<"Goemon, keep them busy! Make sure they don't hurt Niamh, we're going on ahead!">
<"Hoh? So you actually can give a half decent suggestion!">
You whirl to face your sister quick enough that you can't even be annoyed at Goemon's blasé attitude towards this, grabbing her by both shoulders and squeezing gently. It's more contact that you've wanted with her ever since you were a kid, but if she fucks this up again, if she catches Melusine's attention, it's all over. You need to be sure she understands.
"Niamh, you and Goemon are going to stay here and stall the bears." She opens her mouth and you know she's going to protest so instead you just keep speaking, trampling over whatever it is she was going to say. "Niamh you aren't a Servant. You can't fight them. If we get surrounded or separated from Jeanne then this is all over. We need you here. I need you here."
You stop short of begging—for now, at least, gods know you'd do it if it meant she wouldn't end up seduced by a lake faerie later—but it works. It's base manipulation to be certain, but for her part Niamh doesn't seem to mind being manipulated. The fact that you're asking her for something, that you need her and you're willing to admit to it, that makes her hold her head higher, makes her smile just a bit. After the conversation you had last night, you're not remotely surprised.
"Okay. Just...be careful, alright? For me." She looks at you with such sincerity that you can barely stomach it, nodding instead of saying anything else, before turning your attention to the bears. At the speed Jeanne and her Servants were moving, you've lost too much time already. With Baby Bear's sensory manipulation leaving them fading in and out of vision, you doubt you'd be able to take them all out in time, but thankfully you don't have to. After all, you've got your own trickster at the ready.
<"Goemon, when we charge, you distract them. After that, keep their attention with Niamh. If you can kill them, do it, but don't let them box us in. If you need a Command Spell—">
<"Pfah, if I need a Command Spell. Don't get your britches in a twist, mister big hero. This great thief will handle every last little thing here, especially that fine sister of yours.">
You sever the connection between your minds so fast that you like to think it was a little like a slap.
A quick look and a shared thought is all you need to confirm your plan with Circe, not a moment too soon with the bears starting to lumber forward. For just a moment, the white-knuckle tension of a brawl one punch away from starting keeps you all in suspense—and when the penny drops, it's like a bolt of lightning down your spine. That, or maybe it's just the strengthening magecraft that Circe cast on you the moment you started charging forward.
You move fast enough that you're barely able to get your shield out in time to crash into Mammy Bear, the temperature plummeting quickly enough around her that you can feel the chill even as you slam your shield upwards with strength you didn't have a moment ago, the bottom prong slamming into her chin with a crack and sending her head and the accompanying icy jaws skyward. One bear disabled doesn't do much about the other two, but that's fine. All you needed was to keep their focus on you for a moment.
"Kage-Bunshin!"
A shower of steel rains down on all three bears from five separate directions, and you spare a single glance at the nightmare scenario of five separate Goemons wielding kunai all darting around the ursine family. In all fairness, you can't exactly think of anything more distracting, and that feeling only grows as you watch the shadow clones start to unleash ninjutsu of their own, scorching flames and dicing wind harrying the too-slow to react bears, every swipe of their paws finding nothing but emptiness as the ninja prepares his next assault. He's good, as infuriating as it is to admit—and with Niamh only taking a moment to realise what's happening before summoning her Cú Sídhe to slam into the distracted bears, the pair have managed to lock them in an easy stalemate.
You don't have time to worry about the tide turning. You just have to move.
It's like ice water in your veins when the spell Circe cast wears off, but that was the plan too. You can't waste a single drop of mana here, not at the climax, and you need Circe there to press the attack on Melusine, make sure she doesn't have the time or space to call forth Arondight. You think you can block it again if you need to, but you're not sure—and even if you were, Caravaggio's ranting has left you nervous of what could happen. Last time it had come so suddenly that you couldn't have resisted the mantling even if you had tried, but this time...could you? Would you?
You don't want to have to find out the answer.
