If you aren't sure whether you cleared all the hard-coded stuff you can always copy-paste it into notepad and then copy-paste it onto the site, that will stomp over practically ALL formatting. Just remember to run through it again to make sure it didn't stomp over any hard-coding you actually wanted.
Fate/Desiderantes Affectibus (Fate/Zero & PMMM Cross)
- Thread starter Rowan Seven
- Start date
Chapter 6 - Can You Make Me a Promise?
- Location
- Zurvan, the Sea of Dreams
Title: Fate/Desiderantes Affectibus
Author: Rowan Seven
Teaser: A doomed master summons an equally tragic servant in the Fourth Holy Grail War. Together, can they change fate or will their journeys once again end in sorrow? Pre-Rebellion.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: This story contains spoilers for both series. The Fate franchise belongs to Type-Moon. Puella Magi Madoka Magica belongs to Studio Shaft and Aniplex. This story is a work of fanfiction written for fun. I make no claims to either series.
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Chapter Six – Can You Make Me a Promise?
Saber materialized inside the Einzbern castle in a flash of golden light and suppressed an angry curse at being forced to abandon her allies on the battlefield. Such honorless conduct went against everything the King of Knights stood for! Still, with her master behind her and his command to strike down his enemy ringing inviolate in her mind, Saber put aside her chagrin and immediately stepped forward into the damaged hallway filled with illusions of Kayneth Archibald and his fluidic mystic code. She narrowed her green eyes as she took a second step, assessing each and every possible target in a single instant as she readied her sword for combat. And then she sprang into action.
Whoosh!-Swish!-Whoosh!-Swish!-Swish!
Excalibur flashed as the air it sliced through shrieked cacophonously. Once, twice, thrice, and a dozen times more the Sword of Promised Victory rose and fell, effortlessly cutting apart every false apparition that stood between the King of Knights and her target as she raced down the hallway. There was no mistaking the expression of absolute terror on the true Kayneth's face as the blonde knight neared and raised her holy blade to deliver a final, fatal blow, but Volumen Hydragyrum—moving nearly as fast—reconsolidated in its metallic entirety and rose up to protect its master with all the considerable defensive strength the mystic code could project.
It wasn't enough. Volumen Hydragyrum may have been one of the finest mystic codes of magecraft's modern era and the epitome of fluidic magecraft, but the Sword of Promised Victory was a divine weapon forged by fairies and crystallized from mankind's wishes. Volumen Hydragyrum didn't stand a chance against such a creation, and Excalibur sliced through the mystic code with the effortlessness of a hot knife through butter. Kayneth's prized mystic code barely slowed the holy sword by a fraction of a second before it broke apart and collapsed into a pile of inert mercury...but that miniscule delay provided just enough time for Lancer to finish his own materialization. With an impossible speed only made reality by his master's urgent command to protect him, the Irish knight thrust Gae Buidhe up to stop Excalibur. Sparks flew as the two magic weapons collided a scant few inches from the terrified magus's neck, and the two servants exchanged a sorrowful look.
"I have been commanded to kill your master, and you have been commanded to defend him," Saber stated quietly, her green eyes apologetic. "These commands are irreconcilable."
Lancer nodded his head mournfully. His Eye of the Mind skill gave him peerless insight into battles, but he did not need it to know how this encounter must end.
"And while we fight, our ally battles Caster and the madman's army alone," he continued somberly as his orange eyes briefly glanced in the forest's direction. He sighed. "With things as they are now, there is only one way to return to the battlefield and aid her."
The King of Knights abruptly disengaged from her opponent and stepped back. Quickly, she released her two-handed grip on her sword to offer the Irish Knight a respectful salute with her left hand before she returned it to the holy blade's hilt.
"Then do not hold back, Lancer. For Berserker's sake, do not hold back," Saber beseeched him. "The longer this duel continues, the less time the victor will have to rescue our ally. Fight well and with honor, First Warrior of the Knights of Fianna."
"And you as well, Arturia Pendragon, the once and future King of Britain," Lancer answered in kind as he raised his two legendary spears in preparation for battle. "This isn't the duel I wished for, but fighting you...is and always will be an unrivaled honor."
Regal green eyes gazed into seasoned orange and communicated everything the Servants of the Sword and Spear needed to know. There was no enmity or reluctance when they both rushed forward in the very next instant on the same unspoken cue and attacked with all their skill, speed, and strength. There was only regret that this battle could not be under better, nobler circumstances, without an ally's life at stake in a desperate race against the clock. Because for Berserker, Saber and Lancer both knew, time was running out.
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Swish!-Swish!-Swish!-Whoosh!
The battlefield lit up in a typhoon of blue steel and magic as the sounds of a roaring ocean and screeching violin drowned out all other noise. A second later, all was crimson and agonized alien screams instead as an azure streak surged and zigzagged madly about with twin cutlasses out, dashing apart over a dozen water demons so quickly their deaths appeared nearly instantaneous. Blood and gore splashed everywhere, adding another layer of coagulating ichor to the already cruor-stained ground as the rushing wave of swords crested and petered out, disgorging an exhausted and frantic-eyed Sayaka. For a brief moment she stood alone, hands clenched with superhuman strength around the hilts of her cutlasses, panting heavily like a wild animal, and surrounded on all sides by monstrous corpses. And then, those corpses twitched and fermented in the throes of inhuman regeneration as dozens more of Caster's eldritch minions hissed from further back and scuttled forward through the slaughter. Sayaka's short respite was over, and as she watched the horde descend on her something in her bright, ocean-blue eyes darkened.
~Hey...is this world even worth protecting?~
The corners of Sayaka's mouth lifted in an intimation of a savage smile as she drew upon greater reserves of power to strengthen her body. Then, as the first wave of her enemies came within striking distance, she swung her arms out to her sides and spun like a whirlpool, the edges of her cutlasses limned in blue light that traced their rapid rotation. Blood sprayed and tentacles fell, but the eldritch legion continued their frenzied advance, pressing in against their quarry and each other as they clambered forward, heedless of pain, injury, and death.
A second away from being overwhelmed, Sayaka abruptly changed tactics and lunged forward, impaling the nearest water demon with the cutlass in her left hand and then using her superhuman strength to lift the alien beast into the air. Turning, she viciously smashed the skewered monster against the nearest of its brethren, reversed herself to repeat the blunt, savage attack, and then hurled both beast and blade at the next enemy as she cavorted under and around grasping tentacles into the small space she'd just cleared. She tapped her free hand against the ground, and a stockade of swords materialized up out of the earth behind her, momentarily shielding her from one direction as she focused on the others. However, the moment passed even faster than Sayaka had feared it would. The blockade buckled and broke under the teeming mass pressing against it, and the demonic legion surged forward from all around her and even from above as over a dozen launched themselves into the air with their tentacles and then descended upon her like nightmares falling from the night sky. Sayaka had time to chuckle once, the sound wry and crooked, and then the eldritch legion finally swept over her.
~What have I been fighting for all this time?~
Skin tore and bones broke as the closest water demons tackled her, smashing her into the ground and grappling her body with their tentacles. They lifted her up like an offering to a dark god and pulled as more of them clambered over each other and on top of her, burying Sayaka from above and below in a pyramid of alien anatomy. Crushed by their weight, lacerated by their tentacles, and choking on her own blood, Sayaka remained doggedly defiant even as her vision filled entirely with red. Twisting and contorting her mangled but unbroken body, she forced herself lower until she managed to place a single foot on the ground. A blue spell circle immediately flared into existence, shimmering and shrieking with dozens of violin twills.
Zin!
The alien ziggurat burst apart as a physically restored Sayaka shot up into the air like a geyser, dragging half a dozen water demons latched onto her body behind her like a nightmarish comet's tail. She raised her left hand, and a second spell circle appeared above her, stopping her ascent. A cutlass materialized in her right hand, and she spun, slashing apart her would-be captors as momentum carried them past her. Then, both spell circles flashed and detonated, and Sayaka returned to earth with the force of a falling star. Agonized eldritch screams resounded throughout the forest as Sayaka crashed into the ranks of the otherworldly horde and summoned a second sword to resume her desperate offensive. She would not—could not—stop. If she paused for even a single moment the water demons would overwhelm her. All she could do was kill. Kill. KILL.
~Tell me.~
"Yes, that's it! Fight! Rend! Maim! Tear!" Caster shouted crazily, offering encouragement to friend and foe alike as new water demons spawned from the slain and rushed to join the frenzy. Outnumbered by more than one hundred to one, Berserker had to know that her battle was hopeless, but the blue-haired girl defiantly fought on in a futile, gory spectacle. And to Gilles de Rais's insane eyes, every moment was absolutely beautiful.
~You, right now.~
The demented servant applauded as Berserker slashed apart another water demon, dashed through its body as the two halves fell apart, and cleaved another as she came out the other side coated in crimson blood. His bulging black eyes widened further in appreciation as he observed every detail of the vicious battle, and his crazed grin grew until it nearly split his face. He could see the sanctimonious righteousness in Berserker's azure eyes dim as vengeful fury and bloodlust took its place. He could see her rationality and humanity degrade as she descended into the savage mindset of a cornered, angry beast. Soon, there would be no difference between the monster slayer and the monsters she fought, and Caster hungered for that moment. For an artist like him, Berserker succumbing fully to her madness was a masterpiece in the making!
~Tell me.~
...Still, something wasn't quite right. Caster was a veteran soldier who had fought on the bloody battlefields of the Hundred Years' War, and with his attention obsessively fixated on the Servant of Madness he could tell there was something off about the way she fought. He wouldn't have noticed it normally, but with her receiving and recovering from so many injuries in rapid succession it slowly became clear to him. She wasn't reacting to pain at all and, stranger yet, fought as if her injuries made no difference to her! It was as though her mind was completely detached from her body, immune to whatever damage it suffered and controlling it like a puppet. That wasn't how servants functioned, though, and it didn't make sense unless—
~Or else, I'll...~
A thought occurred to the Servant of the Spell, and he focused on the darkening hue of the gem on Berserker's midriff with new scrutiny. Prelati's Spellbook opened and turned to a page seemingly of its own accord in his hands, and Caster looked down at the blasphemous text and chanted the words to the identification spell the arcane tome showed him. And then he smiled horrifically in understanding. So that was it! That was Berserker's secret! What a terrible, heretical, sinful, wonderful thing!
Caster laughed madly, ecstatic beyond words, as the battle continued in front of him and the demonic corpses surrounding Berserker grew ever greater. He no longer cared about defeating her and having his minions feast on her body. This battle was no longer about that. Instead, he wanted to see her lovely, beautiful, heroic soul sink into the depths of darkness and corruption until its noble light was utterly replaced by blackness. He wanted to see her fall so far and so fully that not even God could rescue her! He wanted her to become so monstrous and defiled that his love would finally—finally!—acknowledge the ugly truth of this world and turn her back on the cruel deity who had abandoned her!
Just you wait, Jeanne!, Caster thought with demented devotion. I'll make you see the truth even if I have to murder every soul in this city! It will be my gift to you—I promise!—so, please, wait for me until then! It's only a matter of time now...
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Inside the Einzbern castle, Lord Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald was beyond furious. Kiritsugu had insulted and shamed him—him, a Lord of the Clock Tower!—and defamed the proud traditions of magecraft with his abominable conduct. The damned, infuriating, ignominious idiot! Didn't the fool understand that the Clock Tower's protocols existed for a reason? That without the standards and principles that had been carefully crafted and refined over centuries of study and practice, the whole world of mages would backslide into degenerate chaos and unenlightened hedge wizardry? This battle was no longer about avenging his honor or adding a tale of martial prowess to his many illustrious accomplishments; no, now it was a public service! He'd remove Kiritsugu Emiya's blight on the world of magecraft with such extreme prejudice that the example of his folly would be heeded for generations!
The blond magus's left shoulder throbbed, interrupting his mental tirade and evincing a wince. Frustrated at both the reminder of his injury by a mundane bullet and the failure of his hastily applied healing magecraft to fully cure the wound, Kayneth narrowed his green eyes and took stock of the battlefield. The hallway he and Kiritsugu shared with the two servants they commanded was festooned with gaping holes, sword slashes, and spear marks. Had the Einzbern not enhanced the structure with magic, Kayneth had little doubt that the floor and ceiling would have both caved in by now.
Meanwhile, seemingly heedless of the damage they were causing and only a few yards in front him, Lancer and Saber fought with such swiftness even Kayneth's magically reinforced eyes couldn't follow their movements. The clanging of their weapons striking each other was nearly deafening, and both had inflicted several superficial wounds on the other. His servant was performing adequately and seemed to possess a slight advantage with his dual weapons and faster speed, but the enclosed space of the hallway constrained his movements.
Most vexing of all in Kayneth's mind, though, was Kiritsugu's continued existence as he stood several yards behind his own servant and calmly watched the battle with impunity, his face an expressionless mask as he intermittently aimed small arms fire at Kayneth. Lancer easily stopped the ammunition from reaching his master, but deflecting ordnance was a distraction the Irish knight could ill afford while fighting Saber. Kayneth's own attempts to annihilate the Magus Killer with spells had even less effect as Saber loyally interposed herself and let her damnably high magic resistance snuff them all out. So long as the Servants of the Sword and the Spear fought in front of them, he and Kiritsugu might as well not even be here.
Hmm...Well, that could be changed easily enough.
Lancer, drive Saber away when I give the word. This began as a duel between mages, and it will end as a duel between mages when I remind Emiya how a true magus fights, Kayneth ordered as he contemplated how best to perform the long overdue deed. Volumen Hydragyrum, his finest mystic code, was too damaged—Damn Emiya!—to reactivate and would take weeks to repair, and Mysinor's Eye needed time to recharge. He still possessed several more Mystic Codes and knew many more spells with combat applications, but he'd need a new defense to counter the Magus Killer's disgusting choice of weapons. Perhaps it was time to utilize Mage Armor of the Sorcerer King? The mystic code's operating costs were exorbitant—an ounce of gold for every attack it blocked—but it was his best alternative to Volumen Hydragyrum and—
My lord, are you sure that's prudent?, Lancer thought back cautioningly. I commend your desire for an honorable duel with your enemy, but Emiya neither deserves nor is entitled to such courtesy. Let me, instead, defeat Saber in front of your eyes and kill her master for you to prove that you are the superior magus by having summoned the superior servant!
