You're pretty close, actually. In the Essence thread, there's a sort-of Master Sheet for Heroic Spirit Khepri, with one of her NP's being the summoning for the Gold Morning parahuman army.
Edit: This is the author's own sheet btw, but since the AN at the beginning of the story makes it clear that this is a different universe, some things might have changed.
I would say if she even qualifies Taylor probably would be a very low stat servant. She's baseline human with no direct physical buffs beyond being in shape and no tales of her physical feats. She's also from the modern age where without counter guardian stuff its basically impossible to get into the throne and humans are way weaker than they were in old times. This is something we see in more modern servants like Frankenstein where they generally rely on abilities to compete.
Taylor is also awkward cause of the fame required like there's people who go omg she'd be an amazing lancer based on that time she took Armsamaster's halberd and stood up to levi. Except no people don't remember that she's not known for it. Taylor's main fame in canon boils down to being one of the warlords that took a city, being publicly unmasked, the helped kill Alexandria thing and the Behemoth fight video most of all.
This is important because you'd think gm would dominate it but afterwards none of the capes speak about gm and especially not Taylor even when they do start talking about it and to be fair a large chunk of them probably don't know it was her specifically due to the whole controlling everyone through portals thing. Due to this any Khepri servant doesn't exist if you properly consider canon and would be prone to heavy distortions from the legend.
If you assume it exists the hypothetical Taylor servant does have a few things going for it tho mainly that the Behemoth fight eclipses everything else that's connected to her and she had the flight pack by that point. Odds are though she'd probably be an assassin or a caster for herself and a berserker for Khepri which would also probably be able to shift to a beast. People tend to forget but after bullying Scion into not fighting back there was a faceoff where though it was implied to be QA in control by that point people were uneasy and wanted the capes she still had released and she was considering whether to try and take over the world to stop things becoming a mess.
Honestly the best possible version of a servant that Taylor could be would be her servant self from Ryuugi's Gold. But that version of Taylor leans heavily onto the Khepri namesake connection and I don't think it'd be normally possible to summon that version of her. Usually you'd just get skitter or maybe waver who'd have weak stats but pretty good noble phantasm and skills most likely. Or as stated before a berserker Khepri with the possibility of leaning into becoming a beast candidate.
Also I refuse to believe that literally everyone decided to not talk about Taylor's role in gold morning. It's just straight up impossible, Taylor's parahuman army and Zion got seen by like dozen of earths and none of them that saw that and then got connected to Earth Bet asked about what the fuck happened? That was just wildbow wanting to erase Taylor because he wanted Vicky to be the star of the show in Ward and because he hates the fandom's obsession with Taylor.
Also I refuse to believe that literally everyone decided to not talk about Taylor's role in gold morning. It's just straight up impossible, Taylor's parahuman army and Zion got seen by like dozen of earths and none of them that saw that and then got connected to Earth Bet asked about what the fuck happened? That was just wildbow wanting to erase Taylor because he wanted Vicky to be the star of the show in Ward and because he hates the fandom's obsession with Taylor.
Although that is broadly true about wanting to write off Taylor I would like to correct this bit about getting connected to Earth Bet. Mainly that there's not really anything of worth there. Wildbow went full grimderp there aside from the UK flat out being destroyed from the start of gm Bet is made a dump because with all the cape organisations being off it tinker tech was left which apparently failed violently in a lot of cases and set a ton of stuff off. To top it off things like the machine army broke their quarantines so for the most part Bet is wastelands that people travel through to reach the Gimel portals.
Out of what's left there's hardly any good as well like one of the things done in his attempt of a GU perspective to go hey the wardens and prtjc or whatever they went with don't just suck they are dealing with big stuff offscreen. In Bet Africa some warlords were acting up with kidnapping and stuff so they were in the background there standing around holding borders until she comes in and crushes them. I could get into how that's not really a good thing given all the problems in Gimel they were ignoring for it or even how you had Bet America being more than just a series of messes but the ones with the portals while they were instead off somewhere they don't really have the authority to be messing with but that's it's own discussion.
As for not speaking about it it's brushed over since we see it from Khepri's degrading pov but that fight would be pretty traumatising since they were suddenly kidnapped and made to fight with their bodies being puppetted and tons dying. It is canon after all several people were freaking out even with her in control and that African warlord had a stroke or something cause of the strain which she dealt with by mastering them with canary. There's even a bit in glow worm that basically says every cape team probably lost someone to gm or at least lost someone they were friendly with. Combine that with the lack of info most of them would actually have and it makes sense that most wouldn't want to talk about it or have much to say about it.
