Fate/Clusterfuck (Fate/Stay Night)

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2F54SPGOKhs

[It was a girl with an eyepatch, she looked mauled]
She seemed surprised to see you.

Thanks to @Armoury for the beta!

—

It was a woman, a young woman, but a woman nevertheless. She was shorter than you were, with hair the color of wheat. She was dressed smartly, or had been once. In a black suit, stocks, boots, and an amulet tied around her left wrist covered in runes you had no practice in understanding. The attempted effect of looking like a smart-dressed… almost certainly Magus was lessened by the fact that she was bruised and dishevelled. Blood trickled down from her hairline, staining a black eyepatch she was wearing over her right eye. The cause for her injury, if you had to guess, was the numerous golems littering the floor, smash, ruined, destroyed.

The sound of scraping metal draws your attention to the side, where a man was withdrawing a blade out of the crushed chest of a golem. He was a large man, a full two heads taller than you, dressed in armor glinting brilliantly in the light provided by the open door. His sword, equally gigantic, is held lazily in a single hand as he stares at you all with a thick beard that takes up nearly half of his face made up of curly brown hair. His expression, unlike the woman's, is rather jovial, and he raises a single hand in a friendly wave at odds with the amount of destruction around him.

"You… are… masters?" the woman asks, her tone tinged by disbelief.

"Not really. I'm a rather poor Magus." Your eyes shift to the rest of the room. What had apparently been a rather nice entrance at one point was now covered in blood, soot, and the remains of golems. "Never thought I'd see the Clock Tower." You shift your focus back to the woman, you were tired, despite your rest. And when you were tired, your inner voice became your outer voice despite how much you may like it otherwise. "But yes, we all… or almost all of us have servants."

"And you're… alive?" the woman asks, her voice is a haunted thing, tinged with a British accent. It's too formal for the situation, but then… that's how most foreigners speak it anyway.

"Do I look like a ghost to you?" Ayako asks. She steps forward, cat-ears twitching atop her head. "You don't look like the bad guy… but then all you servants and magicians are fucking runway models anyway."

"I'm…" The woman starts, then stops, biting her lip. "I am Ophelia, human, can I ask… why are you all here? I thought all the masters of this war would be… dead."

"Quite a few are girl," Circe replies. "Though some have taken issue with the goings on in the city."

"We're in an alliance to deal with whatever dropped this tower in the middle of the city." You say. "Are you guarding this place?"

Ophelia shakes her head. She opens her mouth, clearly wanting to say something, then thinks better of it and closes her eyes, thinking. "I…" She swallows. "I. Escaped the Clock Tower in England, and I came here hoping to find people to help deal with this. I instead found the tower here, and I thought I was already too late."

"It is providence I would say," the man in armor speaks for the first time, his voice deep, and rather jovial sounding. "To see so many willing to stand up against this evil." He grins, it is a warm, comforting thing coming from the giant of a man. "Never thought you Magus had it in you."

Ritsuka hasn't really moved since you entered, in fact, neither she nor shielder seem to be doing much of anything, the both of them in shock. Which, given what you know of them, means this is someone they met before. It's not a negative reaction at least, Ritsuka just looks somewhat surprised.

You turn your head slightly, but only slightly. "Trustworthy?" you ask.

Ritsuka's eyes flit to you, and she schools her expression into careful neutrality. She looks back, placing a hand on her hip. "Does the name Kirschtaria mean anything to you?"

Ophelia… looks rather confused. "I… believe he is working… or worked in the Astromancy department? Are you looking for him?"

Ritsuka shakes her head, then looks at you. "She's fine."

"We can trust her," Shielder adds, the woman smiling gently.

You look to Medea. She gives you an expression that reads. 'You dig your own grave.'

… Good enough, especially from Shielder, you could count the amount of times you had heard her speak on one hand. You look back towards Ophelia, then take a step forward. "I'm Shirou Emiya, Magus. Unwilling participant in the Grail War." You gesture a hand to the side. "These are my allies, and we're going to be killing whoever put this tower in the middle of the city. You're welcome to come with, but first, what's up there?" You raise a finger, pointing directly above you."