Don't question my orders, Lancer!, Kayneth retorted harshly, irritated at the interruption of his thoughts and this backtalk from his own servant. You are a servant, and your only purpose is to obey your master! Besides, after your tawdry performance last night at the docks, I have more confidence in my ability to defeat Emiya than I do in yours to destroy Saber in a timely manner. This isn't some fanciful bard's tale for fame-seeking heroes. This is a war between magi, and it is long past time that all the masters were reminded of this. Or do you doubt the power of your sworn lord?
No, never!, Lancer answered immediately with the unwaveringly blind loyalty that earned him Kayneth's contempt and caused the Association lord to question his servant's motives. Anyone that dutiful, Kayneth believed, truly was nothing more than a familiar bound to its master's will or was hiding ambitions of his own, and considering how enamored Sola-Ui had become of Lancer...Kayneth wouldn't be surprised if the Irish knight wanted to defeat both Saber and the Magus Killer to impress his fiancée and deprive him of the prestige of victory. That was something Kayneth's pride would not allow.
Then do as your master commands, Lancer. When I give the order, push Saber back so I can fight Emiya without interference. Or will that be too difficult for you?, Kayneth mentally sneered, knowing from the silence that followed that he'd browbeat his servant into obedience. Satisfied, he returned his full attention to the battle and watched for more than a minute as Lancer and Saber continued their high-speed clash. Lancer, despite his many boasts about his skill, would need time to set this up, and Kayneth wanted to have all his own actions planned out in advance to deprive the Magus Killer of any further opportunities to surprise him. Finally, the blond mage sensed that everything was ready, and he prepared to give the mental command—
—Only to come up short in surprise as the Magus Killer suddenly turned, ran down the hallway, and disappeared behind a corner.
Blast it!, Kayneth cursed as his fists clenched angrily and his eyebrows furrowed. Only his sense of dignity prevented him from yelling obscenities, and, with great effort, he mastered his seething fury. Rash actions were beneath a magus of his standing, and this was the Magus Killer's own home. Running after him without a plan would be absolute folly. No, if he wanted to defeat the Magus Killer—and right now that desire ranked even higher in Lord El-Melloi's mind than disciplining his treacherous student—he needed to outthink the damnable gnat and utilize his own strengths rather than play to his enemy's.
Lancer, your task just become simpler. Keep Saber here while I track down and eliminate Emiya. I will not tolerate her interference again, so don't fail me!
Lancer remained silent, which was as good as agreement in Kayneth's mind, and the Association lord turned and walked down his end of the corridor. The sounds of Lancer and Saber's duel behind him echoed loudly as he disappeared around the bend of the first corner and, maintaining a calm, confident pace, continued deeper into the mansion. As he walked he reached into one of his overcoat's pockets and pulled out a gold pocket compass bound by an iron chain. Holding the navigational instrument in front of him, he pressed down on the top button to spring open the lid. Instantly, hundreds of tiny motes of white light billowed up from the compass face and aggregated into a shimmering globe half a meter in diameter.
"Find Kiritsugu Emiya," Kayneth ordered tersely, and the lights lingered just long enough to retrieve the mental image of their quarry from the blond magus's memories before shooting apart in all possible directions. The lights passed through every solid object in their paths without resistance, and Kayneth smiled thinly in satisfaction at his own craftsmanship. The motes were proto-spirits, evoked and bound for the single purpose of seeking, and it would not take them long to locate the Magus Killer. And when they did...
Kayneth's smile widened vindictively, and he began to quietly intone several arcane verses. When they did find him, Kiritsugu Emiya would finally regret his folly.
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Kiritsugu Emiya raced down the hallways of the Einzbern mansion, the ends of his black trench coat flaring out behind him as he pressed his left index finger against the earbud in his corresponding ear and listened intently to Maiya as she relayed Kayneth's present location. Volumen Hydragyrum had already been this way and rendered his traps useless, so he could focus fully on running and getting into his desired position before his enemy caught up to him. The Magus Killer had no doubts that Kayneth would find him quickly. The man was too prepared not to have a few tracking spells ready outside Volumen Hydragyrum's own abilities, and, although Kiritsugu could take countermeasures, his current plan depended on him being found.
The hunted can also be the hunter, he thought dispassionately, remembering a piece of advice his teacher and the woman who'd been like a second mother to him, Natalia Kaminski, had shared long before her untimely death at his own hands. Using oneself as bait was merely another tactic to be employed when appropriate, and if Kayneth had been cleverer he'd have done the same by remaining inside the Hyatt while sending Lancer and Berserker to harass him. Instead, the mage had abandoned the defensive stronghold of his magic atelier and come to him, putting himself at unnecessary risk merely for the sake of pride. Such behavior disgusted Kiritsugu, and he briefly wondered if El-Melloi had even considered the possibility that he might die tonight.
"Kiritsugu, be careful. El-Melloi has activated another mystic code. It looks like a ball of lights and—They're searching for you right now, and El-Melloi is casting a new spell."
The Magus Killer nodded as he rounded another corner and stopped in front of a wall bearing a portrait of Irisviel's father and the current head of the Einzbern family, Jubstacheit von Einzbern. The painting was exquisite; Kiritsugu could almost feel the bearded old man's stern gaze peer directly at him, evaluating him and weighing his worth. He was not looking forward to meeting those cold eyes again after the war was over, knowing that he'd see approval in them for sacrificing his wife and uncertain if he could restrain himself from lashing out, even for Illya's sake. At least he wouldn't have to put up with this portrait for much longer.
Kiritsugu turned away when a stream of white lights flew out of the wall behind him. Facing the glowing motes, he noted that they brightened and slowed as they neared him before stopping entirely and fluttering radiantly. He didn't need to hear Maiya's warning to anticipate what was coming next.
"Time Alter, Double Accel."
BWOOOOOOM!!!
The only thing that saved the Magus Killer from ionization by lightning was his preemptive lunge to the side before the massive arc of electricity left Kayneth's hands and blasted through half a dozen rooms and hallways. The lightning bolt missed him by mere inches but still scorched his back as it continued past him, smashed through Jubstacheit's portrait and the wall it was hanging on, and careened into the next room...which happened to be on fire and contain a flame salamander battling an avian thread golem.
"RAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!"
The elemental's scream of agony was loud enough that Kiritsugu instinctively raised his hands to cover his ears. He then ducked and rolled as the room behind him exploded in a giant fireball. The hallway was the next to go as the giant blossom of flame spread, and the Magus Killer pulled out his Calico as he ran through the new, lightning-forged corridor directly at his target. Kayneth's face was a rictus of rage at the destruction of yet another mystic code, but his lips continued moving as he chanted quiet words of power. Kiritsugu fired, and purple, hexagonal barriers materialized one yard in front of the Association lord to block each and every bullet. Having confirmed that this was the true Lord El-Melloi and not another illusion, the Magus Killer discarded his submachine gun and reached for his Thompson Contender—
"Sanguinis, derigesco! Aqua, conglacio!"
El-Melloi struck first with his spell, and Kiritsugu reeled as the water in his blood suddenly froze, transforming into ice crystals that punctured his blood vessels, mangled his internal organs, and starved his body of oxygen. Still, he stubbornly continued reaching for his Thompson Contender, blocking out the pain as his hand disappeared inside his coat. He just needed one more second—
BOOOOSH!!!
The heat and flames behind him finally caught up and lashed into his back, sending him tumbling. His right hand remained inside his coat, and he felt his fingers close around the rifle's handle as the floor beneath him began to give way. Kayneth solved that problem for him as he finished chanting another spell and slammed both hands, palm down, onto the wooden floor in front of him. Spears of ice instantly shot up beside, behind, and through the Magus Killer, impaling his body on half a dozen deadly lances and forming an impromptu wall against the fireball's remaining force.
"Disgraceful idiot," he heard Kayneth comment contemptuously as his vision began to go dark. "This is completely lacking in elegance, but at least there's a fitting irony in blood magic ultimately doing you in, the heir of a five generation bloodline who abandoned his heritage. It'll make a good moral when I write this chapter in my memoir."
There was the sound of footsteps as the Association lord turned away and raised the hand with his two remaining command seals in front of his face. That was the last thing Kiritsugu saw before his eyes closed, and then—
Time stretched on as Kiritsugu and Irisviel held each other inside the Einzbern mansion, anchoring one another and cherishing these moments as only those who knew such moments would be among their last could. Kiritsugu wanted nothing more than to remain in his wife's loving embrace forever—Grail War and the rest of mankind be damned!—but he knew his duty. After sacrificing so many lives to save others, he could not walk away when he finally had the opportunity to eliminate all strife forever, no matter what it cost him. Reluctantly, he let go of his wife and rose to stand. Irisviel's arms, however, lingered around his chest as she pressed her face against his back.
"Kiri, can you make me a promise before you fight Lord El-Melloi tonight?"
Kiritsugu looked down at his wife's arms and placed his hands over hers affectionately, but his expression was troubled. "I can't promise anything. There are no guarantees in war...but I'll do what I can for you."
"Ah, my love, I do appreciate your honesty," she spoke softly. "So let me reciprocate. I want you to take Avalon with you tonight. You'll need it more than me."
Startled by the request, Kiritsugu turned to face his wife. "Iri...no. You are more valuable to the war—to me—than anything else, and everything will have been meaningless if you die before...before..." He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it.
"Hush," his wife murmured comfortingly. "It'll be all right. I'm your wife, and it's my job to take care of you. You will carry Avalon with you tonight for your safety, and once you've defeated Lord El-Melloi you will return it to me. It's as simple as that, and I won't take no for an answer. I want you to live, Kiri. The Grail War means nothing to me if your wish isn't the one I grant, so don't take unnecessary risks to keep me safe. We either win this war together, or we ensure no one does."
—Kiritsugu's eyes snapped open again as the healing magic of Avalon, the mystic sheath of the holy sword Excalibur, coursed through his body, stabilizing him and keeping him alive despite the daggers of ice impaling his body. Kayneth was facing away from him, communicating with his servant and proclaiming his victory, and the Magus Killer felt a cold smile grace his lined features at the premature announcement.
"Lancer, I've dealt with Saber's master. Defeat her now, if you can, or endure for a few more minutes. Victory will be yours either way thanks to me."
"You...still talk too much," Kiritsugu rasped, and Kayneth immediately turned at the sound of his enemy's voice, his green eyes wide in shock and disbelief.
"How? There's no way you can still be alive! It's—"
Kayneth didn't have time to finish as a reformed avian thread golem suddenly smashed through the ice wall and knocked the Magus Killer free from the frozen lances piercing his body. Kiritsugu was sent sprawling to the ground as the metal golem continued its flight and dove straight for the Association lord. Kayneth was too stunned to do anything else except defend, and Irisviel's alchemical creation crashed into the purple hexagonal barrier of the blond magus's mystic code. Seeing his carefully planned opening, Kiritsugu pulled his Thompson Contender out of his coat, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
"Bang."
A single shot exited the firearm, and Kayneth desperately channeled all of his considerable arcane power into his mystic code's defensive barrier, just as the Magus Killer had anticipated. Mage Armor of the Sorcerer King's hexagonal shield flashed and fizzled as the bullet penetrated, and Kayneth frantically reinforced his body next as he raised a magically strengthened arm in front of the bullet's trajectory. The limb fared no better than the mystic code and didn't even slow the projectile as it plowed through flesh and bone and emerged on the other side still seeking the magus's head. Kayneth had time to experience a single moment of utter terror before that was eclipsed by even greater agony as the magic circuits in his extended arm severed and catastrophically binded back together. And then the bullet tore through his skull, instantly—some, those who knew what the Magus Killer's origin bullets did to a mage, might say mercifully—killing him. He plopped over backwards, his mouth open in a silent "O" of utter incredulity, as his crimson blood ran out and pooled underneath him. Irisviel's golem landed on his chest a second later and checked for a heartbeat. It shook its head in the negative after a short moment.
Kiritsugu remained silent in triumph, seeing no reason to celebrate over a single battle and another man's death when the only victory that mattered was at the war's end. Instead, he grunted as he rolled over and pulled the broken lances of ice out of his body. He grit his teeth at the pain, but the discomfort passed quickly as Avalon's healing magic coursed through him and he stood back up. The fairy sheath was a noble phantasm in its own right for all intents and purposes, capable of healing any wound short of decapitation. With it inside his body, he would be completely restored in seconds.
Unfortunately for the Magus Killer, those were seconds he did not have.
"Caw!"
The golem's surprised cry was the only warning Kiritsugu received as a stream of grayish black sand suddenly poured out from Lord El-Melloi's coat and blanketed the hallway floor. The caliginous grains rose up and pulsed with black light, shrouding the entire corridor and everything inside with complete opacity. Kiritsugu had no opportunity to escape, and when the darkness faded a few seconds later and the particles of sand fell back to the floor he fell down with them.
The thread golem anxiously fluttered over to him and, as it had done moments before with Kayneth, landed on his chest to check for a heartbeat. Irisviel's relief when she felt her husband's chest rise and fall steadily through her construct's talons was almost visible on the golem's face, but Kiritsugu's eyes remained shut. Unconsciousness had once again claimed the Magus Killer, and this time it refused to let go.
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Lancer was winning. His sibling spears, the yellow and crimson roses, flashed ferociously across the battlefield as he advanced upon Saber unremittingly. The invisible Excalibur rose and fell just as rapidly as the King of Knights parried, dodged, and attempted to regain the initiative, but Lancer refused to give her that chance. His sharp orange eyes and sharper mind watched her intently, gauging her blade's length, predicting its path, and preempting her own stratagems with his own. He had her on the defensive now and controlled the ebb and flow of battle, and the key to his victory, he knew, was to give Saber no opportunity to retaliate until his relentless assault finally broke through her guard and he struck a decisive blow. Admittedly, Lancer also knew he would be having a much harder time were his opponent's left hand not crippled, but he had inflicted the wound in an honest duel and the handsome Irish knight saw no reason to feel shame because of it.
The three legendary weapons continued their intricate dance, a fierce triple staccato as Saber reluctantly ceded ground to Lancer. The walls in the hallway around them had long since given up any semblance of being intact, and only the magical reinforcement the corridor's builders had imbued them with kept the walls from crumbling as the two servants battled. The roar of a faraway explosion reached the two of them, but neither could afford to pay it any attention. They both kept their full sights on each other until, to them, it seemed as though no one else existed in the whole world, and Lancer felt his lips quirk up in a wry smile. If only his own life could have been this simple and elegant.