Khepri was after all playing with portals and using her power propagating through them pretty heavily most wouldn't have seen her especially the teams like the tinker team or pull people back so they don't die team. Add to that that most of the people who know for a fact it was Taylor and how it was done have their own reasons to keep quiet about it like Amy being the one who altered her corona to allow it especially with them all being gathered in New York for the end of it.
i think taylor might fit domination, tyranny or conquest, mainly cause her whole thing is being in control, of the situation, a battle, her group, bugs and eventually a perfectly coordinated army.
as for the whole no one talking about taylor being khepri thus no khepri servant, one thing ya'll gotta remember is that the throne of heroes is atemporal, meaning that even if in ward no one is talking, ward is pretty shortly after worm, go just like 50 years into the future where historians try to figure stuff out and it'll be known, they can't keep it a secret forever, even the time they've managed so far is stretching it, but is still within my suspension of disbelief, but eventually taylors deeds will come out, and that is really all that is needed, even if in the present she's not known to the public at large, it doesn't matter cause she most definitely will be in the future.
as for a potential np, i can see her having the ability to magically augment her bugs to the point of being able to damage servants and things like wyverns and dragons like they were merely big creatures, maybe even more. like the bugs abigail williams summons in one of her attack moves in fgo. but given taylors radius and sheer number of bugs she'd effectively turn her area into a death zone. alternatively yeah she can maybe pull a khepri, whether that be summoning her army, or changing into khepri, 16 feet range, anti-grav jetpack, doormaker and clairvoyant included, where she can just open a portal anywhere to control anyone (probably a mana cost to every aspect of this to counter balance it, control, clairvoyant scan, doormaker portals etc.), servant or not, with only those with specific immunity to mental shit being able to fight her.
Collectivism. That which loves the whole, but loses sight of and strips individuals of their personal value and agency to serve the whole. A Beast that would kill the concept of "Humanity" to hold and protect "The Human Race."
In a way she overlaps and contrasts with Beasts I, II, and III. She detests humanity's self-defeating nature, our inability to get along even in the face of extinction, and our propensity to become sad broken people, but at the same time she sympathizes with it and respects it too. Not every person or group is completely unreasonable. In our weakness and suffering we find strength to endure and even overcome. We're fractured and fragile and unreliable, and in the face of that we still try so hard. Even in the face of a world dead set on grinding humanity into the dirt through virtue and vice humanity will throw a handful of sand in its eye and keep on swinging. Pity and Respect.
Khepri desired to subject the entirety of humanity (or at least the major powers of it) to her will. To take the wheel of the entire human race and steer it better than it was steering itself. This is without a doubt a setback for the development of humanity, but not quite the Regression of Tiamat. Tiamat didn't want her children to grow up and leave her behind (and was willing to kill them all and start again with new children that would never become independent). Khepri simply didn't believe humanity was able to be responsible for itself and was a danger to herself and itself. She was going to be the overbearing mom with the bubblewrapped kids on the playground. Humanity wouldn't regress under her so much as it would simply lose its ability to grow. An entire species of metaphorical teenagers being treated like children and not learning how to be adults.
As for Beast III, well "humanity subjugated to the will of an individual that wants the best for humanity" isn't that different from Kiara's desire. Kiara's desire being "I am Humanity, all of Humanity is me, and the best for me is an orgasm," however has a few subtle differences and a massively different idea on what would be best for humanity. Mara's take on it is "the obsessive love of others that brings ruination to man." Khepri takes a bit of both, "the love of the self and others that brings ruin to man." But the method and motive of her Beastly ambitions isn't quite Kiara/Mara's love/lust/ego domain.
Ironically she's completely opposed to Beast IV. Comparison has no place in her Humanity. There would be no competition between men. Those suited for roles would do those roles for the benefit of the whole. Everybody would do what they could in harmony. Idealized Communism to effective Eusocialism. Conflict would come solely from outside sources and not be an intrinsic part of Humanity. The individual worth of men would be null, nobody would harm another to benefit themselves for themselves or sacrifice from themselves to benefit another for themselves. Only for the whole of mankind, and with no consideration for what it means for the individuals.
There's definitely a reason Taylor doesn't/wouldn't get along with either of the current Beast IV candidates.
Beast IV is Comparison. It can manifest as a collector, one that appraises the value of things and selects that which should be taken into a curated collection or rejected and discarded (Vitch certainly does this). Khepri is completely opposed to this.
Well, if we assume that other Beasts that share the same number, such as IV with Fou and Vitch, share similar sins and isn't simply a result of an R/L variants like Koyanskaya, then:
I: Pity; I don't think that Taylor is that much of an empath for others, so she wouldn't classify for Goetia's replacement.
II: Regression; Progression is a major part of her story, overcoming the odds, so Tiamama will have to wait for a worthy successor.
III: Lust/Pleasure/Depravity; lol no.
IV: Comparison/Cherishment; here's a little different than I. Here it relies on the respective Beast doing something to humanity, which does fit with Khepri's goal of desiring humanity to survive. I think we found her seat, which would nicely explain why she is wary of Fou given that she's a failed candidate to usurp his seat
V: Unknown, but since we have Angry Mango who formally never received a Numeral and has the Sin of Retribution, we could assume he might fit the mould.