The streets of Paris are empty. Not a single soul wanders the cobblestone pathways, no one meanders through the criss-cross alleys and backways, there is no one crossing the river and marching along its banks. You race through, Archer at your side and Circe sailing through the air above, and you can feel it. A city is a gathering point, a collection, a menagerie of people all living their lives a thousand thousand choices at a time. It's a living thing, a brick-and-stone construct beating like a heart as its people make their way through it. There should be life, should be noise, should be that unmistakable presence of a people.
There's none of that. You are charging through the corpse of a city, like the catacombs below brought forth into broad daylight.
When the silence is broken, it isn't any better. A torrent of unholy flames large enough to swallow you whole surges forth in the distance, the corrupted fire howling through the air like a creature possessed. The battle has started and you're not there, but all it'll take you is a few more seconds charging down the empty pathway—
It's not empty anymore.
Standing in front of you is a little girl with a red cloak, head cocked in a gesture of precocious curiosity, holding a basket in front of her in both hands.
Instincts drilled into you through long years of fighting push you to slam the breaks, the stone beneath you cracking in a spiderweb pattern from the force of your sudden stop. Another delay, but you can't risk more of those shadow wolves—outside of the forest you don't know if they'll be endless but if she's going to send a tide of them after you you don't have a choice but to fight here and now—
"Oh, if it isn't mister wolf. I'm sorry to be impolite, but could you please get out of the way? I have to bring my grandmother a galette and cream. It's a very important errand."
Another howling firestorm erupts behind her, and you make a decision.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to keep you." You keep your chains very still as you step aside, leaving the little girl to start walking past you. Archer has an arrow trained on her while Circe keeps focus on the battle ahead, but even if you're losing precious seconds it's better to let the girl go than provoke another attack. Her shadow swirls and writhes behind her, the impression of claws and teeth pressing against it now and then, but it holds its shape as she passes. You're almost ready to continue onwards when she suddenly stops, turning towards Archer and tilting her head. Her bowstring creaks as she pulls it back another millimetre, but if Berserker cares, she doesn't show it.
"You don't smell like a person, miss. But you don't smell like a wolf either. You're not a person or a wolf, like Princess Mermaid. Why are you playing nice with all these grownups?" Archer doesn't reply, but you can see her brow furrow, the girl continuing undaunted. "They're all wolves in disguise, pretending to be people. Aren't you scared that they'll betray you? Wolves will eat you up even if you aren't a person. You should be a good girl and not trust strangers. You should kill them and cut their bellies open and fill them with stones and throw them in the river. That way they can't trick you and eat you anymore."
"My Master will not betray me, and I will not betray him. That will not change." There's not the slightest hint of doubt in Archer's voice, no wavering or wobbling. She didn't even have to think about it—had she remembered the night before, your explanation to Matthew? You have to fight to keep down the surge of warmth that starts rising up inside you. You haven't done anything yet to deserve that sort of faith, but if she has that much in you then you won't complain. You just need this conversation to be over so you can keep moving, but it seems like the girl has other plans.
"That's silly. You're silly. All the grownups are wolves. That's why it's best not to grow up. I want to stay little and be together with my grandmother. You're not a person, but you don't seem much bigger than me. Don't you want to stay little too?"
"All grownups are wolves, hm? Except your thorny princess, of course." Circe flutters down to stare at the girl, hand on her hip and a singularly unimpressed look on her face. You shoot her a look that says we really don't have time for this and she gives you one back that says we're stuck here anyway and you can't exactly say she's wrong without being willing to risk unleashing an endless tide of shadow-wolves without the princess in question to calm Berserker down but still. You need to move, and if Berserker doesn't leave soon…
"What? No, don't be silly, miss bird wolf. The princess is definitely a wolf, but she told me herself." You blink at that, casting your mind back to all your interactions with Avenger. She'd never hidden her low estimation of herself, had she? "She might kill me, because all wolves might, but she didn't try to trick me. She promised to get along with me for a bit, so I like her."
She pauses for a moment, considering the three of you, before giving a little shrug.
"I don't think I like any of you very much. I really have to be off to grandmother's now, though. Goodbye, wolves. Goodbye, not-a-wolf."