The moment passed, and Saber brought Excalibur down hard and fast. The invisible blade came within a millimeter of Lancer's head and sheared off several strands of the Irish knight's black hair. He swung Gae Buidhe against the holy blade and narrowed his eyes as effervescent sparks flew wildly. And then, he lashed out with his right foot, interdicting it between Saber's legs, and thrust low and blindingly fast with Gae Dearg. Saber was swift enough to avoid a serious injury as the crimson rose of exorcism passed effortlessly through her enchanted armor, but the anti-magic spear still succeeded in drawing blood just above the calf of her right foot as she contorted her body, reversed the thrust of her own blade, spun, and swung. Lancer leaned aside and stepped back just as rapidly to protect himself against her deadly strike, and he saw in his mind's eye that victory would be his in the next exchange. Saber was now slowed in addition to crippled, and all he needed to do was overwhelm and finish her.
And then Lancer, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne and First Warrior of the Knights of Fianna, felt his master die, and all his plans and stratagems came crashing down. In their place came a horribly familiar grief and the knowledge that he had a terrible choice to make. The lord he had sworn his loyalty and service to, Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, was dead. Honor demanded he avenge him, and he could avenge him right here and now. He only needed to engage Saber one more time to defeat her, to kill her outright or inflict a wound with Gae Buidhe that would inevitably achieve the same result. From there, if he was lucky—far luckier than he normally was—he might still have enough time to murder her master, Kiritsugu Emiya, before Gaia purged him from this world as a supernatural existence that did not belong.
Honor, however, also demanded he return to Berserker. She was a sworn ally, and with his master dead there was no mystical restraint preventing him from going to her. Every second counted, and even if he was not long for this world he might still have enough time to create an opening for her to escape. If he continued fighting Saber and hunted her master, though, he'd never make it to her in time.
To avenge the fallen...or save the living. His Eye of the Mind skill served more as a curse than a blessing in this moment, allowing Lancer to see every option available to him and weigh the competing demands on his honor in a single, terrible instant. And in that same instant, the words he had spoken to the young swordswoman earlier this day came back to him.
When codes of honor conflict...sometimes you have to choose one and do what you feel is most right.
Lancer made his choice, turned away from Saber, and ran.
My lord, I am sorry.
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Sayaka was cold.
A serrated tentacle slammed into her side and sent her sprawling into the horrific embrace of the water demon behind her. Its several limbs seized her by her arms and legs, lifted her into the air, and pulled, seeking to rip her body apart as the mottled red and purple abomination opened its teeth-filled maw wide to devour the rest. Instead, Sayaka contorted her wrists, dropped her swords, grabbed two of the tentacles with her bare hands, and brutally squeezed the alien appendages, crushing them. Blood burst like a popped water balloon from the tentacles, and Sayaka cast off their now impotent grip and conjured two new cutlasses to slice through her remaining constraints and free herself. Still in mid-air as she fell, she hurled one of the blades down the water demon's throat, summoned another as she spun to land on her feet, and then launched herself back at the monster that had originally struck her.
It died a second later, and Sayaka lunged straight at the next one. It also died a second later, but that second was enough for two more of the water demons to charge forward and knock her down. A third followed behind the pair and leapt into the air to pounce on her, but she swung a blade up and bisected the water demon as it fell. Its two halves dropped to either side of her while its blood poured down upon her, staining her crimson.
And still, Sayaka felt nothing but ice in her veins as she frantically rolled to her feet and twisted to face her next attackers in the endless horde of aquatic horrors. Her body had long since burned past its magically augmented limits, but instead of agonizing exhaustion there was numbness. Tentacles slammed and struck her, grabbed and grappled her, lacerated and lashed her, but the pain never penetrated the frigid armor of deadened sensation that pervaded her entire being.
Sayaka was cold, and the cold burned.
The water demon nearest to her died as a cutlass sliced diagonally through its mottled flesh and chitinous hide. The one beside it perished as Sayaka shifted the angle of her cutlass and pulled it out of the previous water demon in a ferocious horizontal slash and a spray of blood. Her other hand unleashed even more carnage as it hurled magical cutlasses into the advancing abominations as rapidly as she could conjure them.
Sayaka was cold, and the cold burned. Her eyes were open, but she did not see through them. Her ears were intact, but she did not hear through them. Her hands held swords, but she did not feel them. There was only the icy fire that burned inside her soul and instinct as she fought and killed and bled and fought and killed and bled again, on and on without end. That, and a dwindling awareness that this was not who and what she wanted to be and that the man who was making her into this still lived, was still nearby, and was smiling as he watched.
That made her angry. That made her furious. That made her mad.
"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"
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Assassin watched silently from the safety of the shadows as crimson blood splattered and fell like rain in the center of the forest glade where Berserker fought her hopeless battle. Caster's abominable minions completely encircled the Servant of Madness and attacked the young, blue-haired warrior in never-ending waves. Berserker countered by spinning and whirling, dervish-like, within the glowing boundaries of a large, azure spell sigil that pulsated in time with what Assassin assumed was the adolescent fighter's frantically beating heart. Misty tendrils frenetically shot up from a blanket of cold, wraith-like fog that surrounded the servant's feet and congealed into cutlasses that the servant rapidly seized and alternately hurled at, slashed, and impaled the advancing horde with. The aquatic horrors perished in droves, but more were always ready to take the place of the fallen and those that were slain simply spawned more. Berserker may have become a veritable maelstrom of magical steel and slaughter in these desperate moments, but she was merely delaying the inevitable.
She would already be dead if Caster wasn't toying with her, the Servant of the Shadows observed disdainfully as her eyes narrowed and turned to the cackling figure of Gilles de Rais. The insane spellcaster raised and lowered his right arm in excited, ecstatic gesticulations as he gazed rapturously at the tableau of battle taking place before him. His water demons could easily triumph by simply swarming over Berserker and each other, burying the Servant of Madness under the weight of one hundred plus horrors. Instead, Caster restrained them, unleashed them in outrageous but not impossible numbers, all to push Berserker past her limits and deeper into the vortex of madness that was her class's greatest strength and weakness. The crazed Servant of the Spell didn't want to see Berserker die; he wanted to see her fury and hopelessness give birth to a monster, and that mindset disgusted Assassin to no end.
Worst of all, however, Caster was succeeding. The earlier desperation in Berserker's azure eyes had been completely blotted out by an unnerving mixture of frigid apathy and animal bloodlust, and the young warrior seemed to be relying entirely on instinct now to fight the horde. She had, in effect, become a cornered beast whose only options were kill or be killed, but that savagery still wasn't sufficient for Caster. A madman like Gilles de Rais, Assassin knew, wouldn't be satisfied until even the modest dignity Berserker retained in fighting for her life was swallowed up by an ungodly and blind desire for murder.
Although it's just as likely at this point that Berserker's master will keel over dead from strain before Caster gets his wish, Assassin noted coldly. The young Matou's health isn't anywhere near robust enough to sustain his servant for long when she fights like this, and if he was smarter he'd have used a command seal to recall Berserker long before now. He's either an idiot, too wracked with pain to think coherently, or both. What a pair this master and servant make!
"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"
Zin! Zin-zin-zin! Zin!
Assassin's musings came to an abrupt halt as an inhuman roar that should not have existed outside a nightmare bellowed forth from Berserker's throat and filled the air with an almost tangible killing intent. Simultaneously, dozens of blue, nearly pitch-black spell circles blinked in and out around the Servant of Madness with the sound of violin strings being plucked. The young girl chuckled quietly, a low, dangerous, and heartbreakingly broken sound, and the aquatic horrors encircling her ceased their advance and actually recoiled from her, as if sensing something deadly that they instinctively knew to shy away from. Their master, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction.
"Yes, that's it! That's the gloriously profane masterpiece I want to see! Show me! Show me the true color of your soul!" the Servant of the Spell demanded as he stood behind his summoned minions, his gaunt body looking like it might burst apart from barely contained anticipation. His eyes widened to a nearly obscene degree with his proclamation, but, to Assassin's surprise, they were fixated entirely on the glowing gem affixed to Berserker's midriff rather than the tragic expression on the servant's face.
Berserker responded to Caster's words by tilting her head back, smiling ferally, and piercing the deranged servant with a hateful, bloodthirsty stare that made it clear she wanted to see him dead no matter the price. She then spun lopsidedly and took a single step forward, and dark currents of wind formed and howled cacophonously around her. The water demons inched back, and the Servant of Madness took another step forward as a spiritual pressure Assassin instinctively recognized as Gaia's touch intensified and came down hard on the clearing. Something else pushed back against it, and for the first time that night Assassin felt true shock.
A reality marble? But that's—!
Tiny cracks materialized in the air where no cracks should exist, confirming Assassin's suspicions, and the Servant of the Shadows suddenly realized that her stealth was no longer a guarantee of safety. She tensed and prepared for anything—in the next moment, literally anything could actually happen—and turned to regard Berserker one last time. The warrior wore a haunted look, an expression that was equal parts molten rage and ice-cold hopelessness with only a single speck of what Assassin would barely term rationality remaining. That last ember dimmed, and then—
Schhwaff!
There was no time for Caster or any of his summoned minions to react, and even Assassin barely saw what happened next. One second Caster was gazing rapturously at Berserker as the girl prepared to call down doom on all of them, and in the next second three of his water demons had been sliced in half and he was clutching a torn grimoire in his left hand as Lancer raced by and slashed the eldritch tome with Gae Dearg. The water demons, having noticed the new threat too late, burst apart in voluminous crimson sprays of blood as the magic linking them to the spellbook came undone. Caster shrieked, furious at this unexpected turn of events, and turned only to lose his right hand as Lancer planted his feet in the ground, spun, and slashed with Gae Buidhe. Painful shock filled Caster's large black eyes but, as he caught sight of the tortured, grief-stricken resolution on Lancer's face, the man who had been Gilles de Rais knew he only had a second more to live unless he escaped.
Fortunately for Caster and unfortunately for everyone else, the Servant of the Spell had kept his earlier promise to Saber and come prepared. Even as Lancer thrust his crimson spear forward to stab Caster through the heart, his spellbook regenerated itself and the anguished, blindfolded face on its cover screamed. The blood saturating the ground instantly boiled and rose as a blinding red mist that hid all three servants from view, and Caster magically vanished just as Gae Dearg's tip punctured the madman's black robes and pierced his chest.
"NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
The enraged scream came from Berserker and was immediately followed by the clamor of swords being swung and slammed against the ground in futile, unspent fury. Assassin heard an inhuman snarl next and then the sound of a body collapsing. The bloody mist settled a few seconds later, and Assassin watched as Lancer cautiously approached his blood-drenched and exhausted ally.
"Berserker, we need to flee immediately. The battle has been lost, and we don't have time—"
Kneeling and barely able to support herself, the Servant of Madness still looked up and growled. Lancer flinched at the monstrous, hate-filled expression on the young girl's face but held his ground, and the intensity of his sorrowful gaze seemed to get through to her. Recognition dawned, and her expression quickly flickered from furious to puzzled to comprehending and then horrified.
"Lan...Lancer? Wha...what happened? Is—Oh my god, Matou! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—Hold on! Sakura's counting on y—ugh..."
Berserker's last dregs of strength finally abandoned her and she fell unconscious on her side to the ground, lifeless and as still as a corpse. Not even her chest rose and fell, and the only signs of motion about her was the flickering glow of blue and black radiance from her stomach piercing. Assassin examined her closely to see if her spiritual core would collapse, but the servant seemed surprisingly stable. Lancer ran over to her worriedly, scooped the girl up into his arms, and—his orange eyes darting around quickly to see if they were being pursued—hurriedly retreated deeper into the forest. Assassin was left alone in the blood-soaked glade, and she smiled with morbidly good cheer underneath her white skull mask.
My my, tonight has certainly been informative! Who would have thought that Berserker would possess a reality marble? Master Kotomine should be informed of this, but, alas, his attention isn't with me at the moment and I fear that I, being an old, absent-minded woman, might forget. Fortunately, I'm sure what he doesn't know won't hurt him and Lord Tohsaka...yet.
Still smiling and using the darkness and forest foliage as cover, Assassin crept after the two departing servants. The night wasn't over yet, and there were still more secrets for her to uncover and share with her master...as well as other secrets that would be shared only among the Hashashin.
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Sola-Ui sipped a cup of warm tea as she sat back in the white club chair inside her and Kayneth's hotel suite and waited expectantly. The flat screen television against the wall was on and showed a grim-faced news anchor reporting on recent events—last night's evacuation of the Hyatt Hotel and the inexplicably defective explosives found inside, more missing children as the police continued to investigate, speculation that both might be connected to the recent serial murders—but the volume was low and the attractive redhead paid the broadcast little mind. Her mind was focused on what were to her far more important matters.
On the round accent table beside her, a glass bauble shimmered with the faint sparkling of dancing white lights. It looked like a domed paperweight to the untrained eye, but Sola-Ui knew it to be the second half of one of the Archibald family's mystic codes. It had begun glowing approximately thirty minutes ago, which meant the first half had activated. And the first half would only have activated if—
If Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, my fiancé, is dead.
Sola-Ui was surprised but not entirely displeased by the development. She'd never particularly liked Kayneth and had resented being betrothed to an older man, and his reckless decision to bring her with him to Japan to act as a glorified arcane battery in a war between mages had further soured her opinion of the pompous fool. The idiot had genuinely thought she'd be impressed while he risked both their lives for the sake of his prestige. And while his death was not something she would have specifically wished for—she knew others called her a spiteful woman, but she wasn't so spiteful as to genuinely want someone dead—she wasn't blinded by grief and could appreciate the new and exciting possibilities his passing opened up for her.
First, there were now over a dozen mystic codes lying within what was practically arm's reach of her. More likely than not, her family would return them to the Archibalds—she had no official claim to them as a bereaved fiancée rather than a widower and the Sophia-Ris weren't powerful enough to cross Kayneth's relatives—but that would take time and couldn't even begin until she returned to England. For as long as she stayed in Japan, she could use them freely, study them to her heart's content, and pilfer their secrets, and the part of her that was a magus could barely restrain its eagerness to master these arcane mysteries.