VI: Most are unknown, but their shared Authority is Depravity and their skill is Nega-Messiah with significant ties to Abrahamic faith; yeah no unless you make the argument that Zion had a cult or that Alexandria's death had a much larger impact religiously or that the Fallen/Endbringer cultists were a substantial portion... wait, there might be room here for something after all.
VII: End; hmmm, I've got nothing. Ryuugi's Gold thread makes me think that Tay-Tay is that manifestation in that story, but as-is Khepri without Chaldean interference doesn't give me much of a destroyer vibe, if anything that'd be Zion going off the deep end but he ain't a human so it doesn't count.
Edit: This is the author's own sheet btw, but since the AN at the beginning of the story makes it clear that this is a different universe, some things might have changed.
There are a lot of things that would have changed. The Khepri in Essence should largely cover most of the key details of "Heroic Spirit Khepri," but the way Taylor's powers worked in that story would have cut away portions that would be more relevant to a Servant Khepri. Ordinarily, for example, Khepri would actually be a conjoined Heroic Spirit, with Taylor and QA sharing a Saint Graph, and there would be a Noble Phantasm that did indeed encompass Gold Morning that would probably do something like fortify her Saint Graph at the cost of disappearing once the battle was over.
Of course, the difficult thing with Khepri's "army" is that she doesn't have any way of supporting their summoning the way Iskandar's Reality Marble does or Aife's In Glenn Mor. Khepri and Aife working together would actually be frightening, because In Glenn Mor doesn't come with an automatic army the way Ionioi Hetairoi does, but it does create a space where the summoning of Heroic Spirits as Servants is much easier, so Khepri summoning her army in Aife's In Glenn Mor would result in a combo that I think even Gilgamesh would have to take seriously.
It's too bad that's all academic. The closest everyone got was Taylor munchkining it in Essence's final battle against Scion.
The world wouldn't allow, unless things were super dire, the summoning of Khepri. A servant that can pierce the barrier between worlds and cross contaminate is to be avoided at all costs.
The world wouldn't allow, unless things were super dire, the summoning of Khepri. A servant that can pierce the barrier between worlds and cross contaminate is to be avoided at all costs.
Rather, if there was one thing she could be said to have received at birth, it was simple beauty, the most terrible blessing of all.
She did not inherit the burden of divinity, for her parents were ordinary humans.
She did not receive great wisdom, for she was an ordinary woman.
She was not born with overflowing talent, for she was an ordinary person.
Truly, there was nothing extraordinary about her, except for her radiant appearance, and so her parents gave her the only gift she had ever received: the name "Aífe," which meant "beautiful."
To her sister went all the things she lacked. Overflowing talent, great wisdom, and a body well-suited for combat — these were the things which Scáthach received, the gifts that allowed her to become so fearsome and so powerful a warrior that even the gods might tremble to hear her name.
Even her name itself was fierce. "Scáthach." "The Shadowy One." A specter whose likeness haunted the dreams of men and monsters alike, who took her skill with a spear to such extremes that even the divine could be slain the same as a simple beast. She who was whispered about with fear, whose mere frown could send souls shivering with terror. She who entered the realm of gods with an ordinary human body.
She was everything Aífe wanted to be.
In a different life, perhaps beauty would have been enough. For an ordinary princess or a queen, there were plenty of men who would find a pretty face pleasing enough to take her as a bride, to sire children with her, and to give her a life of comfort and luxury as they ruled their kingdom side by side. Her name would never be known for great feats, and she herself would never win lasting glory, and songs would never be written of her bravery and strength and skill, but it would not be such a bad life, would it?
No, it would not. Even if her body was weak and ordinary, her tongue was sharp and her will was strong, and the men of Éire found that just as pleasing as great beauty. She could be a queen without being a figurehead, a mother without being a king's broodmare, a woman of storied history without being a warrior.
If she allowed her father to dote on her and her future to be decided by others, then such a life would not be so bad. Comfort. Luxury. The easy life, where her one gift became the only strength she needed to secure her place in Éire and in history.
The very thought of it made her sick.
Comfort and luxury? Passivity and obscurity? A life lived in the shadow of others, with her only accolades being the siring of others who might strike their own legends into the annals of history?
How worthless. How pointless. How insulting.
That was not the life that Aífe wanted for herself. That was not the life she imagined in her future. That was not at all the sort of life she was willing to accept.
Combat. Victory. Glory. Her name on the lips of others, her deeds recited around campfires, her own greatness acknowledged across the entirety of Éire — those were the things she wanted, a future where it was her own strength and her own prowess and her own accomplishments that engraved her name into history.
She refused to live in anyone's shadow, least of all her beloved sister's.
And so as soon as she could fit her fingers around the hilt, she picked up a sword and challenged her radiant sister to pitched combat.
"A fine effort."
A hand on her head, mussing her hair. An indulgent smile. Warm eyes looking down at her with affection.
"Perhaps one day, you will be able to defeat me."
Failure.