With that, she starts to walk away, a single pitch-black wolfshead snapping futilely towards you from the bindings of her shadow as she does. You watch for another heartbeat to make certain that she isn't going to turn around before you whirl and start to sprint, kicking off so fast that the cobblestone beneath your foot shatters as you move. You hope you made the right choice there—you're working with less power than the enemy and adding Berserker into the mix would tip the balance in a bad way, but if something happened in the precious seconds you spent indulging her…
A single leap takes you onto the rooftops, your strides carrying you from building to building, heedless of the shattered rafters and broken stone you leave with every movement. You're only seconds away from where the flames erupted now, closer to the bonfire, your circuits sending jolts of magical energy through you as you sharpen your eyesight, looking for any hint of—
There.
Jeanne's armor shimmers like spun starlight even in the light of the pillar of balefire that stands in the center of the city, darting in and around the buildings surrounding her. Even only seeing it for a moment, you're certain. The others can't be too far, but that means that the enemy can't be too far either.
As if on cue, a house a few dozen metres ahead of you simply explodes into dark red fire, the Witch of Orléans leaping out of it and gathering another torrent of flame around her pitch-black blade, roaring to the heavens as she lashes out and sends a lash made of flame scorching through wood and stone below her.
"Come out! Come out, Jeanne! Come out so I can burn you ag-urk!"
One leap is all it takes to cut her off, the element of surprise paying off. You whirl in midair and summon your shield midway through, grunting with effort as you slam the slab of metal right into Jeanne Alter's side. You can just barely hear the air leave her lungs before she flies off, landing hard enough on the roof of another building that she skips like a stone across a pond before finally crashing into another and coming to a stop. You've got a few seconds.
"Jeanne, we're here, we need—"
"Get to Marie and Sanson!" The saint yells at you from below, her tone so desperate that you're left wide-eyed or a moment. "They're fighting Gilles near the bonfire and Melusine is coming, I can handle Alter!"
You hate to do it, but it makes sense. Jeanne and her Alter might be even enough, but Melusine will kill Sanson and Marie in a heartbeat if they're distracted at all. That they're both fighting a human is cause for concern too, but as long as you can stall Melusine things will work out. They have to.
<"Archer, Circe, you heard her!">
That one mental command is all it takes for Archer to rocket off ahead of you—even if your speed is statistically in the same ballpark, she's got an inhuman grace to her movements you can't hope to match. Even so, you do an admirable job at keeping pace as you leap across rooftop to rooftop, Circe flying just above you. You clear one building and then the next, and with your third leap you soar upwards and over the city centre, the Seine to your right and the giant bonfire burning right ahead of you.
Down below, you see Sanson and Marie on either side of Gilles de Rais, the knight's sword locked against Sanson's executioner's blade and—staying there? The flicker of pale blue light in Sanson's eyes is enough to tell you that skill of his is working fine, which isn't much of a surprise. Even if this Gilles hadn't committed the crimes he would in regular history, he was part of the plan to murder entire cities worth of people. Charles-Henri Sanson was a lousy Assassin, but under the effect of Executioner he was a damn fine Saber, raw stats high enough to pose a legitimate threat. Gilles shouldn't be able to hold him off, and yet...
You see Marie dart in from the side, scarlet claws raised to stab at Gilles's neck, but the fallen knight doesn't even glance at her as he lashes out with one hand, grabbing Marie's wrist and whirling to disengage from the lock with Sanson. He's using Marie as a shield, you realise, and it works long enough for Gilles to leap backwards, letting go of the princess as her momentum sends her tumbling towards Sanson. She rights herself as he lends her an arm and they're back to readiness in a split-second, but so is Gilles. He's human, and yet he's fighting on the level of a Servant—and you have absolutely no time to think about it, because from the other side of the roaring bonfire you spy a flicker of deep blue scales and you have to move.
Archer hits the ground lightly enough that she barely makes a sound, but the stone crunching under your feet as you slam down is enough to turn the heads of the other combatants for a moment. You don't have the luxury of words with how close Melusine is, so instead you just rocket off towards the water faerie, Archer at your side as Circe swoops up to get a better target away from the flames—no instructions needed, which you appreciate. Even with Archer at your side, you don't at all relish the thought of fighting Melusine and having to divert your attention. All you do is send a surge of appreciation through your connection to Circe before closing it, only a heartbeat before you and Melusine both clear the side of the bonfire, locking eyes immediately.