Second, she could now move about the city freely again without worrying about a bullet tearing through her head. The half of the mystic code beside her that had been in Kayneth's possession was retributive in nature, designed to incapacitate the owner's killer. The half in her possession was the counter needed to dispel the curse, and it was supposed to be used to negotiate for the return of the deceased's corpse. Kayneth had explained the mystic code's history and function to her before they left the Clock Tower, speaking in a bored, haughty tone of how—when his family had been slightly less prestigious—his ancestors had created the mystic code to ensure the El-Melloi magic crest would be returned to them in a worst case scenario. They'd never needed to use it, though, and he was only taking it along because it was family custom to do so.
And thus Kayneth became the first El-Melloi whose death triggered the mystic code. I'm certain that's not how he wanted to distinguish himself in the family history.
The corners of Sola-Ui's soft pink lips lifted slightly at the scornful thought, and she took another sip of her tea. Kayneth's premature death aside, her half of the mystic code wouldn't have activated if the other half hadn't succeeded in cursing her fiancé's killer. Either the Emiya master or his Einzbern employer were now completely comatose, and she was the only person who could break the spell. They'd be fools to assassinate her now, once she informed them of the facts, and knowing that the most ruthless faction in the Grail War had, in regards to her, been effectively defanged was a tremendous weight off her shoulders.
Of course, both these matters were trivial compared to what truly mattered to her— Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, the hero who had stolen her heart and whose miraculous existence increasingly occupied more and more of her waking thoughts. Just thinking about the man brought a flush to her cheeks, and her heart pounded with a potent combination of relief and hopeful anticipation as she waited. Relief that Diarmuid still lived; Kayneth's modifications to the summoning ritual had transferred the burden of supplying Lancer with magical energy to her, and the steady flow of magic binding their lives together continued to flow despite Kayneth's death. And hope that, as she sat and waited, what she anticipated would happen next would truly come to pass.
Sola-Ui's patience was finally rewarded when a prickly, stinging sensation ran across the skin of her right hand. She hissed in minor pain as she hastily lowered the teacup onto the accent table and held up the back of her right hand to study it. Just as she'd expected, the sight of two red command seals greeted her.
"Perfect," she spoke with giddy joy, immediately shooting to her feet and rushing over to a mirror to study her appearance. She wanted to look her best when Lancer returned to the hotel suite.
Because Diarmuid is now all mine.
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Kiritsugu's face was an expressionless mask as he looked around at the hauntingly familiar fishing village on the island seashore. The weather-worn wood and corroded sheet metal buildings were small and rustic, and the narrow roads crisscrossing the small town were little more than unpaved dirt. Signs of modernity were few and far apart—a primitive transistor radio here; an old, beaten-up vehicle held together by baling wire and duct tape over there; a vintage, battery-powered clock overlooking a wooden porch; and other fleeting signs of a world far removed from this one. The homes were well-maintained, though, and each possessed a warm, welcoming rural charm that bespoke the love and trust the villagers had for each other.
People passed by him in ones and twos and the occasional small group, going about their daily business with the relaxed ease of those free to do things in their own time. There were old men and women, their adult children, and a third, younger generation, all with dark skin tanned by the hot tropical sun and weathered by spending most of their lives outside working or playing. They wore light cotton and linen shirts and shorts suitable for the climate, most of them hand-me-downs, and they paid Kiritsugu no mind as they walked by. They rarely looked in his direction, and when they did they looked right through him, as if he were invisible to them. As if he were a ghost...although Kiritsugu knew that the opposite was true.
Kiritsugu recognized every face, although time had stricken many of the names from his mind. He knew this island, even though many details had faded from his memory. And he remembered this day—this tragic, sorrowful day that he could never forget.
"Alimango Island," the Magus Killer said tersely, his gaze flitting about from face to face in search of the one person he desperately did not want to see but knew he inevitably would. Sure enough, a short, dark-haired boy who was instantly recognizable to Kiritsugu as his younger self soon rushed past and Kiritsugu, bowing to the inescapable, followed after him.
The trek continued for several minutes as the younger Kiritsugu anxiously made his way through the village, stopping occasionally to ask other people on the streets a question they all answered in the negative. He slowed upon reaching a small, one-story house that was only a little larger than a shack. Tentatively, the boy walked up to the front door and knocked once and then twice. Not hearing an answer, he tried the door handle and found it was unlocked.
The adult Kiritsugu steeled himself for what he knew was coming next as he watched the young boy nervously enter the home of his father's assistant and his first crush. He walked behind himself as the child looked around and found the empty bottle of medicine from his father's workshop on the floor. He watched as the boy startled at the sound of frightened poultry coming from the backyard and, mustering courage, rushed out behind the house to investigate. He observed, emotionlessly, as the boy's black eyes widened in fear and confusion at the sight of blood-covered chickens fluttering about amid the mutilated bodies of their flock-mates and then widened further in horror as they followed the blood trail and spied the back of a familiar girl. Normally possessing a carefree, natural beauty, the girl now looked gaunt and haggard as she hunched over with her face hidden from him and hungrily fed on the distressed avians.
Sentiment momentarily overrode fear, and the boy stepped forward and shouted the girl's name. Her head turned back to look at him, and her eyes swelled with a terror the boy had never seen before. She was afraid, not of him, not of her transformation, but of the unbearable possibility that she might hurt him. Desperate, she threw herself away from him into the wired chicken coop and shouted back at him, begging him to kill her as she tossed him a sheathed knife. The boy hesitated, petrified, as the humanity drained out of the girl's eyes and she bit her own arm to satisfy her awakening vampiric impulses rather than feast on him.
The adult Kiritsugu felt a dull throb as he watched, the type of pain one feels from an old wound that has only calloused over and will never fully heal, but his cold, stoic demeanor did not shift in the slightest. He'd had a simple choice back then, although he'd only realized how simple much later. He could murder the girl, a brilliant young woman whose curiosity had doomed her, and end her agonizing misery before she became something both less and worse than human. Or he could run and seek help, living free of the guilt of killing his first love but putting everyone else in the village at risk of contracting the same plague of vampirism. The certainty of a small tragedy, or the possibility a large tragedy. Sacrifice one life to save one hundred, or endanger one hundred in the slight chance the one could be saved.
The boy ran away with Shirley's pleading eyes and anguished, inhuman moans following behind him, burned forever into his memory along with the knowledge that by the end of the night everyone in the village would be dead, killed by the living dead and ghouls who were in turn destroyed by the Holy Church's Executors and the Mage's Association's Enforcers. Had the boy been braver—had he been able to do what Shirley had begged him to do—those lives could have been saved. Instead, he'd listened to his heart and damned everyone.
Suddenly, he laughed. It was mirthless sound, but it was also tinged with relief. He'd been worried when the hallway in the Einzbern mansion had grown dark and Kayneth's retributive curse—What else could this possibly be?—struck him, but this was nothing he needed to fear. A curse that forced a man to relive his most painful memories? He already relived those memories every day; they were always with him and were what made him the Magus Killer, and there was nothing in his past that could possibly compare with the pain awaiting him at the end of the Grail War when he would make the choice his younger self had run away from and murder the woman he loved to save the world.
"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell," he quoted quietly as he turned in the direction the boy had run and once again followed after him. This memory wasn't over yet, and there was still more tragedy to witness...and, inevitably, when he awoke and won the Holy Grail War, to experience firsthand.
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Author's Note: The quote is from The Duchess of Padua, a five-act play written by Oscar Wilde.
Author: Rowan Seven
Teaser: A doomed master summons an equally tragic servant in the Fourth Holy Grail War. Together, can they change fate or will their journeys once again end in sorrow? Pre-Rebellion.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: This story contains spoilers for both series. The Fate franchise belongs to Type-Moon. Puella Magi Madoka Magica belongs to Studio Shaft and Aniplex. This story is a work of fanfiction written for fun. I make no claims to either series.
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Chapter Six – Can You Make Me a Promise?
Saber materialized inside the Einzbern castle in a flash of golden light and suppressed an angry curse at being forced to abandon her allies on the battlefield. Such honorless conduct went against everything the King of Knights stood for! Still, with her master behind her and his command to strike down his enemy ringing inviolate in her mind, Saber put aside her chagrin and immediately stepped forward into the damaged hallway filled with illusions of Kayneth Archibald and his fluidic mystic code. She narrowed her green eyes as she took a second step, assessing each and every possible target in a single instant as she readied her sword for combat. And then she sprang into action.
Whoosh!-Swish!-Whoosh!-Swish!-Swish!
Excalibur flashed as the air it sliced through shrieked cacophonously. Once, twice, thrice, and a dozen times more the Sword of Promised Victory rose and fell, effortlessly cutting apart every false apparition that stood between the King of Knights and her target as she raced down the hallway. There was no mistaking the expression of absolute terror on the true Kayneth's face as the blonde knight neared and raised her holy blade to deliver a final, fatal blow, but Volumen Hydragyrum—moving nearly as fast—reconsolidated in its metallic entirety and rose up to protect its master with all the considerable defensive strength the mystic code could project.
It wasn't enough. Volumen Hydragyrum may have been one of the finest mystic codes of magecraft's modern era and the epitome of fluidic magecraft, but the Sword of Promised Victory was a divine weapon forged by fairies and crystallized from mankind's wishes. Volumen Hydragyrum didn't stand a chance against such a creation, and Excalibur sliced through the mystic code with the effortlessness of a hot knife through butter. Kayneth's prized mystic code barely slowed the holy sword by a fraction of a second before it broke apart and collapsed into a pile of inert mercury...but that miniscule delay provided just enough time for Lancer to finish his own materialization. With an impossible speed only made reality by his master's urgent command to protect him, the Irish knight thrust Gae Buidhe up to stop Excalibur. Sparks flew as the two magic weapons collided a scant few inches from the terrified magus's neck, and the two servants exchanged a sorrowful look.
"I have been commanded to kill your master, and you have been commanded to defend him," Saber stated quietly, her green eyes apologetic. "These commands are irreconcilable."
Lancer nodded his head mournfully. His Eye of the Mind skill gave him peerless insight into battles, but he did not need it to know how this encounter must end.
"And while we fight, our ally battles Caster and the madman's army alone," he continued somberly as his orange eyes briefly glanced in the forest's direction. He sighed. "With things as they are now, there is only one way to return to the battlefield and aid her."
The King of Knights abruptly disengaged from her opponent and stepped back. Quickly, she released her two-handed grip on her sword to offer the Irish Knight a respectful salute with her left hand before she returned it to the holy blade's hilt.
"Then do not hold back, Lancer. For Berserker's sake, do not hold back," Saber beseeched him. "The longer this duel continues, the less time the victor will have to rescue our ally. Fight well and with honor, First Warrior of the Knights of Fianna."
"And you as well, Arturia Pendragon, the once and future King of Britain," Lancer answered in kind as he raised his two legendary spears in preparation for battle. "This isn't the duel I wished for, but fighting you...is and always will be an unrivaled honor."
Regal green eyes gazed into seasoned orange and communicated everything the Servants of the Sword and Spear needed to know. There was no enmity or reluctance when they both rushed forward in the very next instant on the same unspoken cue and attacked with all their skill, speed, and strength. There was only regret that this battle could not be under better, nobler circumstances, without an ally's life at stake in a desperate race against the clock. Because for Berserker, Saber and Lancer both knew, time was running out.
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Swish!-Swish!-Swish!-Whoosh!
The battlefield lit up in a typhoon of blue steel and magic as the sounds of a roaring ocean and screeching violin drowned out all other noise. A second later, all was crimson and agonized alien screams instead as an azure streak surged and zigzagged madly about with twin cutlasses out, dashing apart over a dozen water demons so quickly their deaths appeared nearly instantaneous. Blood and gore splashed everywhere, adding another layer of coagulating ichor to the already cruor-stained ground as the rushing wave of swords crested and petered out, disgorging an exhausted and frantic-eyed Sayaka. For a brief moment she stood alone, hands clenched with superhuman strength around the hilts of her cutlasses, panting heavily like a wild animal, and surrounded on all sides by monstrous corpses. And then, those corpses twitched and fermented in the throes of inhuman regeneration as dozens more of Caster's eldritch minions hissed from further back and scuttled forward through the slaughter. Sayaka's short respite was over, and as she watched the horde descend on her something in her bright, ocean-blue eyes darkened.
~Hey...is this world even worth protecting?~
The corners of Sayaka's mouth lifted in an intimation of a savage smile as she drew upon greater reserves of power to strengthen her body. Then, as the first wave of her enemies came within striking distance, she swung her arms out to her sides and spun like a whirlpool, the edges of her cutlasses limned in blue light that traced their rapid rotation. Blood sprayed and tentacles fell, but the eldritch legion continued their frenzied advance, pressing in against their quarry and each other as they clambered forward, heedless of pain, injury, and death.
A second away from being overwhelmed, Sayaka abruptly changed tactics and lunged forward, impaling the nearest water demon with the cutlass in her left hand and then using her superhuman strength to lift the alien beast into the air. Turning, she viciously smashed the skewered monster against the nearest of its brethren, reversed herself to repeat the blunt, savage attack, and then hurled both beast and blade at the next enemy as she cavorted under and around grasping tentacles into the small space she'd just cleared. She tapped her free hand against the ground, and a stockade of swords materialized up out of the earth behind her, momentarily shielding her from one direction as she focused on the others. However, the moment passed even faster than Sayaka had feared it would. The blockade buckled and broke under the teeming mass pressing against it, and the demonic legion surged forward from all around her and even from above as over a dozen launched themselves into the air with their tentacles and then descended upon her like nightmares falling from the night sky. Sayaka had time to chuckle once, the sound wry and crooked, and then the eldritch legion finally swept over her.
~What have I been fighting for all this time?~
Skin tore and bones broke as the closest water demons tackled her, smashing her into the ground and grappling her body with their tentacles. They lifted her up like an offering to a dark god and pulled as more of them clambered over each other and on top of her, burying Sayaka from above and below in a pyramid of alien anatomy. Crushed by their weight, lacerated by their tentacles, and choking on her own blood, Sayaka remained doggedly defiant even as her vision filled entirely with red. Twisting and contorting her mangled but unbroken body, she forced herself lower until she managed to place a single foot on the ground. A blue spell circle immediately flared into existence, shimmering and shrieking with dozens of violin twills.