In an instant, she had been defeated. No, worse than that, it was over before it had even begun. She had been defeated before she even picked up the sword in the first place.
It was only to be expected. Scáthach was a shining star, filled to the brim with overflowing talent. She had raced ahead of Aífe, absorbing knowledge and skill in the martial and mystic arts as a simple matter of course. She was simply too brilliant, and that brilliance would not be diminished by a half-hearted effort or the hasty, sloppy stroke of a novice swordswoman. Aífe's defeat there was a foregone conclusion.
"One day, Scáthach," Aífe promised then and there, "I will surpass you! And it will be you who stands in my shadow!"
An indulgent smile. A quiet laugh. "Of course."
Aífe did not receive great wisdom. She had not inherited overflowing talent. She was an ordinary woman.
But even an ordinary woman can possess determination.
It would not be enough to simply match her sister. No, for Scáthach had received all of the things Aífe lacked. To surpass her sister, Aífe would need to put double, no, triple the effort. As Scáthach breezed through her lessons, Aífe would have to toil three times as hard, push herself thrice as far, and sweat three times as much, just to stay even. Just to keep up, just to not be left behind, she would have to do at least that much.
Aífe picked up her sword and began learning.
When her muscles burned from the effort, she pushed forward and kept going. When her lungs screamed for air, she gulped it down and kept going. When her body was drenched in sweat, she wiped it away from her brow and kept going.
Every hour of every day was spent training, learning, preparing. She honed her mind and body, memorizing techniques and spells in equal measure, refusing to let herself fall behind, no matter what it cost her. She would become a warrior that even her sister would tremble in fear of.
Three years after that first duel, Aífe thought she might be ready, and so she challenged her sister a second time.
"A fine effort this time, as well."
A hand on her head, mussing her hair. An indulgent smile. Warm eyes looked down on her with affection.
"You've improved. Perhaps one day, you might defeat me."
Failure.
Again. For the second time, she had failed to defeat her sister. Scáthach remained the superior warrior.
It burned in her gut like fire.
It had not been instantaneous, not like before, but it had still been decided before the fight even began. Scáthach's victory remained a foregone conclusion. There was no way Aífe would have won.
"One day," Aífe promised again, "you will stand in my shadow."
That familiar indulgent smile. "Of course."
Again, Aífe redoubled her efforts. It was not enough to put in merely three times the effort. No, she needed to be even better than that, even more hardworking than that. If it was her limits that were holding her back, then she would just have to surpass those, and shatter the bonds that held her back.
She pushed herself there, to the limits. She pushed beyond them. She continued to hone herself, body and mind, sweating until she bled, bleeding until she was sweating blood. Her mortal, human body tried to hold her back, to tell her that she had reached what was supposed to be possible and she could go no further.
She refused to listen to it.
As she grew, her body grew harder. As she grew, her skills grew fiercer. As she grew, her limits grew with her.
If she had chosen the life of a pampered queen, she would have been soft and womanly. Her body would have become the body of a fertility goddess, rounded and curved, supple and voluptuous.
But she had chosen the life of a warrior. Her body grew lean, thin, packed with tight muscle. Her chest grew only half as large as it could have. Her stomach became lined with rippling power. Her arms and legs firmed with unrivaled strength. Every part of her was devoted to exceeding the limits of what should have been possible for a human woman to accomplish.
The only part of her which remained soft and feminine was her face.
Many more times, Aífe challenged her sister to pitched combat. Many times, Scáthach bested her, and Aífe fed the flaming frustration of her defeat to the fires of her determination. She used it as kindling for the blazing furnace of her resolve, and she used that resolve to push herself ever further past her previous limits.
And every time, the gap closed further. The duels lasted longer. No longer childish girls inexperienced in combat, they were young women dancing along the path of feats, and their battles were drawn out affairs lasting whole days at a time. There were many moments where the fight was almost decided, only to be prolonged as the opportunity was missed or closed.
Even if Scáthach was still the winner each time, the conclusion was no longer foregone.
Eventually, the day came. The duel ended. The blade of a red spear rested against Aífe's neck. The tip of a silvery blade prodded Scáthach's throat.
There was no longer an indulgent smile. No hand rested on Aífe's head. Those eyes, usually filled with warmth, were wide with surprise.
"A draw."
"No," said Aífe. "This is your victory."
It burned. But it was the truth, as Aífe knew it. Her sister continued to grow and advance, getting stronger, more skilled, more powerful. Smarter, brighter, shining ever more brilliantly with every day.
"I've reached the limit of how far I can go here," Aífe admitted. "And even so, I'm still in your shadow."
"Have you?" Scáthach asked. "I don't see it."
There are some things that you are simply too brilliant to perceive, thought Aífe.
And so she decided: "I'm going to leave and find other fights, challenge myself against other warriors. When I come back, I'll have surpassed you, sister. Mine is the shadow you will stand in."
"I eagerly await the day," said Scáthach, "for I, too, have reached the limits of what I might learn in this place. One day, we will meet again, and you will show to me the fruits of what you have learned."