Whether proximity to the bonfire or proximity to the water of the Seine, Melusine is faster than you and Archer both, closing the distance to you in half a heartbeat and lashing out with razor sharp claws. You summon your shield in time to block it, but you're forced to use both hands, arms burning with effort as you grit your teeth and fight the urge to kneel. Her own arms holding fast without the slightest tremor, Melusine leans close and hisses five short words.
"Your sister. Where is she?"
You don't get the chance to spit any venom. Melusine glances to the side and disengages before a hail of arrows flies past you, slicing through the mid-morning air and vaporising in the heat of the bonfire as they soar into it. Archer's face is set in a cold scowl as she draws back her bowstring once more, her aim following Melusine's serpentine movements—not quite enough to get a clear shot. Melusine's hand darts to the side and you charge forward on instinct, intent on stopping her from taking the few moments it would cost to summon Arondight—but then she whirls, her tail whipping horizontally as if to take your head off your shoulders. You only barely manage to lean back to dodge it, watching as Archer sails over your head to catch Melusine's follow-up strike on her naginata. The wood catches Melusine's palms, her hands open in an attempt to slash you with her claws, and for a moment there is a deadlock and Melusine turns to you again, watching as you catch your balance.
"Your trick won't work twice. I don't need the sword to kill you."
You don't answer. You don't need to. She's right—about you, at least. But she's not just fighting you, is she?
Her tail twitches as you take a single step forward, shield held at the ready, and sweat beading down your face from the fire, but you're still out of range. Still out of range, and still her focus, just like you wanted. She hates you, you can practically feel it, and she's confident enough to indulge that hatred even with Archer so close. Whatever you do, Melusine will see, and whatever Archer does, Melusine can react to in time. For a split second, the standoff continues, Archer and Melusine testing their strength against one another while the water spirit focuses her displeasure on you—and by the time she realises you're not moving for a reason, it's too late.
"Πυρκαγιά!"
Circe's voice rings out in the air, and past the bonfire you see five great tongues of green flame erupt, curving around the fell bonfire in the centre of the city and surging straight for Melusine. She leaps away immediately, gliding with unnatural grace and speed on her monstrous lower body, but the flames turn to seek her, howling and raging as they get closer and closer until Melusine smirks—
"Πυρκαγιά!"
Circe's voice comes from Melusine's mouth, and you watch as five tongues of green fire erupt from her hand, one from every digit. The conflagrations meet and devour each other, the flames sputtering out as Circe flies closer, and you see shock flit across her face for just an instant before it's replaced with understanding.
"The nymph. You stole Echo's essence, didn't you? That's how you copied my incantation." Despite the situation, Circe almost sounds impressed at the audacity, and you can't blame her. Alter Ego is a strange class, but a European water faerie somehow merging with the essence of a Greek nymph?
"A woman so lost in longing that she simply faded away, so lovesick she drowned herself to death in it." Melusine gives the barest hint of a shrug, eyes focused on Archer as she takes aim. "I've long since lost that sort of feeling. What of it, then, if I borrowed hers?"
She strikes before any of you can answer, spears of crystal clear water forming in her hands in an instant even in the burning air of the city as she darts towards Archer—but you get there first, your speed surging the instant you start to move for Archer's sake instead of your own. The twin spears crash down on your shield with the force of a speeding truck, but you dig yourself in and grit your teeth and you hold fast long enough for Archer to flit around your side, whirling her naginata to thrust at Melusine's throat. She answers with a flick of her tail, the air whistling as it scythes towards Archer, and though Archer catches the strike with the haft of her weapon, you can see the way her eyes glow, how the veins in her arms bulge as she draws on the strength of an oni.
This isn't working.