Zin!
The alien ziggurat burst apart as a physically restored Sayaka shot up into the air like a geyser, dragging half a dozen water demons latched onto her body behind her like a nightmarish comet's tail. She raised her left hand, and a second spell circle appeared above her, stopping her ascent. A cutlass materialized in her right hand, and she spun, slashing apart her would-be captors as momentum carried them past her. Then, both spell circles flashed and detonated, and Sayaka returned to earth with the force of a falling star. Agonized eldritch screams resounded throughout the forest as Sayaka crashed into the ranks of the otherworldly horde and summoned a second sword to resume her desperate offensive. She would not—could not—stop. If she paused for even a single moment the water demons would overwhelm her. All she could do was kill. Kill. KILL.
~Tell me.~
"Yes, that's it! Fight! Rend! Maim! Tear!" Caster shouted crazily, offering encouragement to friend and foe alike as new water demons spawned from the slain and rushed to join the frenzy. Outnumbered by more than one hundred to one, Berserker had to know that her battle was hopeless, but the blue-haired girl defiantly fought on in a futile, gory spectacle. And to Gilles de Rais's insane eyes, every moment was absolutely beautiful.
~You, right now.~
The demented servant applauded as Berserker slashed apart another water demon, dashed through its body as the two halves fell apart, and cleaved another as she came out the other side coated in crimson blood. His bulging black eyes widened further in appreciation as he observed every detail of the vicious battle, and his crazed grin grew until it nearly split his face. He could see the sanctimonious righteousness in Berserker's azure eyes dim as vengeful fury and bloodlust took its place. He could see her rationality and humanity degrade as she descended into the savage mindset of a cornered, angry beast. Soon, there would be no difference between the monster slayer and the monsters she fought, and Caster hungered for that moment. For an artist like him, Berserker succumbing fully to her madness was a masterpiece in the making!
~Tell me.~
...Still, something wasn't quite right. Caster was a veteran soldier who had fought on the bloody battlefields of the Hundred Years' War, and with his attention obsessively fixated on the Servant of Madness he could tell there was something off about the way she fought. He wouldn't have noticed it normally, but with her receiving and recovering from so many injuries in rapid succession it slowly became clear to him. She wasn't reacting to pain at all and, stranger yet, fought as if her injuries made no difference to her! It was as though her mind was completely detached from her body, immune to whatever damage it suffered and controlling it like a puppet. That wasn't how servants functioned, though, and it didn't make sense unless—
~Or else, I'll...~
A thought occurred to the Servant of the Spell, and he focused on the darkening hue of the gem on Berserker's midriff with new scrutiny. Prelati's Spellbook opened and turned to a page seemingly of its own accord in his hands, and Caster looked down at the blasphemous text and chanted the words to the identification spell the arcane tome showed him. And then he smiled horrifically in understanding. So that was it! That was Berserker's secret! What a terrible, heretical, sinful, wonderful thing!
Caster laughed madly, ecstatic beyond words, as the battle continued in front of him and the demonic corpses surrounding Berserker grew ever greater. He no longer cared about defeating her and having his minions feast on her body. This battle was no longer about that. Instead, he wanted to see her lovely, beautiful, heroic soul sink into the depths of darkness and corruption until its noble light was utterly replaced by blackness. He wanted to see her fall so far and so fully that not even God could rescue her! He wanted her to become so monstrous and defiled that his love would finally—finally!—acknowledge the ugly truth of this world and turn her back on the cruel deity who had abandoned her!
Just you wait, Jeanne!, Caster thought with demented devotion. I'll make you see the truth even if I have to murder every soul in this city! It will be my gift to you—I promise!—so, please, wait for me until then! It's only a matter of time now...
<><><><><><><><><>
Inside the Einzbern castle, Lord Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald was beyond furious. Kiritsugu had insulted and shamed him—him, a Lord of the Clock Tower!—and defamed the proud traditions of magecraft with his abominable conduct. The damned, infuriating, ignominious idiot! Didn't the fool understand that the Clock Tower's protocols existed for a reason? That without the standards and principles that had been carefully crafted and refined over centuries of study and practice, the whole world of mages would backslide into degenerate chaos and unenlightened hedge wizardry? This battle was no longer about avenging his honor or adding a tale of martial prowess to his many illustrious accomplishments; no, now it was a public service! He'd remove Kiritsugu Emiya's blight on the world of magecraft with such extreme prejudice that the example of his folly would be heeded for generations!
The blond magus's left shoulder throbbed, interrupting his mental tirade and evincing a wince. Frustrated at both the reminder of his injury by a mundane bullet and the failure of his hastily applied healing magecraft to fully cure the wound, Kayneth narrowed his green eyes and took stock of the battlefield. The hallway he and Kiritsugu shared with the two servants they commanded was festooned with gaping holes, sword slashes, and spear marks. Had the Einzbern not enhanced the structure with magic, Kayneth had little doubt that the floor and ceiling would have both caved in by now.
Meanwhile, seemingly heedless of the damage they were causing and only a few yards in front him, Lancer and Saber fought with such swiftness even Kayneth's magically reinforced eyes couldn't follow their movements. The clanging of their weapons striking each other was nearly deafening, and both had inflicted several superficial wounds on the other. His servant was performing adequately and seemed to possess a slight advantage with his dual weapons and faster speed, but the enclosed space of the hallway constrained his movements.
Most vexing of all in Kayneth's mind, though, was Kiritsugu's continued existence as he stood several yards behind his own servant and calmly watched the battle with impunity, his face an expressionless mask as he intermittently aimed small arms fire at Kayneth. Lancer easily stopped the ammunition from reaching his master, but deflecting ordnance was a distraction the Irish knight could ill afford while fighting Saber. Kayneth's own attempts to annihilate the Magus Killer with spells had even less effect as Saber loyally interposed herself and let her damnably high magic resistance snuff them all out. So long as the Servants of the Sword and the Spear fought in front of them, he and Kiritsugu might as well not even be here.
Hmm...Well, that could be changed easily enough.
Lancer, drive Saber away when I give the word. This began as a duel between mages, and it will end as a duel between mages when I remind Emiya how a true magus fights, Kayneth ordered as he contemplated how best to perform the long overdue deed. Volumen Hydragyrum, his finest mystic code, was too damaged—Damn Emiya!—to reactivate and would take weeks to repair, and Mysinor's Eye needed time to recharge. He still possessed several more Mystic Codes and knew many more spells with combat applications, but he'd need a new defense to counter the Magus Killer's disgusting choice of weapons. Perhaps it was time to utilize Mage Armor of the Sorcerer King? The mystic code's operating costs were exorbitant—an ounce of gold for every attack it blocked—but it was his best alternative to Volumen Hydragyrum and—
My lord, are you sure that's prudent?, Lancer thought back cautioningly. I commend your desire for an honorable duel with your enemy, but Emiya neither deserves nor is entitled to such courtesy. Let me, instead, defeat Saber in front of your eyes and kill her master for you to prove that you are the superior magus by having summoned the superior servant!
Don't question my orders, Lancer!, Kayneth retorted harshly, irritated at the interruption of his thoughts and this backtalk from his own servant. You are a servant, and your only purpose is to obey your master! Besides, after your tawdry performance last night at the docks, I have more confidence in my ability to defeat Emiya than I do in yours to destroy Saber in a timely manner. This isn't some fanciful bard's tale for fame-seeking heroes. This is a war between magi, and it is long past time that all the masters were reminded of this. Or do you doubt the power of your sworn lord?
No, never!, Lancer answered immediately with the unwaveringly blind loyalty that earned him Kayneth's contempt and caused the Association lord to question his servant's motives. Anyone that dutiful, Kayneth believed, truly was nothing more than a familiar bound to its master's will or was hiding ambitions of his own, and considering how enamored Sola-Ui had become of Lancer...Kayneth wouldn't be surprised if the Irish knight wanted to defeat both Saber and the Magus Killer to impress his fiancée and deprive him of the prestige of victory. That was something Kayneth's pride would not allow.
Then do as your master commands, Lancer. When I give the order, push Saber back so I can fight Emiya without interference. Or will that be too difficult for you?, Kayneth mentally sneered, knowing from the silence that followed that he'd browbeat his servant into obedience. Satisfied, he returned his full attention to the battle and watched for more than a minute as Lancer and Saber continued their high-speed clash. Lancer, despite his many boasts about his skill, would need time to set this up, and Kayneth wanted to have all his own actions planned out in advance to deprive the Magus Killer of any further opportunities to surprise him. Finally, the blond mage sensed that everything was ready, and he prepared to give the mental command—
—Only to come up short in surprise as the Magus Killer suddenly turned, ran down the hallway, and disappeared behind a corner.
Blast it!, Kayneth cursed as his fists clenched angrily and his eyebrows furrowed. Only his sense of dignity prevented him from yelling obscenities, and, with great effort, he mastered his seething fury. Rash actions were beneath a magus of his standing, and this was the Magus Killer's own home. Running after him without a plan would be absolute folly. No, if he wanted to defeat the Magus Killer—and right now that desire ranked even higher in Lord El-Melloi's mind than disciplining his treacherous student—he needed to outthink the damnable gnat and utilize his own strengths rather than play to his enemy's.
Lancer, your task just become simpler. Keep Saber here while I track down and eliminate Emiya. I will not tolerate her interference again, so don't fail me!
Lancer remained silent, which was as good as agreement in Kayneth's mind, and the Association lord turned and walked down his end of the corridor. The sounds of Lancer and Saber's duel behind him echoed loudly as he disappeared around the bend of the first corner and, maintaining a calm, confident pace, continued deeper into the mansion. As he walked he reached into one of his overcoat's pockets and pulled out a gold pocket compass bound by an iron chain. Holding the navigational instrument in front of him, he pressed down on the top button to spring open the lid. Instantly, hundreds of tiny motes of white light billowed up from the compass face and aggregated into a shimmering globe half a meter in diameter.
"Find Kiritsugu Emiya," Kayneth ordered tersely, and the lights lingered just long enough to retrieve the mental image of their quarry from the blond magus's memories before shooting apart in all possible directions. The lights passed through every solid object in their paths without resistance, and Kayneth smiled thinly in satisfaction at his own craftsmanship. The motes were proto-spirits, evoked and bound for the single purpose of seeking, and it would not take them long to locate the Magus Killer. And when they did...
Kayneth's smile widened vindictively, and he began to quietly intone several arcane verses. When they did find him, Kiritsugu Emiya would finally regret his folly.
<><><><><><><><><>
Kiritsugu Emiya raced down the hallways of the Einzbern mansion, the ends of his black trench coat flaring out behind him as he pressed his left index finger against the earbud in his corresponding ear and listened intently to Maiya as she relayed Kayneth's present location. Volumen Hydragyrum had already been this way and rendered his traps useless, so he could focus fully on running and getting into his desired position before his enemy caught up to him. The Magus Killer had no doubts that Kayneth would find him quickly. The man was too prepared not to have a few tracking spells ready outside Volumen Hydragyrum's own abilities, and, although Kiritsugu could take countermeasures, his current plan depended on him being found.
The hunted can also be the hunter, he thought dispassionately, remembering a piece of advice his teacher and the woman who'd been like a second mother to him, Natalia Kaminski, had shared long before her untimely death at his own hands. Using oneself as bait was merely another tactic to be employed when appropriate, and if Kayneth had been cleverer he'd have done the same by remaining inside the Hyatt while sending Lancer and Berserker to harass him. Instead, the mage had abandoned the defensive stronghold of his magic atelier and come to him, putting himself at unnecessary risk merely for the sake of pride. Such behavior disgusted Kiritsugu, and he briefly wondered if El-Melloi had even considered the possibility that he might die tonight.
"Kiritsugu, be careful. El-Melloi has activated another mystic code. It looks like a ball of lights and—They're searching for you right now, and El-Melloi is casting a new spell."
The Magus Killer nodded as he rounded another corner and stopped in front of a wall bearing a portrait of Irisviel's father and the current head of the Einzbern family, Jubstacheit von Einzbern. The painting was exquisite; Kiritsugu could almost feel the bearded old man's stern gaze peer directly at him, evaluating him and weighing his worth. He was not looking forward to meeting those cold eyes again after the war was over, knowing that he'd see approval in them for sacrificing his wife and uncertain if he could restrain himself from lashing out, even for Illya's sake. At least he wouldn't have to put up with this portrait for much longer.
Kiritsugu turned away when a stream of white lights flew out of the wall behind him. Facing the glowing motes, he noted that they brightened and slowed as they neared him before stopping entirely and fluttering radiantly. He didn't need to hear Maiya's warning to anticipate what was coming next.
"Time Alter, Double Accel."
BWOOOOOOM!!!
The only thing that saved the Magus Killer from ionization by lightning was his preemptive lunge to the side before the massive arc of electricity left Kayneth's hands and blasted through half a dozen rooms and hallways. The lightning bolt missed him by mere inches but still scorched his back as it continued past him, smashed through Jubstacheit's portrait and the wall it was hanging on, and careened into the next room...which happened to be on fire and contain a flame salamander battling an avian thread golem.
"RAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!"
The elemental's scream of agony was loud enough that Kiritsugu instinctively raised his hands to cover his ears. He then ducked and rolled as the room behind him exploded in a giant fireball. The hallway was the next to go as the giant blossom of flame spread, and the Magus Killer pulled out his Calico as he ran through the new, lightning-forged corridor directly at his target. Kayneth's face was a rictus of rage at the destruction of yet another mystic code, but his lips continued moving as he chanted quiet words of power. Kiritsugu fired, and purple, hexagonal barriers materialized one yard in front of the Association lord to block each and every bullet. Having confirmed that this was the true Lord El-Melloi and not another illusion, the Magus Killer discarded his submachine gun and reached for his Thompson Contender—
"Sanguinis, derigesco! Aqua, conglacio!"
El-Melloi struck first with his spell, and Kiritsugu reeled as the water in his blood suddenly froze, transforming into ice crystals that punctured his blood vessels, mangled his internal organs, and starved his body of oxygen. Still, he stubbornly continued reaching for his Thompson Contender, blocking out the pain as his hand disappeared inside his coat. He just needed one more second—
BOOOOSH!!!