On the fateful day, the sisters went their separate ways. Scáthach traveled to the west, through the lands of Ulster and across the isle of Éire, carving a bloody path through any and all who might challenge her, and Aífe traveled to the east, across the sea, first into heartland of Alba, then onto the continent, where the vast forest of Gaul awaited. She met every challenge as readily and eagerly as her sister and continued to expand her knowledge and strength.
Many years passed. They were filled with new experiences and new warriors against whom Aífe could pit her skills, but inevitably, Aífe outgrew them. She knew then the tedium of her sister's burden, to be faced with opponents so far below her own level that they were as flailing children, and she thought to herself, Ah, so this is what Scáthach must have experienced all those years ago when first I challenged her.
Men fell before her like wheat before the scythe. Those who refused to back down had their lives cut short. Those who surrendered, she showed the mercy of the victorious, and allowed them to walk away with the painful lessons of their defeat. No matter who came before her, they were all as the same, and they were all equally disappointing.
Through countless hours of hard work and dedication, she had reached the pinnacle of human martial prowess. Her muscles were like iron, her will like steel, her skills as radiant as the summer sun. In all of Gaul, she had become unrivaled.
Still, she was unsatisfied, for her sister had surely come farther than this. Scáthach must have been growing still, facing stiffer competition, staring down enemies that would give even the bravest of heroes pause, and yet for Aífe, nothing remained. There was nothing left to challenge her.
Nothing mortal, at least.
It was a thought equal parts mad and thrilling. What fool would arm herself and seek out the divine solely for the purpose of attempting to slay it? What ignorant child would think herself strong enough, her skills polished enough, her body resilient enough to face down a god and have any hope of victory?
Scáthach would. She would not even hesitate. So Aífe must not either.
And so she did not. She set her mind to the act of deicide —
— and woke up with a start, blinking away the sleep from her eyes as she realized that she had fallen asleep in the first place.
"I fell asleep?" she mumbled to the open air as she rubbed at one cheek.
Yes, she had. Night had long since fallen, the moon hanging far above her head, and while no city ever truly turned all the way off at night, most of Rome had tucked themselves into bed so that they might rise early the next day to start the cycle all over again.
Aífe clicked her tongue.
"I must be getting soft," she scolded herself, "if I let myself relax that much after a simple bath."
How careless. She'd let her guard down enough to fall asleep. If the enemy had an Assassin that had been so inclined to make an attempt on the lives of the Emperor or any of Chaldea's Masters, then the assailant could have slipped right by her without her being any the wiser.
With a grunt, Aífe levered herself up and to her feet on the little section of roof she'd chosen as her post. She cast her gaze out across the city; her vantage point was not the greatest and she was no Archer, so she couldn't see out to its edges, but the location of the emperor's manor and the size of it gave her enough to see anyone coming long before they could reach her.
But no threat materialized, least of all Caligula, who Aífe yearned for the chance to match fists against, if only to see if he was as credible a threat as he seemed.
A glance over to the top of the roof revealed Arash, casting his own eagle-eyed gaze across the city. There was no way he hadn't seen her nod off, and yet he'd continued to do his duty without pause. Worse, he'd let her sleep, like she was a child in need of coddling who had stayed up far past her bedtime.
Even kindness can be an insult, no matter your intentions, she thought at him, and she knew immediately that it wasn't fair. He was from a different era, a different culture, and for all that she could respect his deeds and his legend, he was a different kind of hero than her.
He was a hero who ended conflict. She was a hero who thrived in it.
"I won't be far," she told him instead, "but I'm going to break off on my own for a little while."
Arash glanced at her, but he offered no rebuke or criticism, and nothing of his thoughts showed on his face. "I'll cover for you," he promised with the utmost sincerity.
Right then, it made her want to smash his face in.
She turned away so he couldn't see her lip curl, and Gáe Bolg leapt into her hand as she dropped off of the roof and landed with a quiet thump on the ground below.
She needed to work off some steam.
The emperor's house had private baths, but it also featured other things that the Romans liked to attach to their bathhouses, so Aífe made a beeline for the courtyard meant for exercise. It had nothing, of course, on the courtyard of a proper castle, and it was downright claustrophobic compared with the facilities where she had trained her own students once upon a time, but for her purposes, it should be enough, as long as she was careful not to be too careless with her strength.
The last thing she needed to do was bring the house down around her Masters' heads with a poorly-placed Torannchless.
Gáe Bolg was left alone at the entrance, balanced straight up on its pommel, and she strode into the center of the courtyard, closed her eyes, and took a deep, preparatory breath. When she opened her eyes again, the ghostly figure of her sister stood across from her, fists raised in preparation for combat.
Would that the specter was real instead of a figment of her imagination. Tiberius may in fact wind up being the greatest threat she faced in this Singularity, and she would have relished a challenge, just then.