Melusine is too fast for Archer to take her off guard, too strong for you to hold her back for long, and her ability to echo Circe's magecraft all but neutralizes her usefulness—she can't even strengthen you, for fear that Melusine will simply replicate it on herself. You need to change tactics—going at her one by one will get you all killed.
<"Circe, Archer, we need to-">
<"Together, I know!"> Circe's voice cuts through your mind, sharp and businesslike. <"Archer's our best bet, you and I need to distract Melusine!">
Can't argue with that.
<"Archer, Circe and I are going to close in. As soon as there's an opening, hit her as hard as you can!">
<"Understood!">
The whole exchange took barely any time at all—communicating with your thoughts really is handy as all hell. Archer throws herself back the moment you close the connection and you dart in to replace her, chain unravelling on your right arm and rocketing to the side and around, as if trying to strike from Melusine's blind spot. It's such a cheap trick you can't imagine it'll do anything, so you purposefully hold back—even with your empowered Reinforcement, you don't doubt Melusine could shatter the cold steel links like glass if she got the chance to. Your caution pays off when Melusine's tail starts to move exactly like you expected it to—your attack was half-hearted enough that you can drag the chain back without much issue, instead swinging the shield attached to your arm upwards towards her chin. The twin spears of water vanish the moment she lets go of them, the faerie forgoing any sort of complex response and simply clasping her hands together to slam them down on your shield, hard enough that your leg buckles immediately. Being down on one knee with Melusine in front of you is a death sentence, but Archer lives up to her title, a barrage of arrows taking Melusine's attention long enough for you to get your balance.
A wave of the water spirit's hand is all it takes for the river Seine to rise to her command, a shield of water consuming the arrows before they can come close, but a second is all you need—more importantly, all Circe needs.
"Φάος!"
You don't have to look back to know what's coming. You can already imagine the way Circe's wings spread wide as tiny pinpricks of pale pink light coalesce at the tip of every feather, her staff pointed straight at Melusine. In the split second before the Circe fires the rain of burning light, Melusine whips her hand out, Echo's power surging forth as she repeats the incantation exactly. You dart towards her left side, already anticipating the torrent of water that she's summoning from the Seine at the same time—it's going to hurt, but it's necessary. Melusine's face is set in an annoyed grimace as she turns to you, the twin spells firing at the same time with a dull, droning sound. You watch in slow motion as a tendril of water as wide as you are tall erupts from the river, swirling to build up speed as it rockets towards you and it's all you can do to bring your shield up and Reinforce your arms to their limit, praying that Circe will be able to—
"Diskopótiro…!"
Melusine's head whips back towards Circe as she swoops down, mana building at the tip of her staff as the invocation of her Noble Phantasm begins. The surging torrent weakens just a bit, just enough that you can weather it with little more than screaming pain in your joins, but it ends as quickly as it begins. Melusine's hands strike out to the side before she claps them together, twin streams of water bursting from the river behind you and firing towards Circe to stop her from unleashing her Noble Phantasm. They're faster than she is, and without any defenses the high-pressure water would tear her to shreds.
Melusine sees Circe's smile an instant too late.
The witch stops dead in the air, the mana she'd gathered in preparation for her Noble Phantasm dissipating into the air before being burned away in the bonfire. It still cost you more than you'd like, but you accomplished your goal—and proving that Melusine isn't the only one able to fake a Noble Phantasm activation feels pretty good. With your assault handled and Circe's magecraft cancelled, Melusine might have had a moment to recover. But without the ability to copy a Noble Phantasm, she'd have to focus everything on Circe the moment she called on one—and that's all Archer needed to get close.
There's a dull tug in the pit of your stomach as Archer leaps from behind you, hidden by the bulk of your shield and the lightshow that Melusine had helped Circe pull off. Her eyes glow bright purple as she pulls her fist back, swirling, howling winds coalescing around it before erupting into pale lightning so bright it hurts to look at, her arm covered to the elbow in a miniature storm. Melusine's speed is beyond all of you normally, but this close, it's not enough. You watch as she moves her hand to intercept, barely making it in time as Archer surges forward like a thunderbolt and strikes.
