "Fine," I said in the end, "I am no match for the kindness of spirit of the fair maiden of D'Orleans," I closed my eyes, exhaling one last time. "See you tomorrow, Saber."
"May the Lord watch over your dreams, Master," Jeanne replied simply, her whispered prayers becoming the lullaby by which I fell asleep.
The next day, I awoke covered by the softest of silks. It was such a soft bed sheet that it made me feel sad for having tarnished it. My eyes too a moment to adjust, and as they did I realized what the softness was all about. It was Jeanne's banner, which used as a bed sheet of sorts covered me and her beneath it. As a Servant, a digital one at that too, she shouldn't have had a need for sleep. All things said, neither should I.
My stomach growled however, though food wasn't truly needed, it was apparently clear that the cafeteria wouldn't be just for show, or for buying off clothes and healing items.
The most pressing thing though were two round things, which were pressing all the more against my arm. The sensation was dulled by cloth, but there was no doubt they would feel divine if the mere sensation was already electrifying me beyond belief.
I was a gentleman, however, and did not do impure things.
Impure thoughts, unfortunately, could not be stopped.
Thankfully, there was no thought police.
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