Ophelia stares at you for a few moments, apparently processing some things. Then she speaks, when she does, it's cold, confident. It seems her hesitance goes away when speaking facts, but then, Magus. "I don't truly know."

Technically a fact you suppose.

"There is a servant named Oberon."

"Yeah we know about him," Taiga replies. "But what can we expect to run into?"

Ophelia looks to your guardian. "He has an entire team of servants of his own, and masters under his thrall. I don't know any of their identities."

"And you were meant to be one." Caster says.

"Indeed she was," the man replies. "This man, this Oberon, he offers fine gifts. But those who take it, it does not end well for them. My Master here," he looks at Ophelia and smiles. "She thought better of it, and escaped rather daringly from the tower once things got rather out of control.

"There are six servants, all rather nasty sorts I must say." Then his grin gets a bit wider. "Shall we get started?"

You suppose you didn't need much more information than that at the moment, and frankly, you didn't expect to get any when you entered here. You had expected a fight. "Alright then. Let's get started." You say, then begin walking down the hall.

—

This place had been beautiful once, you could tell, and in ways, it still was. The hallway was fine marble, polished so meticulously it reflected your group like a mirror. Plush, red carpeting cushioned your steps on the floor, and the windows… well, they overlooked a city aflame, only hazily visible through the choking plumes of smoke. But if one ignored that, one noticed the intricately carved decorations, the gilding, the portraits of past Magus. It was a place with a sense of authority and history, an air of significance and power. But now… an ominous weight hung over everything in ways you couldn't fully understand. The shadows were deeper, the carpet was stained deeper red in places that could only be from blood. The marble was cracked, distorting you reflections, and the portraits seemed to watch your every move. The Clock Tower was an amazing place, once.

Now the only thing that remained was the scent of blood, sulfur and death. With a sense of unease dug into you with every step. But you continue, until… as you walk through an open doorway, you are elsewhere. An outdoor garden, seemingly infinite in either direction underneath an azure sky. The garden, perhaps 'field' would be a better descriptor, was a verdant field decorated by beautifully maintained flowers. The space was impossible, for it had no ending, it was impossible, as the sky was unclouded by smoke. It was impossible, but then, it was the Clock Tower.

You stop just beyond the threshold, for after a good ten minutes of walking… you bear witness to someone other than Ophelia for the first time. A woman, sitting on a white wooden chair. She cut a rather imposing figure, blonde hair going down to her ankles, trailing behind her to rest in the grass. She wore a veil of thin black cloth over her face, too thin to seemingly cover anything yet revealing nothing of her face all the same, and she was wearing a black and blue dress that was cut to reveal the entirety of her stomach and the top of her breasts, revealing red marks of magical intent, though of what form, you could not say. She sits there, relaxed, her hands on her lap. With a man standing just beside her.

The man had none of her regality. Pants, a shirt, and white hair. He stood, partially hunched over just to her left. He was staring at her, unblinking, a dopey, vacant smile on his face. He looked to be perhaps a bit older than you, though with the hunch and his expression, it was rather hard to say.

—


View: https://youtu.be/vwyyqspGza8?si=kOw9LIUSF-KKaL1l

—

"... Kadoc." Ophelia murmurs.

The man's name you presume, he doesn't stir, he doesn't blink. He stands like a statue, staring down at the woman with an adoring smile on his face. It's a genuine thing, not fake, not put on. It's filled with sincere, insane adoration. Perhaps he doesn't blink, he doesn't move, because if he does he would miss something.

The woman stares at you all impassively, her face partially hidden by a veil, but the ice-blue smile is quite visible in any case.

"Morgan." Circe says, causing every head to turn to her. She steps forward, bowing her head slightly.

The woman moves, but only barely, a slight tilt of the head. "Are we acquainted?" Her voice is like silk, smooth and deep.

"No," Circe replies, "But I knew your great-great-great-great-grandmother, a rather stubborn woman, cruel to her husband and unpleasant besides."