The sheer force of the Mana Burst knocks you back a few steps, and the roaring thunderclap that rings out a split second later makes you grit your teeth in pain. It lasts only a heartbeat, but it drowns out all the sounds of battle, long enough for Archer to leap backwards, long enough for you to see the tattered, bloody, broken arm hanging limply by Melusine's side. It's enough to cause a lull in the fighting—one immediately interrupted by Marie shouting out loud.
"Sanson!"
You can't help but glance towards the others, just in time to watch as Marie tears off the gemstone talons on her left hand, fingertips trailing blood as she tosses them into the air between herself and Gilles. He looks up just in time for them to explode, yelling as he covers his eyes from the glassy shards, and you know what's going to happen next. You've seen it before. All the executioner needs is a moment of distraction.
"La Mort Espoir."
You can feel it like the reaper breathing down your neck when Sanson invokes his Noble Phantasm, like a guillotine kissing your throat as sweetly as a lover might. With the bonfire behind him, his shadow falls long across the cobblestone pathways, and before your eyes it erupts into dozens, hundreds of grasping hands. Gilles brings his sword up and cuts down one, two, three of the shadowy limbs, but then one grabs his ankle, another seizes his thigh, and no matter how he struggles he cannot escape. In the blink of an eye, Gilles is dragged to his knees, sword clattering to the ground as the shadow-hands force him to lift his head, arms spread wide as his mouth opens in shock. Whether he means to say anything or not, Sanson does not give him the chance. You watch as he raises his blade, pale-blue eyes shimmering with power, and you see nothing in his expression at all—nothing but the barest hint of compassion.
"Repose en paix."
The blade falls, and Gilles' head follows it.
The knight is dead, Melusine is wounded, and though you can't see Jeanne or her Alter, none of her Servants have been whisked away to aid her. Goemon hasn't called for aid, and neither has Niamh. For a moment, just a moment, you feel a surge of hope.
Clap.
The sound rings out, orders of magnitude quieter than the thunder from Archer's strike, and yet somehow more all-encompassing. It comes from everywhere at once, and just as the sound fades out—
Clap.
It happens again, and this time there is a source. It's the bonfire itself—no, something inside it. Two silhouettes, one small, the other a head taller than you, too indistinct to make out any details besides the hands coming together—
Clap.
Matchstick walks out of the flames first, and you watch with dry lips and cold sweat running down the back of your neck as the other follows. The first thing you see is a slender leg covered in scarlet scales, ending in a three-taloned foot with a single dewclaw acting as a heel. The thing steps forward again, bringing more of its body into view—all covered in the same scales, all built with the same wiry strength as the first limb you saw. It lacks any sort of anatomy you might expect from something bared to the world like it is, scales covering its groin as they cover every other inch of the thing's body. A long tail curls behind it as it walks forward, two batlike wings stretching out a long as it is tall either side before curling in some approximation of a cloak around its shoulders, and when it leans forward to dip its head out of the flames you see that it has a long, reptilian snout instead of a human face. The dragon-man takes one last step forward, bringing his hands together once more, and on his bare, scaled chest you see—
Clap.
Three scarlet eyes cut with pitch-black crosses in place of pupils, exact mirrors of the dragon-man's own pair. Two follow his gaze as though part of him, while one flickers here and there, sluggishly, slowly, before writhing around faster than you can follow. Just like the eye you saw on Bael's chest.
Jeanne was right—there was only one demon operating in France. He had simply devoured the other three.
"Well done." Buné's voice is low and rasping, a reptilian hiss underlying every word. He wears nothing at all to disguise his majestic form, a dragon walking on two feet, his clawed hands pressing together in a mocking clap. "I'm sincerely impressed—I had expected you'd all die immediately, but you've put up quite a fight. That said…"
Your Instinct screams and you whip your gaze towards Gilles's corpse, watching as it lurches to its feet, clasping its blade and swinging straight for Marie. You can't get there in time—but Sanson can.