The heat and flames behind him finally caught up and lashed into his back, sending him tumbling. His right hand remained inside his coat, and he felt his fingers close around the rifle's handle as the floor beneath him began to give way. Kayneth solved that problem for him as he finished chanting another spell and slammed both hands, palm down, onto the wooden floor in front of him. Spears of ice instantly shot up beside, behind, and through the Magus Killer, impaling his body on half a dozen deadly lances and forming an impromptu wall against the fireball's remaining force.
"Disgraceful idiot," he heard Kayneth comment contemptuously as his vision began to go dark. "This is completely lacking in elegance, but at least there's a fitting irony in blood magic ultimately doing you in, the heir of a five generation bloodline who abandoned his heritage. It'll make a good moral when I write this chapter in my memoir."
There was the sound of footsteps as the Association lord turned away and raised the hand with his two remaining command seals in front of his face. That was the last thing Kiritsugu saw before his eyes closed, and then—
Time stretched on as Kiritsugu and Irisviel held each other inside the Einzbern mansion, anchoring one another and cherishing these moments as only those who knew such moments would be among their last could. Kiritsugu wanted nothing more than to remain in his wife's loving embrace forever—Grail War and the rest of mankind be damned!—but he knew his duty. After sacrificing so many lives to save others, he could not walk away when he finally had the opportunity to eliminate all strife forever, no matter what it cost him. Reluctantly, he let go of his wife and rose to stand. Irisviel's arms, however, lingered around his chest as she pressed her face against his back.
"Kiri, can you make me a promise before you fight Lord El-Melloi tonight?"
Kiritsugu looked down at his wife's arms and placed his hands over hers affectionately, but his expression was troubled. "I can't promise anything. There are no guarantees in war...but I'll do what I can for you."
"Ah, my love, I do appreciate your honesty," she spoke softly. "So let me reciprocate. I want you to take Avalon with you tonight. You'll need it more than me."
Startled by the request, Kiritsugu turned to face his wife. "Iri...no. You are more valuable to the war—to me—than anything else, and everything will have been meaningless if you die before...before..." He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it.
"Hush," his wife murmured comfortingly. "It'll be all right. I'm your wife, and it's my job to take care of you. You will carry Avalon with you tonight for your safety, and once you've defeated Lord El-Melloi you will return it to me. It's as simple as that, and I won't take no for an answer. I want you to live, Kiri. The Grail War means nothing to me if your wish isn't the one I grant, so don't take unnecessary risks to keep me safe. We either win this war together, or we ensure no one does."
—Kiritsugu's eyes snapped open again as the healing magic of Avalon, the mystic sheath of the holy sword Excalibur, coursed through his body, stabilizing him and keeping him alive despite the daggers of ice impaling his body. Kayneth was facing away from him, communicating with his servant and proclaiming his victory, and the Magus Killer felt a cold smile grace his lined features at the premature announcement.
"Lancer, I've dealt with Saber's master. Defeat her now, if you can, or endure for a few more minutes. Victory will be yours either way thanks to me."
"You...still talk too much," Kiritsugu rasped, and Kayneth immediately turned at the sound of his enemy's voice, his green eyes wide in shock and disbelief.
"How? There's no way you can still be alive! It's—"
Kayneth didn't have time to finish as a reformed avian thread golem suddenly smashed through the ice wall and knocked the Magus Killer free from the frozen lances piercing his body. Kiritsugu was sent sprawling to the ground as the metal golem continued its flight and dove straight for the Association lord. Kayneth was too stunned to do anything else except defend, and Irisviel's alchemical creation crashed into the purple hexagonal barrier of the blond magus's mystic code. Seeing his carefully planned opening, Kiritsugu pulled his Thompson Contender out of his coat, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
"Bang."
A single shot exited the firearm, and Kayneth desperately channeled all of his considerable arcane power into his mystic code's defensive barrier, just as the Magus Killer had anticipated. Mage Armor of the Sorcerer King's hexagonal shield flashed and fizzled as the bullet penetrated, and Kayneth frantically reinforced his body next as he raised a magically strengthened arm in front of the bullet's trajectory. The limb fared no better than the mystic code and didn't even slow the projectile as it plowed through flesh and bone and emerged on the other side still seeking the magus's head. Kayneth had time to experience a single moment of utter terror before that was eclipsed by even greater agony as the magic circuits in his extended arm severed and catastrophically binded back together. And then the bullet tore through his skull, instantly—some, those who knew what the Magus Killer's origin bullets did to a mage, might say mercifully—killing him. He plopped over backwards, his mouth open in a silent "O" of utter incredulity, as his crimson blood ran out and pooled underneath him. Irisviel's golem landed on his chest a second later and checked for a heartbeat. It shook its head in the negative after a short moment.
Kiritsugu remained silent in triumph, seeing no reason to celebrate over a single battle and another man's death when the only victory that mattered was at the war's end. Instead, he grunted as he rolled over and pulled the broken lances of ice out of his body. He grit his teeth at the pain, but the discomfort passed quickly as Avalon's healing magic coursed through him and he stood back up. The fairy sheath was a noble phantasm in its own right for all intents and purposes, capable of healing any wound short of decapitation. With it inside his body, he would be completely restored in seconds.
Unfortunately for the Magus Killer, those were seconds he did not have.
"Caw!"
The golem's surprised cry was the only warning Kiritsugu received as a stream of grayish black sand suddenly poured out from Lord El-Melloi's coat and blanketed the hallway floor. The caliginous grains rose up and pulsed with black light, shrouding the entire corridor and everything inside with complete opacity. Kiritsugu had no opportunity to escape, and when the darkness faded a few seconds later and the particles of sand fell back to the floor he fell down with them.
The thread golem anxiously fluttered over to him and, as it had done moments before with Kayneth, landed on his chest to check for a heartbeat. Irisviel's relief when she felt her husband's chest rise and fall steadily through her construct's talons was almost visible on the golem's face, but Kiritsugu's eyes remained shut. Unconsciousness had once again claimed the Magus Killer, and this time it refused to let go.
<><><><><><><><><>
Lancer was winning. His sibling spears, the yellow and crimson roses, flashed ferociously across the battlefield as he advanced upon Saber unremittingly. The invisible Excalibur rose and fell just as rapidly as the King of Knights parried, dodged, and attempted to regain the initiative, but Lancer refused to give her that chance. His sharp orange eyes and sharper mind watched her intently, gauging her blade's length, predicting its path, and preempting her own stratagems with his own. He had her on the defensive now and controlled the ebb and flow of battle, and the key to his victory, he knew, was to give Saber no opportunity to retaliate until his relentless assault finally broke through her guard and he struck a decisive blow. Admittedly, Lancer also knew he would be having a much harder time were his opponent's left hand not crippled, but he had inflicted the wound in an honest duel and the handsome Irish knight saw no reason to feel shame because of it.
The three legendary weapons continued their intricate dance, a fierce triple staccato as Saber reluctantly ceded ground to Lancer. The walls in the hallway around them had long since given up any semblance of being intact, and only the magical reinforcement the corridor's builders had imbued them with kept the walls from crumbling as the two servants battled. The roar of a faraway explosion reached the two of them, but neither could afford to pay it any attention. They both kept their full sights on each other until, to them, it seemed as though no one else existed in the whole world, and Lancer felt his lips quirk up in a wry smile. If only his own life could have been this simple and elegant.
The moment passed, and Saber brought Excalibur down hard and fast. The invisible blade came within a millimeter of Lancer's head and sheared off several strands of the Irish knight's black hair. He swung Gae Buidhe against the holy blade and narrowed his eyes as effervescent sparks flew wildly. And then, he lashed out with his right foot, interdicting it between Saber's legs, and thrust low and blindingly fast with Gae Dearg. Saber was swift enough to avoid a serious injury as the crimson rose of exorcism passed effortlessly through her enchanted armor, but the anti-magic spear still succeeded in drawing blood just above the calf of her right foot as she contorted her body, reversed the thrust of her own blade, spun, and swung. Lancer leaned aside and stepped back just as rapidly to protect himself against her deadly strike, and he saw in his mind's eye that victory would be his in the next exchange. Saber was now slowed in addition to crippled, and all he needed to do was overwhelm and finish her.
And then Lancer, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne and First Warrior of the Knights of Fianna, felt his master die, and all his plans and stratagems came crashing down. In their place came a horribly familiar grief and the knowledge that he had a terrible choice to make. The lord he had sworn his loyalty and service to, Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, was dead. Honor demanded he avenge him, and he could avenge him right here and now. He only needed to engage Saber one more time to defeat her, to kill her outright or inflict a wound with Gae Buidhe that would inevitably achieve the same result. From there, if he was lucky—far luckier than he normally was—he might still have enough time to murder her master, Kiritsugu Emiya, before Gaia purged him from this world as a supernatural existence that did not belong.
Honor, however, also demanded he return to Berserker. She was a sworn ally, and with his master dead there was no mystical restraint preventing him from going to her. Every second counted, and even if he was not long for this world he might still have enough time to create an opening for her to escape. If he continued fighting Saber and hunted her master, though, he'd never make it to her in time.
To avenge the fallen...or save the living. His Eye of the Mind skill served more as a curse than a blessing in this moment, allowing Lancer to see every option available to him and weigh the competing demands on his honor in a single, terrible instant. And in that same instant, the words he had spoken to the young swordswoman earlier this day came back to him.
When codes of honor conflict...sometimes you have to choose one and do what you feel is most right.
Lancer made his choice, turned away from Saber, and ran.
My lord, I am sorry.
<><><><><><><><><>
Sayaka was cold.
A serrated tentacle slammed into her side and sent her sprawling into the horrific embrace of the water demon behind her. Its several limbs seized her by her arms and legs, lifted her into the air, and pulled, seeking to rip her body apart as the mottled red and purple abomination opened its teeth-filled maw wide to devour the rest. Instead, Sayaka contorted her wrists, dropped her swords, grabbed two of the tentacles with her bare hands, and brutally squeezed the alien appendages, crushing them. Blood burst like a popped water balloon from the tentacles, and Sayaka cast off their now impotent grip and conjured two new cutlasses to slice through her remaining constraints and free herself. Still in mid-air as she fell, she hurled one of the blades down the water demon's throat, summoned another as she spun to land on her feet, and then launched herself back at the monster that had originally struck her.
It died a second later, and Sayaka lunged straight at the next one. It also died a second later, but that second was enough for two more of the water demons to charge forward and knock her down. A third followed behind the pair and leapt into the air to pounce on her, but she swung a blade up and bisected the water demon as it fell. Its two halves dropped to either side of her while its blood poured down upon her, staining her crimson.
And still, Sayaka felt nothing but ice in her veins as she frantically rolled to her feet and twisted to face her next attackers in the endless horde of aquatic horrors. Her body had long since burned past its magically augmented limits, but instead of agonizing exhaustion there was numbness. Tentacles slammed and struck her, grabbed and grappled her, lacerated and lashed her, but the pain never penetrated the frigid armor of deadened sensation that pervaded her entire being.
Sayaka was cold, and the cold burned.
The water demon nearest to her died as a cutlass sliced diagonally through its mottled flesh and chitinous hide. The one beside it perished as Sayaka shifted the angle of her cutlass and pulled it out of the previous water demon in a ferocious horizontal slash and a spray of blood. Her other hand unleashed even more carnage as it hurled magical cutlasses into the advancing abominations as rapidly as she could conjure them.
Sayaka was cold, and the cold burned. Her eyes were open, but she did not see through them. Her ears were intact, but she did not hear through them. Her hands held swords, but she did not feel them. There was only the icy fire that burned inside her soul and instinct as she fought and killed and bled and fought and killed and bled again, on and on without end. That, and a dwindling awareness that this was not who and what she wanted to be and that the man who was making her into this still lived, was still nearby, and was smiling as he watched.
That made her angry. That made her furious. That made her mad.
"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"
<><><><><><><><><>
Assassin watched silently from the safety of the shadows as crimson blood splattered and fell like rain in the center of the forest glade where Berserker fought her hopeless battle. Caster's abominable minions completely encircled the Servant of Madness and attacked the young, blue-haired warrior in never-ending waves. Berserker countered by spinning and whirling, dervish-like, within the glowing boundaries of a large, azure spell sigil that pulsated in time with what Assassin assumed was the adolescent fighter's frantically beating heart. Misty tendrils frenetically shot up from a blanket of cold, wraith-like fog that surrounded the servant's feet and congealed into cutlasses that the servant rapidly seized and alternately hurled at, slashed, and impaled the advancing horde with. The aquatic horrors perished in droves, but more were always ready to take the place of the fallen and those that were slain simply spawned more. Berserker may have become a veritable maelstrom of magical steel and slaughter in these desperate moments, but she was merely delaying the inevitable.
She would already be dead if Caster wasn't toying with her, the Servant of the Shadows observed disdainfully as her eyes narrowed and turned to the cackling figure of Gilles de Rais. The insane spellcaster raised and lowered his right arm in excited, ecstatic gesticulations as he gazed rapturously at the tableau of battle taking place before him. His water demons could easily triumph by simply swarming over Berserker and each other, burying the Servant of Madness under the weight of one hundred plus horrors. Instead, Caster restrained them, unleashed them in outrageous but not impossible numbers, all to push Berserker past her limits and deeper into the vortex of madness that was her class's greatest strength and weakness. The crazed Servant of the Spell didn't want to see Berserker die; he wanted to see her fury and hopelessness give birth to a monster, and that mindset disgusted Assassin to no end.
Worst of all, however, Caster was succeeding. The earlier desperation in Berserker's azure eyes had been completely blotted out by an unnerving mixture of frigid apathy and animal bloodlust, and the young warrior seemed to be relying entirely on instinct now to fight the horde. She had, in effect, become a cornered beast whose only options were kill or be killed, but that savagery still wasn't sufficient for Caster. A madman like Gilles de Rais, Assassin knew, wouldn't be satisfied until even the modest dignity Berserker retained in fighting for her life was swallowed up by an ungodly and blind desire for murder.
Although it's just as likely at this point that Berserker's master will keel over dead from strain before Caster gets his wish, Assassin noted coldly. The young Matou's health isn't anywhere near robust enough to sustain his servant for long when she fights like this, and if he was smarter he'd have used a command seal to recall Berserker long before now. He's either an idiot, too wracked with pain to think coherently, or both. What a pair this master and servant make!