But she was not. Scáthach still remained behind in the Land of Shadows, warden of its gates, still carrying the burden for which Aífe had been passed over. She would not be making any miraculous appearances here.
Another deep breath. Aífe sank into her own stance, fists raised, and then she and her imaginary opponent raced towards one another to meet in the middle.
Time passed in the way it was wont to, as a blur. Aífe had no idea how long she danced around that courtyard, alone but for the immaterial specter she had been chasing for most of her life, punching and kicking and fighting nothing but the air itself. She lost herself to the feeling of pushing herself again, of throwing herself into combat, imagined or not, and of squaring off against an opponent she couldn't simply lay out with a single, well-placed punch.
The true tragedy was that a Servant's body wasn't alive, and so couldn't experience the strain of a good workout the same way. The burn that accompanied her fists and her feet was of energy spent, magical power expended, not her flesh and blood muscles being put through their paces. Even if she were to be fighting an opponent that pushed her limits, it was her body, her Saint Graph, that would break long before her limits did.
Eventually, however, she'd worked out enough of her aggression that she didn't feel like unleashing it on another person, and she went through a cooldown to ease herself out of that combative mindset. When even that was done, she wiped away the sweat that had gathered on her brow, and she was even tempted to smile, if only a little.
"So, this is where you went off to."
Instantly, her guard was raised, and Gáe Bolg leapt to her hand as she turned to face the intruder, ready to fight.
Emiya held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender.
"Oh." She allowed herself to relax with a breath. "It's just you, Emiya."
"I noticed you left your post and came to make sure everything was okay." He lowered his hands. "Only to discover you playfighting with the air."
Playfighting? She snorted. "I came here to blow off some steam. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Who were you imagining on the other end of your fist?" He smirked. "The Hound, maybe? Not that I can blame you. He has a very punchable face, doesn't he?"
"And a very long, hard spear," she retorted, watching his face twist into a grimace. "But you would know all about that, too, wouldn't you?"
"You and I are talking about very different spears, I think," he said, feigning ignorance, "and I'm pretty sure the one you're more familiar with is more flesh and blood than the one he used on me."
Her eyes narrowed on him. "You're bold. If that was near as much a wound as you believed it to be, I could very well have lashed out against you."
If he was expecting it to be open and bleeding still, then he would be sorely disappointed. Aífe the woman had died old, when her body gave out, long enough after that wound for the sting of it to lessen, not almost immediately after it, as Boudica had. She had had more than enough time to come to terms with the events of her life, even if those years felt to the current her like a fever dream.
He shrugged.
"It wouldn't be the first time my tongue has gotten me into trouble," he admitted casually.
So, they were going to play that game, were they?
"Was your infatuation with the King of Knights truly that terrible of a secret?" she said. "I would have thought you above such petty revenge."
Steely eyes flashed.
"I would have thought the same about you," he shot back, "but then, your worthless pride almost got you killed against both Caesar and Tiberius, so I guess we're all overestimating each other these days."
"You yourself have emphasized multiple times how far removed the land and the culture I grew up in is from our Masters and presumably your own," she retorted. "You have no room to be surprised by my way of doing things."
He crossed his arms. "I do when it puts my Master's life in danger. You do remember what we're here to do, right?"
Did he think her a simpleton?
"Do you really expect me to follow the orders of a child without first getting a measure of their mettle?"
"That's not what I'm talking about at all." He waved it off impatiently, like he was swatting at a fly. "I can't say I've ever seen them first hand, but even someone like me has heard of your vaunted Celtic martial arts. You're a master who taught the likes of that Hound and his best friend. Despite that, I didn't even see so much as a…what's it called? Salmon leap? Out of you."
"Hypocrisy ill-becomes you, Emiya," she said coolly. "You talk about me holding back, but you've yet to say a single word to even your Master about your Reality Marble."
He stiffened, and beneath his furrowed brow, his eyes widened. "Where did you hear about that?"
Just now, from his mouth. Really, now. Did her own loss against the Hound make people assume that she was incapable of guile herself?
"There's little else to explain it," she told him. "Perhaps if you were a legend from the Age of Gods, it would have been the blessings of Hephaestus or Vulcan. If you were Wayland or some other famous smith, that too would be enough to divert suspicions. But your clothing and armor don't fit, not for any era where those men might have lived, your features are far too clearly East Asian, and your method of reproducing Noble Phantasms might be effective, but anyone familiar with the originals you're copying can immediately tell it's flawed."
His lip curled. "When I showed you Gáe Bolg —"
"— it wasn't the only clue, but it was the largest," she confirmed. "You may as well have waved a flag in front of my face."
In truth, there had only ever been suspicions. Emiya's peculiar brand of reproducing Noble Phantasms was very clearly a form of magecraft, as evident by his use of similar incantations for the projection of both mundane items and Noble Phantasms alike, and it was an idea only bolstered by the obvious connections between the hollow, worthless blades he had tossed at her by the dozens and the near-perfect recreation of Cúchulainn's — Scáthach's — famous spear. The trouble was, while reproducing Noble Phantasms wasn't an impossible feat, the methods for doing so were vanishingly rare, and most of them were themselves the sort of thing that qualified as a Noble Phantasm.