It's all you can do to watch helplessly as Sanson shoves Marie out of the way, his left arm soaring into the air as Gilles's sword separates it cleanly from his body. Even Sanson can't help but let out a quiet groan of pain as he leaps backwards, but still he stands, sword held firmly in his remaining hand as Marie's face twists into a vicious snarl, her perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth growing scarlet protrusions until each and every one is tipped with a gemstone razor, like looking at the maw of a shark.
"I think it's time you stopped playing dead, my dear partner. You haven't lost your good head."
Buné's voice snaps you back to reality, and that comment makes your blood freeze. You were never much of an expert at demonology, but you can't go through the Clock Tower and not pick up the basics of Solomon's demons, not when he's the progenitor of magecraft as you know it. Buné was a three headed dragon, and yet he stands before you with only one. Gilles was able to fight evenly with two Servants, despite being mortal. And Jeanne's Alter always at his side…
You need to find Jeanne. You need to help Sanson and Marie. You need to stay and ensure that Melusine does not counterattack.
You need to be everywhere at once, and you can only be you.
Blood and bone erupts from Gilles's neck, muscle and sinew winding around the draconic skull that grows more defined with every crack and creak you hear. Pale human flesh gives way to scarlet scales just like Buné's, growing to cover the brand-new head that Gilles grows in the span of seconds. His teeth burst from his new gums, all sharp as knives, and the low, lizardlike groan he lets out is accompanied by embers and ash flitting through his maw. When he opens his eyes, they are the only part of his head left human—and he turns them to Buné immediately, raising his sword in a salute.
"T-Thank you. I am grateful." His voice is halting and uncertain, his new head struggling to form the words, but Gilles de Rais still stands—the second of the demon Buné's heads. That he doesn't follow after Sanson and Marie as they back away is a blessing, focused on reaching up to touch the lizardlike head that he now bears, before glancing towards another part of the city. You don't have to wait long to realise why—the explosion of scarlet flames followed by two shapes leaping towards the centre of the city makes it clear enough.
Jeanne d'Arc lands, her armor covered in scorch marks and soot, panting hard as she plants her standard in the ground for support. Jeanne Alter lands a few moments later, a manic look in her eye as she gives the original a savage grin, looking none the worse for wear as her throat glows like a furnace, tiny embers flitting out between her teeth just like Gilles.
"Pathetic. A little dragonfire and you're on your knees. You should be able to handle the heat a little better, sister! You did so well in Rouen!"
Buné smirks at that, and you clench your fist.
Everything is falling apart.
Goemon and Niamh are nowhere to be seen, and even if you knew they were alright you'd be paralyzed between calling them to help and warning them to stay away. Melusine is injured but Buné's presence has stopped you all from taking advantage of it, and she's already retreating back towards the Seine. The moment she touches the river you're sure she'll heal her way back to full strength. Gilles is still a threat, and for all Jeanne's assurance that she could handle her counterpart, she barely seems to have been able to keep herself alive, let alone actually hurt her. You're out of options.
You don't know what to do.
"Well!" Buné speaks again, sitting down on empty air and crossing one leg over the other, maw twisted into some approximation of a smile as he glances around. "This does promise to be something special. With the dear red child back in her woods where she belongs...Matchstick, we have everyone else, don't we?"
"Why are you asking—?" She lets out an exasperated little sigh, before evidently deciding just to answer. "Knight princess. Painter's in the city." The little girl stands at Buné's side, curt as ever, and Buné snaps his fingers in recognition as she finishes speaking.
"I knew I was forgetting someone. She's meandered away, hasn't she? No matter." He raises his left hand, and you watch in disbelief as one of the scarlet claw-marks, so hard to see against his scales, begins to burn away as his Command. "By the power of my Command Spell, I order you. Avenger, appear before me."
The half-miracle burns away into nothingness as space itself twists and tears in front of you, and your heart lurches as Avenger steps through the rift, reality snapping back to normal the moment she arrives. Her smile is nowhere to be seen, and after a quick glance around—eyes lingering as she meets yours, just a second—she turns to give a foul glare to Buné.