"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!"
Zin! Zin-zin-zin! Zin!
Assassin's musings came to an abrupt halt as an inhuman roar that should not have existed outside a nightmare bellowed forth from Berserker's throat and filled the air with an almost tangible killing intent. Simultaneously, dozens of blue, nearly pitch-black spell circles blinked in and out around the Servant of Madness with the sound of violin strings being plucked. The young girl chuckled quietly, a low, dangerous, and heartbreakingly broken sound, and the aquatic horrors encircling her ceased their advance and actually recoiled from her, as if sensing something deadly that they instinctively knew to shy away from. Their master, on the other hand, had an entirely different reaction.
"Yes, that's it! That's the gloriously profane masterpiece I want to see! Show me! Show me the true color of your soul!" the Servant of the Spell demanded as he stood behind his summoned minions, his gaunt body looking like it might burst apart from barely contained anticipation. His eyes widened to a nearly obscene degree with his proclamation, but, to Assassin's surprise, they were fixated entirely on the glowing gem affixed to Berserker's midriff rather than the tragic expression on the servant's face.
Berserker responded to Caster's words by tilting her head back, smiling ferally, and piercing the deranged servant with a hateful, bloodthirsty stare that made it clear she wanted to see him dead no matter the price. She then spun lopsidedly and took a single step forward, and dark currents of wind formed and howled cacophonously around her. The water demons inched back, and the Servant of Madness took another step forward as a spiritual pressure Assassin instinctively recognized as Gaia's touch intensified and came down hard on the clearing. Something else pushed back against it, and for the first time that night Assassin felt true shock.
A reality marble? But that's—!
Tiny cracks materialized in the air where no cracks should exist, confirming Assassin's suspicions, and the Servant of the Shadows suddenly realized that her stealth was no longer a guarantee of safety. She tensed and prepared for anything—in the next moment, literally anything could actually happen—and turned to regard Berserker one last time. The warrior wore a haunted look, an expression that was equal parts molten rage and ice-cold hopelessness with only a single speck of what Assassin would barely term rationality remaining. That last ember dimmed, and then—
Schhwaff!
There was no time for Caster or any of his summoned minions to react, and even Assassin barely saw what happened next. One second Caster was gazing rapturously at Berserker as the girl prepared to call down doom on all of them, and in the next second three of his water demons had been sliced in half and he was clutching a torn grimoire in his left hand as Lancer raced by and slashed the eldritch tome with Gae Dearg. The water demons, having noticed the new threat too late, burst apart in voluminous crimson sprays of blood as the magic linking them to the spellbook came undone. Caster shrieked, furious at this unexpected turn of events, and turned only to lose his right hand as Lancer planted his feet in the ground, spun, and slashed with Gae Buidhe. Painful shock filled Caster's large black eyes but, as he caught sight of the tortured, grief-stricken resolution on Lancer's face, the man who had been Gilles de Rais knew he only had a second more to live unless he escaped.
Fortunately for Caster and unfortunately for everyone else, the Servant of the Spell had kept his earlier promise to Saber and come prepared. Even as Lancer thrust his crimson spear forward to stab Caster through the heart, his spellbook regenerated itself and the anguished, blindfolded face on its cover screamed. The blood saturating the ground instantly boiled and rose as a blinding red mist that hid all three servants from view, and Caster magically vanished just as Gae Dearg's tip punctured the madman's black robes and pierced his chest.
"NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
The enraged scream came from Berserker and was immediately followed by the clamor of swords being swung and slammed against the ground in futile, unspent fury. Assassin heard an inhuman snarl next and then the sound of a body collapsing. The bloody mist settled a few seconds later, and Assassin watched as Lancer cautiously approached his blood-drenched and exhausted ally.
"Berserker, we need to flee immediately. The battle has been lost, and we don't have time—"
Kneeling and barely able to support herself, the Servant of Madness still looked up and growled. Lancer flinched at the monstrous, hate-filled expression on the young girl's face but held his ground, and the intensity of his sorrowful gaze seemed to get through to her. Recognition dawned, and her expression quickly flickered from furious to puzzled to comprehending and then horrified.
"Lan...Lancer? Wha...what happened? Is—Oh my god, Matou! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—Hold on! Sakura's counting on y—ugh..."
Berserker's last dregs of strength finally abandoned her and she fell unconscious on her side to the ground, lifeless and as still as a corpse. Not even her chest rose and fell, and the only signs of motion about her was the flickering glow of blue and black radiance from her stomach piercing. Assassin examined her closely to see if her spiritual core would collapse, but the servant seemed surprisingly stable. Lancer ran over to her worriedly, scooped the girl up into his arms, and—his orange eyes darting around quickly to see if they were being pursued—hurriedly retreated deeper into the forest. Assassin was left alone in the blood-soaked glade, and she smiled with morbidly good cheer underneath her white skull mask.
My my, tonight has certainly been informative! Who would have thought that Berserker would possess a reality marble? Master Kotomine should be informed of this, but, alas, his attention isn't with me at the moment and I fear that I, being an old, absent-minded woman, might forget. Fortunately, I'm sure what he doesn't know won't hurt him and Lord Tohsaka...yet.
Still smiling and using the darkness and forest foliage as cover, Assassin crept after the two departing servants. The night wasn't over yet, and there were still more secrets for her to uncover and share with her master...as well as other secrets that would be shared only among the Hashashin.
<><><><><><><><><>
Sola-Ui sipped a cup of warm tea as she sat back in the white club chair inside her and Kayneth's hotel suite and waited expectantly. The flat screen television against the wall was on and showed a grim-faced news anchor reporting on recent events—last night's evacuation of the Hyatt Hotel and the inexplicably defective explosives found inside, more missing children as the police continued to investigate, speculation that both might be connected to the recent serial murders—but the volume was low and the attractive redhead paid the broadcast little mind. Her mind was focused on what were to her far more important matters.
On the round accent table beside her, a glass bauble shimmered with the faint sparkling of dancing white lights. It looked like a domed paperweight to the untrained eye, but Sola-Ui knew it to be the second half of one of the Archibald family's mystic codes. It had begun glowing approximately thirty minutes ago, which meant the first half had activated. And the first half would only have activated if—
If Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald, my fiancé, is dead.
Sola-Ui was surprised but not entirely displeased by the development. She'd never particularly liked Kayneth and had resented being betrothed to an older man, and his reckless decision to bring her with him to Japan to act as a glorified arcane battery in a war between mages had further soured her opinion of the pompous fool. The idiot had genuinely thought she'd be impressed while he risked both their lives for the sake of his prestige. And while his death was not something she would have specifically wished for—she knew others called her a spiteful woman, but she wasn't so spiteful as to genuinely want someone dead—she wasn't blinded by grief and could appreciate the new and exciting possibilities his passing opened up for her.
First, there were now over a dozen mystic codes lying within what was practically arm's reach of her. More likely than not, her family would return them to the Archibalds—she had no official claim to them as a bereaved fiancée rather than a widower and the Sophia-Ris weren't powerful enough to cross Kayneth's relatives—but that would take time and couldn't even begin until she returned to England. For as long as she stayed in Japan, she could use them freely, study them to her heart's content, and pilfer their secrets, and the part of her that was a magus could barely restrain its eagerness to master these arcane mysteries.
Second, she could now move about the city freely again without worrying about a bullet tearing through her head. The half of the mystic code beside her that had been in Kayneth's possession was retributive in nature, designed to incapacitate the owner's killer. The half in her possession was the counter needed to dispel the curse, and it was supposed to be used to negotiate for the return of the deceased's corpse. Kayneth had explained the mystic code's history and function to her before they left the Clock Tower, speaking in a bored, haughty tone of how—when his family had been slightly less prestigious—his ancestors had created the mystic code to ensure the El-Melloi magic crest would be returned to them in a worst case scenario. They'd never needed to use it, though, and he was only taking it along because it was family custom to do so.
And thus Kayneth became the first El-Melloi whose death triggered the mystic code. I'm certain that's not how he wanted to distinguish himself in the family history.
The corners of Sola-Ui's soft pink lips lifted slightly at the scornful thought, and she took another sip of her tea. Kayneth's premature death aside, her half of the mystic code wouldn't have activated if the other half hadn't succeeded in cursing her fiancé's killer. Either the Emiya master or his Einzbern employer were now completely comatose, and she was the only person who could break the spell. They'd be fools to assassinate her now, once she informed them of the facts, and knowing that the most ruthless faction in the Grail War had, in regards to her, been effectively defanged was a tremendous weight off her shoulders.
Of course, both these matters were trivial compared to what truly mattered to her— Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, the hero who had stolen her heart and whose miraculous existence increasingly occupied more and more of her waking thoughts. Just thinking about the man brought a flush to her cheeks, and her heart pounded with a potent combination of relief and hopeful anticipation as she waited. Relief that Diarmuid still lived; Kayneth's modifications to the summoning ritual had transferred the burden of supplying Lancer with magical energy to her, and the steady flow of magic binding their lives together continued to flow despite Kayneth's death. And hope that, as she sat and waited, what she anticipated would happen next would truly come to pass.
Sola-Ui's patience was finally rewarded when a prickly, stinging sensation ran across the skin of her right hand. She hissed in minor pain as she hastily lowered the teacup onto the accent table and held up the back of her right hand to study it. Just as she'd expected, the sight of two red command seals greeted her.
"Perfect," she spoke with giddy joy, immediately shooting to her feet and rushing over to a mirror to study her appearance. She wanted to look her best when Lancer returned to the hotel suite.
Because Diarmuid is now all mine.
<><><><><><><><><>
Kiritsugu's face was an expressionless mask as he looked around at the hauntingly familiar fishing village on the island seashore. The weather-worn wood and corroded sheet metal buildings were small and rustic, and the narrow roads crisscrossing the small town were little more than unpaved dirt. Signs of modernity were few and far apart—a primitive transistor radio here; an old, beaten-up vehicle held together by baling wire and duct tape over there; a vintage, battery-powered clock overlooking a wooden porch; and other fleeting signs of a world far removed from this one. The homes were well-maintained, though, and each possessed a warm, welcoming rural charm that bespoke the love and trust the villagers had for each other.
People passed by him in ones and twos and the occasional small group, going about their daily business with the relaxed ease of those free to do things in their own time. There were old men and women, their adult children, and a third, younger generation, all with dark skin tanned by the hot tropical sun and weathered by spending most of their lives outside working or playing. They wore light cotton and linen shirts and shorts suitable for the climate, most of them hand-me-downs, and they paid Kiritsugu no mind as they walked by. They rarely looked in his direction, and when they did they looked right through him, as if he were invisible to them. As if he were a ghost...although Kiritsugu knew that the opposite was true.
Kiritsugu recognized every face, although time had stricken many of the names from his mind. He knew this island, even though many details had faded from his memory. And he remembered this day—this tragic, sorrowful day that he could never forget.
"Alimango Island," the Magus Killer said tersely, his gaze flitting about from face to face in search of the one person he desperately did not want to see but knew he inevitably would. Sure enough, a short, dark-haired boy who was instantly recognizable to Kiritsugu as his younger self soon rushed past and Kiritsugu, bowing to the inescapable, followed after him.
The trek continued for several minutes as the younger Kiritsugu anxiously made his way through the village, stopping occasionally to ask other people on the streets a question they all answered in the negative. He slowed upon reaching a small, one-story house that was only a little larger than a shack. Tentatively, the boy walked up to the front door and knocked once and then twice. Not hearing an answer, he tried the door handle and found it was unlocked.
The adult Kiritsugu steeled himself for what he knew was coming next as he watched the young boy nervously enter the home of his father's assistant and his first crush. He walked behind himself as the child looked around and found the empty bottle of medicine from his father's workshop on the floor. He watched as the boy startled at the sound of frightened poultry coming from the backyard and, mustering courage, rushed out behind the house to investigate. He observed, emotionlessly, as the boy's black eyes widened in fear and confusion at the sight of blood-covered chickens fluttering about amid the mutilated bodies of their flock-mates and then widened further in horror as they followed the blood trail and spied the back of a familiar girl. Normally possessing a carefree, natural beauty, the girl now looked gaunt and haggard as she hunched over with her face hidden from him and hungrily fed on the distressed avians.
Sentiment momentarily overrode fear, and the boy stepped forward and shouted the girl's name. Her head turned back to look at him, and her eyes swelled with a terror the boy had never seen before. She was afraid, not of him, not of her transformation, but of the unbearable possibility that she might hurt him. Desperate, she threw herself away from him into the wired chicken coop and shouted back at him, begging him to kill her as she tossed him a sheathed knife. The boy hesitated, petrified, as the humanity drained out of the girl's eyes and she bit her own arm to satisfy her awakening vampiric impulses rather than feast on him.
The adult Kiritsugu felt a dull throb as he watched, the type of pain one feels from an old wound that has only calloused over and will never fully heal, but his cold, stoic demeanor did not shift in the slightest. He'd had a simple choice back then, although he'd only realized how simple much later. He could murder the girl, a brilliant young woman whose curiosity had doomed her, and end her agonizing misery before she became something both less and worse than human. Or he could run and seek help, living free of the guilt of killing his first love but putting everyone else in the village at risk of contracting the same plague of vampirism. The certainty of a small tragedy, or the possibility a large tragedy. Sacrifice one life to save one hundred, or endanger one hundred in the slight chance the one could be saved.
The boy ran away with Shirley's pleading eyes and anguished, inhuman moans following behind him, burned forever into his memory along with the knowledge that by the end of the night everyone in the village would be dead, killed by the living dead and ghouls who were in turn destroyed by the Holy Church's Executors and the Mage's Association's Enforcers. Had the boy been braver—had he been able to do what Shirley had begged him to do—those lives could have been saved. Instead, he'd listened to his heart and damned everyone.
Suddenly, he laughed. It was mirthless sound, but it was also tinged with relief. He'd been worried when the hallway in the Einzbern mansion had grown dark and Kayneth's retributive curse—What else could this possibly be?—struck him, but this was nothing he needed to fear. A curse that forced a man to relive his most painful memories? He already relived those memories every day; they were always with him and were what made him the Magus Killer, and there was nothing in his past that could possibly compare with the pain awaiting him at the end of the Grail War when he would make the choice his younger self had run away from and murder the woman he loved to save the world.