"Reality Marble" wouldn't have been Aífe's first guess, or even her fifth, but it wasn't like "Authority" was the more likely option when the man was so painfully human that he had likely never even come close to a real, actual divinity. The question that remained was what sort of Reality Marble would let him recreate Noble Phantasms, of all things.
He wasn't likely to tell her.
He clicked his tongue. "So maybe we're both holding things back for one reason or another," he allowed. "Difference is, one of my reasons is that I don't think my Master can support the energy expenditure of my Unlimited Blade Works."
Aífe's eyebrows rose.
Or maybe he would.
"I wonder what that says more about," she thought aloud, "your own inability to gauge your limits or your lack of trust in your Master's competence to know her own?"
Emiya scowled. "You really are trying to piss me off, aren't you? Do you think that I'm going to forget about my original point if you distract me enough? I'm not going to turn away no matter how many times you say 'look over there!' and point behind me."
That one, on the other hand, was still sore. Since it had changed the direction of her life so drastically, it was hard to imagine it would ever stop being so, not when it had been engraved on her so deeply that it still lingered after her death.
"Now you are provoking me," she accused him. "If you're that desperate for me to tan your hide like a disobedient child, you need only ask, Emiya, and I will gladly oblige you."
Something in his stance changed, and the air crackled with energy as Aífe's blood started pumping and her hands itched for the fight that was about to come. The tension zapped back and forth between them like bolts of lightning, discharging into the air like the flash of an approaching thunderstorm.
And then the tension in Emiya's shoulders deflated like a balloon and he relaxed, letting one arm fall limply to his side and the other hand rest itself on his hip as he looked away, like he'd lost interest.
"Whatever," he said indifferently. "If you're not going to talk about it, then I'm not going to bash my head against the wall trying to pry it out of you. At least one of us needs to keep his wits about him if we're going to make it through this mess, and as usual, it looks like it has to be me."
He turned around and started to leave, and her lip curled as she saw the tactic for what it was — a way to cut off whatever she might have wanted to say by making it look petty if she said anything at all.
He stopped. "There's just one thing I want to be clear on: ally or not, if this pride of yours endangers the lives of the Masters or Mash, I won't hesitate to cut you down myself."
He vanished into spirit form, gone, and Aífe clicked her tongue, scowling at the place where he'd been standing.
"No, of course you don't understand," she muttered to the air. "Someone like you, who has never accomplished anything with his own strength, who has always borrowed the strength of others greater than yourself, what do you know of the pride carried by a hero who clawed her way to the top through sheer determination?"
For all that some of Arash's mannerisms rubbed her the wrong way, it was clear that the ones who were actually diametrically opposed were herself and Emiya. Someone who had nothing of his own to take pride in would naturally understand nothing of the woman who prided herself on everything she had accomplished on her own.
It was only natural, then, that he wouldn't understand her methods and means, her way of doing things. It was also only natural that they would butt heads over it, that they might argue and snipe at each other, and that it would bring them into conflict. They were simply too different.
Her fingers tightened over the shaft of her spear, and she forced them to relax as she took in a deep, calming breath. It did little to settle the feeling in her gut.
In the aftermath of her battle with Tiberius and Julius Caesar, she had pledged that she could put aside her pride to work with the likes of Emiya, and she had no intentions of breaking that oath. It seemed, however, that it would be tested many times before this Singularity was resolved, and so too her patience.
"Damn it."
She really wanted to punch someone, now. Unfortunately, there were no "acceptable" targets in range, and she wasn't an Archer with their convenient Independent Action skill, so she couldn't rush out into the wilderness and hunt down a few magical beasts to work out her frustrations on.
Aífe glanced at the courtyard behind her, but the idea of going through another mock battle with her sister left a sour, unsatisfied feeling in her belly, so she bunched up her legs and leapt back up to the roof, scaling the building until she had returned to her original spot.
Her boots had barely settled before Arash's voice called over to her: "Get everything worked out?"
"No," she retorted shortly. But then, you already knew that, didn't you?
"I see," he said sincerely. "Sorry about that. I wish I could help you."
Tch. What was it with Archers and their talent for getting under her skin?
She couldn't leave the city to pick a fight, she couldn't fight anyone here, and fighting imaginary specters wouldn't satisfy. Aífe chose the only other way she was going to escape her frustrations at that moment.
"I'm going to take another nap," she announced. "Wake me if anything interesting happens."
He smiled. "Will do."
Unceremoniously, Aífe plopped back down into her original spot, reclining against the roof's slope with her hands folded behind her head. The moon up above her hung high, offering nothing, and a sigh hissed out of her nostrils as she closed her eyes and tried to quiet the roiling turmoil of her mind.