"Merely to bring me where I am unneeded, you would pay the price of a Command Spell, my Master? How truly assured of your happy ending you must be, to be so frivolously indulgent "
"This is the finale, Avenger." He moves his hand to rest on the arm of his invisible throne, leaning against his closed fist and letting you see the dull marks of two Command Spells. At a glance, they had looked like claws, but now you think they might be thorns instead. "I would be a terrible Master indeed if I allowed you to miss the moment of triumph."
She says nothing. Nothing at all.
Seeing her hurts. Your broken psyche left you pitifully vulnerable to betrayal, and remembering the way Avenger blocked your strike, saved the faerie who almost killed you and your sister...it's salt in your wound that makes you bite your lip hard enough that you taste blood. You wish that you could simply feel fury instead, that you could fan the anger you feel at seeing her again, but it's not that easy for you. It aches, and you can't cauterize it by getting mad.
"Now then…" Buné begins again, slowly casting his gaze across you all—no one moving an inch in his presence. The way he smiles, you can tell he's enjoying that. "How should we begin? Jeanne and Gilles haven't had the chance to show off for us in a while, but Melusine does have a grudge...the bears are nearly dead, but I can make more with a little time. Such an easy legend to twist—did you like them? Fine work, if I do say so myself!"
He laughs like he's patting himself on the back, and your stomach twists into knots of rage. He's toying with you all.
"Ah, or maybe Avenger would like to take the stage? I'm sure a rotten tree such as yourself can still strangle a few stragglers to death, but then again it's hardly the work a princess should do. So perhaps—"
"SILENCE!"
A familiar voice cuts through Buné's speech, the demon blinking in surprise as he glances towards one of the side streets, and as you follow his gaze you are met with the sight of Caravaggio, holding a gleaming steel rapier in his hand and staring straight at you, through you as he strides forward, his painter's clothes fluttering in the wind caused by the bonfire.
"Silence, you insufferable fucked-over cuckold of a patron! I have endured your drivel, your mediocrity, your disrespect towards a valent'huomo all this time, but no longer! I've unfinished business with my muse, and you can shove whatever abomination of yours that passes for a cock up your own arse if you think to kill him before it is concluded!"
He comes to a stop before you and you scramble to your feet, shield and chain-blade held at the ready, but he doesn't strike. Instead, he turns to Buné for the first time, ink-black hand curling into a fist as he holds it before him.
"I shall duel this man, and I shall hear his answer to the question that I posed to him in the evening hours of yesterday! And should I kill him, then we shall all be done with the matter!"
You can barely believe what you're hearing, but Buné evidently can. The dragon-man bursts into laughter, the trio of eyes on his chest focusing Caravaggio without blinking, before he waves his hand like an emperor of old giving his blessing.
"An excellent idea. A duel! How exciting. Well, Caravaggio, with your illustrious service to my grand designs in consideration, how could I not grant you this boon? You may duel him as you please. Everyone, take care to watch closely!"
You stand at the ready, your heartbeat growing quicker as you stare down Caravaggio. You hadn't imagined this could happen—hell, you'd liked the man despite yourself. But after what happened yesterday, after his deranged rant, with the noose Buné's appearance tied around your neck...maybe he just couldn't hold himself back anymore. No time left, and no stomach to give you another chance.
"I told you, Edward Dempsey, that next we met, you would have an answer for me. I ask one last time—are you a man living today, or are you a mere vessel?"
This duel is going to happen. It needs to happen, if only so you can buy more time. But the question is important, you can feel it in your bones. You hadn't thought about it before, but now, pushed for an answer…
It feels so huge you can't imagine how you could have ignored it.
[ ] You are Edward Dempsey, and you never asked for this. The mantle of Shielder was given to you, forced on you by circumstances beyond your control, but every single day before then you fought and kicked and clawed for every scrap of strength you have. You are who you are, and the knight inside you doesn't change that.
[ ] You are Edward Dempsey, and a human could never have changed as much as you already have, could never have survived what you already have. You might be a vessel, but being a vessel has given you enough strength to make a difference. Why should you be ashamed of relying on that strength?
[ ] You are Edward Dempsey, and you are already sick and tired of this question. You refuse to answer, refuse to take part in Caravaggio's insane judgement. If he wants a fight, you'll fight.