"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell," he quoted quietly as he turned in the direction the boy had run and once again followed after him. This memory wasn't over yet, and there was still more tragedy to witness...and, inevitably, when he awoke and won the Holy Grail War, to experience firsthand.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Author's Note: The quote is from The Duchess of Padua, a five-act play written by Oscar Wilde.
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Supplemental Materials - Mystic Code List
- Location
- Zurvan, the Sea of Dreams
Mystic Code List
Volumen Hydragyrum: Marrow of the Moon Spirit.
Kayneth's most famous mystic code. It is created from mercury filled with magecraft and can be sculpted into any shape and controlled at will. Kayneth imbued several preset commands and autonomous modes into it. In the canon storyline, Volumen Hydragyrum was later passed on to Waver Velvet when he received the title Lord El-Melloi II and further refined and modified to become a humanoid automaton with the shape of a Maid Golem. It allegedly has a bug that causes it to occasionally run out of control insisting it is a killer robot from the future because of a "harmful movie" it was shown during its developmental stages.
Prison of the Fake Flame.
A relatively straightforward mystic code by the Mage's Association's standards. An artificial fire elemental is imprisoned inside the block of basalt and can be unsealed by undoing the arcane lock. The fire elemental remains stationary until it is given the command to act, upon which it advances and does its best to incinerate everything in its path. The fire elemental fully expends itself after one hour and reverts back to its sealed state.
Mysinor's Eye of Illusion.
A mystic code whose simple function belies the sophistication of what it does. Mysinor's Eye can create perfect copies of its owner and anything else the owner designates, up to one hundred copies total. Those who are copied can perceive through these illusions as they would through their own senses, control the actions of these illusions by thought alone, and speak through these illusions too. Only direct contact will reveal that the illusions are fake. However, in addition to its cap of one hundred illusions, Mysinor's Eye can only sustain these illusions for thirty minutes and is further limited by its lengthy recharge time of twelve hours. This effectively makes it a one-use mystic code in most circumstances.
Mage Armor of the Sorcerer King.
An incredibly powerful mystic code, but only if its owner can afford its exorbitant operating costs. The mystic code will protect its owner from anything it perceives as an attack at the cost of an ounce of gold for every attack it blocks. Only magical mysteries of a higher nature and weapons specifically designed to counter magic can penetrate its defense.
Fairy Compass.
A minor mystic code Kayneth constructed in his younger days. The proto-spirits bound to the golden compass have the single purpose of seeking out what the compass's owner commands. The owner must have a clear mental image of the item or person sought; the proto-spirits read this image and then disperse in all directions to look for it. Their range is limited to one square kilometer.
Revenge of the Fallen.
A two-part mystic code crafted by Kayneth's ancestors. The first half activates upon the death of its owner and seeks out the person who killed him, with a maximum range of 100 meters. The mystic code curses its target, placing him in a comatose state during which the person relives his worst memories. If the first half is successful in cursing its target, the second half activates and becomes the counterspell needed to lift the curse. Its intended use is to be leverage to compel the murderer's associates to deliver the deceased's body to his family. In this way, the family can retrieve its magic crest and avoid the horrifying setback of losing generations of stored magical knowledge and power. It had never activated prior to its story appearance, and the Archibald family kept its existence secret to deny rivals the opportunity to implement countermeasures.
Thompson Contender and Origin Bullets.
The infamous mystic code of the Magus Killer. Emiya Kiritsugu has extensively modified the already powerful Thompson Contender and changed it into a deadly armament that can fire Origin Bullets, conceptual weapons crafted from his first and second ribs that actualize his origin of "Severing and Binding" inside the target. The Origin Bullet severs the target's nerves and capillaries and improperly binds them back together afterwards, effectively crippling the target and rendering the original function of the affected nerves and capillaries lost. It similarly destructively severs and binds Magecraft it comes into contact with. If the target is a magus actively using his or her magic circuits, the severing aspect of the Origin Bullet will cause the prana stored within the circuits to ignore the paths within the body, flowing chaotically and destroying the circuits in the process. The binding aspect will then bind the circuits together again afterwards, but in a chaotic and useless manner. Or to use an RPG analogy, an Origin Bullet converts the target's MP into physical damage.
Volumen Hydragyrum: Marrow of the Moon Spirit.
Kayneth's most famous mystic code. It is created from mercury filled with magecraft and can be sculpted into any shape and controlled at will. Kayneth imbued several preset commands and autonomous modes into it. In the canon storyline, Volumen Hydragyrum was later passed on to Waver Velvet when he received the title Lord El-Melloi II and further refined and modified to become a humanoid automaton with the shape of a Maid Golem. It allegedly has a bug that causes it to occasionally run out of control insisting it is a killer robot from the future because of a "harmful movie" it was shown during its developmental stages.
Prison of the Fake Flame.
A relatively straightforward mystic code by the Mage's Association's standards. An artificial fire elemental is imprisoned inside the block of basalt and can be unsealed by undoing the arcane lock. The fire elemental remains stationary until it is given the command to act, upon which it advances and does its best to incinerate everything in its path. The fire elemental fully expends itself after one hour and reverts back to its sealed state.
Mysinor's Eye of Illusion.
A mystic code whose simple function belies the sophistication of what it does. Mysinor's Eye can create perfect copies of its owner and anything else the owner designates, up to one hundred copies total. Those who are copied can perceive through these illusions as they would through their own senses, control the actions of these illusions by thought alone, and speak through these illusions too. Only direct contact will reveal that the illusions are fake. However, in addition to its cap of one hundred illusions, Mysinor's Eye can only sustain these illusions for thirty minutes and is further limited by its lengthy recharge time of twelve hours. This effectively makes it a one-use mystic code in most circumstances.
Mage Armor of the Sorcerer King.
An incredibly powerful mystic code, but only if its owner can afford its exorbitant operating costs. The mystic code will protect its owner from anything it perceives as an attack at the cost of an ounce of gold for every attack it blocks. Only magical mysteries of a higher nature and weapons specifically designed to counter magic can penetrate its defense.
Fairy Compass.
A minor mystic code Kayneth constructed in his younger days. The proto-spirits bound to the golden compass have the single purpose of seeking out what the compass's owner commands. The owner must have a clear mental image of the item or person sought; the proto-spirits read this image and then disperse in all directions to look for it. Their range is limited to one square kilometer.
Revenge of the Fallen.
A two-part mystic code crafted by Kayneth's ancestors. The first half activates upon the death of its owner and seeks out the person who killed him, with a maximum range of 100 meters. The mystic code curses its target, placing him in a comatose state during which the person relives his worst memories. If the first half is successful in cursing its target, the second half activates and becomes the counterspell needed to lift the curse. Its intended use is to be leverage to compel the murderer's associates to deliver the deceased's body to his family. In this way, the family can retrieve its magic crest and avoid the horrifying setback of losing generations of stored magical knowledge and power. It had never activated prior to its story appearance, and the Archibald family kept its existence secret to deny rivals the opportunity to implement countermeasures.
Thompson Contender and Origin Bullets.
The infamous mystic code of the Magus Killer. Emiya Kiritsugu has extensively modified the already powerful Thompson Contender and changed it into a deadly armament that can fire Origin Bullets, conceptual weapons crafted from his first and second ribs that actualize his origin of "Severing and Binding" inside the target. The Origin Bullet severs the target's nerves and capillaries and improperly binds them back together afterwards, effectively crippling the target and rendering the original function of the affected nerves and capillaries lost. It similarly destructively severs and binds Magecraft it comes into contact with. If the target is a magus actively using his or her magic circuits, the severing aspect of the Origin Bullet will cause the prana stored within the circuits to ignore the paths within the body, flowing chaotically and destroying the circuits in the process. The binding aspect will then bind the circuits together again afterwards, but in a chaotic and useless manner. Or to use an RPG analogy, an Origin Bullet converts the target's MP into physical damage.
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Hammerheadcruiser
Eagle-1 my beloved
- Location
- Anaxes
I am exceptionally glad to see more of this. Great fight, good characters and a wonderfully dark ending.
SolipsistSerpent
Endlessly Devouring
Quite enjoyable. A bit of a tease with the near reveal of Sayaka's Final Form, but I can't say that's not true of the source material.
I am so happy to see this update and it was worth the wait, such brilliant vivid descriptions made for amazing battle scenes, the perspectives did a fantastic job of showing both the strategic skills of those involved, their personalities and their motives, I especially liked Kaneyth's 'public service' bit.
Awesome twist with Sola (also cool mystic code there, very interesting), and Assassin's schemes are beginning to form, which is awesome, servants with their own agenda are great in my eyes and the growing sense of power and terror at Sayaka almost releasing her Reality Marble was brilliant! Seems there will be consequences though so she probably won't be fighting for a bit.
Though I have to wonder, would her reality marble strain him, I recall that it fed of Gaia's energy.
Anyway awesome chapter, looking forward to the next one!
Awesome twist with Sola (also cool mystic code there, very interesting), and Assassin's schemes are beginning to form, which is awesome, servants with their own agenda are great in my eyes and the growing sense of power and terror at Sayaka almost releasing her Reality Marble was brilliant! Seems there will be consequences though so she probably won't be fighting for a bit.
Though I have to wonder, would her reality marble strain him, I recall that it fed of Gaia's energy.
Anyway awesome chapter, looking forward to the next one!
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Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
I am sure nothing bad will come of Sola-Ui controlling Diarmuid.
Hadiz
The Final Solution. To Others.
- Location
- Somewhere.
OverReactionGuy
Verified Sanity
You jinxed it. Now Lancer must SUFFER!!!
Poor man.
Think of it this way. At least he is guaranteed to have a better end then what happened to him in canon. I mean, crying tears of blood? Yeesh.
Besides... it seems to be Sayuka's role to suffer in this case... Poor girl couldn't even kill Caster for all his crimes when he was right in front of her.
Honestly though, unless you have an anti-fortress noble phantasm that can completely consume all of the water demons, the Gigantic Horror that Prelati's Spellbook can summon, and Caster in one single blow, its actually difficult to take out Caster and his demons. If you try to attack Caster, he swarms you with an army of demons. If you focus on the demons, Caster can just make more. If somehow Sayaka did manage to kill Caster, the monsters can continue to grow and replicate if they consume more humans for their prana.
Its why it was so important that Saber's Excaliblast completely destroyed everything in one go. Sayaka witching out might have potential, although that is kind of a point of no return for her.
Its why it was so important that Saber's Excaliblast completely destroyed everything in one go. Sayaka witching out might have potential, although that is kind of a point of no return for her.
The Dragon Witch
Vengeful Witch
Hey just wondering but when sayaka manifests her reality marble does she become octavia or does she enter the egg like stage.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
If she were to fully become Octavia she would be zapped by Madoka, so presumably the second option.
OverReactionGuy
Verified Sanity
So close, Sayaka was so close to tearing caster a new one.
Poor Kariya the cost must have set back what she healed.
Which makes me wonder if he held onto her contract long enough and with periodic healing could Sayaka return him to full health?
Or will Kariya's worms keep trying to degrade his health regardless of his physical shape?
Which makes me wonder if he held onto her contract long enough and with periodic healing could Sayaka return him to full health?
Or will Kariya's worms keep trying to degrade his health regardless of his physical shape?
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I think she remains as herself but there's a sort of ticking clock in the background telling her how long she can use it before Octavia 'hatches' and it all breaks down before that happens,but I could be wrong.
An interesting idea and one that might lessen his chances of completely snapping, but I imagine to do so Sayaka would need a separate source of Prana herself and even then the worms might just continue to damage him.
Wouldn't that also waste all the Prana she's gaining? Unless she's just barely keeping him from dying and 'storing' the rest.
- Location
- Zurvan, the Sea of Dreams
Don't tempt fate. Lancer's luck is already bad enough without any of us raising additional death flags for him.
Insomuch as anyone afflicted by A-rank Mad Enhancement can remain herself, yes. Sayaka's ultimate noble phantasm summons Oktavia's witch's barrier and familiars rather than Oktavia herself, but if more than 30 minutes pass Oktavia will start to "hatch" and the Law of Cycles will be invoked. Activating this noble phantasm requires the near total corruption of Sayaka's soul gem, though, so it takes a heavy toll on her sanity.
Thinking about it, I'd say it's possible Sayaka might be able to produce more prana than she spends this way, but doing so would agitate Kariya's crest worms so much that the instant she stopped healing him they'd go out of control and kill him. It would probably be something like what Kayneth went through in canon when he was shot by Kiritsugu's origin bullet. So, not a pretty sight at all.
Unfortunately for Kariya, even with the crest worms he's not a strong enough mage to sustain a servant without help from the Greater Grail. Sayaka is a comparatively prana-efficient servant when she isn't going berserk thanks to her soul gem, but she still requires an exorbitant amount of prana by normal Nasu-verse standards. Once the Grail War ends and the Greater Grail's contributions to maintaining the servants ceases, the full upkeep cost would hit Kariya all at once and send his crest worms into a frenzy regardless of how much he's recovered.
If Sayaka found a source of prana to supplement her own reserves, she might be able to purge the crest worms from Kariya's body and heal the damage, but then Kariya wouldn't be able to generate enough prana to keep her going in battle. So he's in something of a bind here...or at least he would be if he hadn't already resigned himself to dying just so long as he saves Sakura.
jwolfe_beta
Semi Genre-Savvy Overlord
- Location
- Canada
Madokami? That's your cue to start tweaking events behind the scenes to help ensure a happ(ier) ending to the Grail War.So he's in something of a bind here...or at least he would be if he hadn't already resigned himself to dying just so long as he saves Sakura.
I say happier since it would be nigh impossible to have a happy ending to this Grail War.
Ah it seems I forgot or didn't know she couldn't just whip out Oktavia's barrier without the mad enchantment/corruption, quite a penalty then. TY for the info.
I see, well that's a horrifying mental picture, food thing Kariya doesn't want to experiment with it too much.
Hmm, was I anywhere in the ball park about Giaia 'helping' support the barrier? I wonder if there could be some alternative source she could grab onto somewhere... Avalon? Ah but that kill irisviel!
Azrael
Sakura Saber
- Location
- Throne of Heroes
The opposite actually. Gaia crushes the Barrier as with all Magecraft.
Avalon heals, it does not create Prana (In fact it uses it up).