The woman shifts slightly in her chair, one hand moving to rest on a leg, the veil moving to reveal a green eye for but a moment. A wind from nowhere crosses the garden, it's cold, nearly freezing. You don't react to it, you don't remove your eyes from the servant, you don't dare to do so. Mordred stirs next to you, armor plates shifting, she's staring, focused on the woman sitting upon the chair, and she says something, very quietly.

"Mo…ther…"

She takes a step forward, then another. Flowers crush underneath boot as she moves closer, and closer. Morgan, turns her attention towards your berserker, and smiles. "Mordred, my…" Her head tilts down slightly, perhaps to focus on the glowing hole in Mordred's stomach. "Daughter, yes… come here. It's going to be alright."

Mordred stops abruptly, her breathing heavy underneath her helmet. Her hands move, shaking, clutching at her stomach. With a wet squelch fresh blood falls from the gaping wound, landing on and standing the flowers around her. "Mother."

"Modr-" Morgan begins.

"MotHeR." Mordred growls. Her voice distorted and wrong. Then she tilts her head back, hands flinging themselves to the side as she screams a sound of wordless rage into the sky. Then she's gone, her blade held at her side, charging forward. You take a step forward, you try to do something even as your ears ring. But then the world breaks.

With the sound of shattering glass the garden of flowers fades away, the serene atmosphere dies. You are in what looks to be a grand theatre, wide and tall, with a balcony at the far end that Morgan stands upon with Kadoc beside her. Her hand rests upon its edge, a staff in her other hand. She overlooks you all like a queen might a kingdom, the theater itself was a large stone thing, perhaps at one point it was a surgical gallery, perhaps it was a lecture hall. What it was, in truth, was large.

Then there's a new sound, a dry cracking sound like ice breaking upon contact with hot water. The doors at the far end of the room open slowly, mist pouring out of the blackness of the hall. Then it emerges. A head of flayed red flesh floated into the room, it was the size of a corner store and was… draconic. Ghostly lines trailed behind it, shifting with every movement, every moment. Sometimes they silhouette more of a body, a lone sinewy neck, shoulders. Other times they trail behind like ligaments of flesh, broken and jagged. The scent of sulfur and death follows it as it fully emerges into the room, a wisp of black, oily smoke pouring out the edges of its closed lips.

It was… dead. A single eye stared at you, unblinking, milky white, and the majority of its flesh was missing, revealing bone underneath. But it radiated energy, the walls warped around it, paint peeled off, stone cracked, it leaked magical energy like a sieve as the smoke began to grow in intensity. Out of the eye socket was nothing but a burning blue flame that drew your gaze to it no matter how you tried to fight it.

Then the sound of crashing stone, as Mordred. Who had been sent flying with the sound of the cracking. Went flying into the wall violently.

Morgan smiled.

"Being a watchman is beneath my station, but I welcome you all nevertheless." The woman spoke down, she was a good two hundred feet away or more, but her voice sounded like it was right next to your ear.

"Yeah? Why don't you come down here and fight us properly?" Ayako calls up to the woman, it's an attempt to sound brave, an attempt. Ayako doesn't really manage.

"What has she done to Albion?" Ophelia says, her voice shaking.

Morgan's smile grew. Then the dragon roared, and chaos erupted.

—

People can, and will die based upon your actions going forward. They always could, just this is now the boss rush.

You trusted your servants, you trusted your friends. You knew what everyone was capable of and you knew that giving orders would simply add to more chaos barring your two servants. You couldn't plan this like you did in the church, you were walking into a situation where you knew nothing. So it was up to you simply, what you, Mordred, and Medea would focus on.

[] [The Dragon]

[] [Morgan]

[] Write-in]

—

One command seal remains for Mordred, two for Medea.

Present-

Taiga, with Mata Hari
Sakura, with Archer
Shirou, with Medea, Circe (Not a servant), and Mordred
Ayako, with Ruby
Fujimaru, with Shielder, Shadow Servants, and Luke
Ophelia, with an unknown Saber.
Illya, with Rider.

Taiga has backup… maybe, and Illya is plotting something, though Shirou is unaware as to what exactly. Ruler is currently out for the count but may return, he bought time so this would be delayed.