At some unknowable point, the real world slipped away, and Aífe drifted off into dreams.
This time, it was not her own past that played out behind her eyelids, but a strange and peculiar thing she didn't recognize, a dreary place of sterile walls and metal bars. Across from her was a young man, softer around the edges than most of the ones Aífe had trained over her lifetime, fuller in the face and thicker in the trunk, with determination burning in his eyes. He desired her expertise, her strength, not in the marital sense but in the martial sense of a student waiting to learn.
Her arms were longer and leaner than she was used to, her body taller and thinner, but she met that determination with her own, and his instruction in the martial arts began with the familiarity of something long practiced and honed. She was in her element, the teacher who had trained so many brilliant, standout students that her name had almost become synonymous with the act.
Even when they hated her for every moment of it.
This boy, so strange and yet so familiar at the same time, came to hate her for it, too.
— o.0.O.O.0.o —
Is that a Naruto reference? That's a Naruto reference. Kinda.
This chapter will actually make a lot more sense when it's read immediately before next chapter, or at least the very beginning and end of it will. I won't be surprised if you guys come to the correct conclusion anyway.
For now, though, have some of Aífe's backstory and a look into her head. Yes, I kept the ages in the first part kind of vague, but only because the timeline is really tight for how things have to work out. For instance, unless there's a pretty big age difference between Aife and Scathach, Scathach has to be in her mid-teens when she has Uathach in order for Uathach herself to be sexually mature enough to be engaging in nookie with Cuchulainn in the myths and for Aife to still be young enough to be in that era's prime "child-bearing" age range simultaneously.
The sort of stuff you find yourself having to think about when you plan this stuff, man.
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The capacity of the grasping and understanding of "limitations."
It is mostly used for teaching, and in this area, it would see its highest level of efficacy, allowing Aífe to intuit her students' capacity for growth.
However, when used in battle, it allows her to know when the enemy is holding back or preparing a trump card. Even at this level, it is not possible to fully grasp the true nature and power of such a thing, but at least its existence may be understood.
As a warrior who has pushed herself to her own limits and then beyond, it is only natural that she would possess the knowledge of the exact limitations of those who stand before her, even if they are attempting to conceal them.
This time, it was not her own past that played out behind her eyelids, but a strange and peculiar thing she didn't recognize, a dreary place of sterile walls and metal bars. Across from her was a young man, softer around the edges than most of the ones Aífe had trained over her lifetime, fuller in the face and thicker in the trunk, with determination burning in his eyes. He desired her expertise, her strength, not in the marital sense but in the martial sense of a student waiting to learn.
Her arms were longer and leaner than she was used to, her body taller and thinner, but she met that determination with her own, and his instruction in the martial arts began with the familiarity of something long practiced and honed. She was in her element, the teacher who had trained so many brilliant, standout students that her name had almost become synonymous with the act.
Even when they hated her for every moment of it.
This boy, so strange and yet so familiar at the same time, came to hate her for it, too.
Though I want to point out that the Celt sisters are both Pikish even if they are mainly Irish-celtic myth figures, they were born in the isle of wight. (presumably)
They lived in Alba/isle of wight. I don't think they ever actually went to Eire in the myths.
Well, from what we have been able to see Taylor, in her first invocation, she surely summoned a facet of herself, or at least QA (which is only summonable in conjunction with taylor), so surely she herself works as a catalyst and be her default summon. Same as Rin with Archer and Shirou with Arturia
Aífe: irritated at how Scáthach has ridiculous everything
Also Aífe: ignores how she lived during the Age of Heroes where she could shounen her way to peak performance and then proceed to harass a modern Hero whose sole source of pride is his PTSD powered entirely by Self-Hatred and gibbing Gil's schtick
yeah i can understand where she's coming from regarding hard work and sheer spite persistance in her goal to surpass her sister, but she is very much embracing the bratty older sister energy of the modern era in this interlude.
Hey, maybe this is her incentive to form a buddy duo with Boudica at Chaldea ala Onee-sama just to fuck with everyone
Her arms were longer and leaner than she was used to, her body taller and thinner, but she met that determination with her own, and his instruction in the martial arts began with the familiarity of something long practiced and honed. She was in her element, the teacher who had trained so many brilliant, standout students that her name had almost become synonymous with the act.
I'm assuming this was Taylor being a mentor to Golem? I have never read the original Worm, only fanfics, so I only have passing knowledge of this event. Hang on, lemme cook something up real quick. Sorry for any inaccuracies!
-0-0-0-0-
Worth of a Teacher
"You were a mentor."
Taylor started as Aife's voice reached her ears. Her eyes narrowed.
"How did you know?"
Aife simply pointed at her own head. Master and Servant shared dreams. But, it wasn't only that. She saw it whenever Taylor talked with the twins, young but rapidly being battle-hardened. How those two regarded the bug controller was similar to her own students' gazes.
Curiosity burned within her.
"What was it like, if you don't mind me asking?"
Taylor paused, thinking. A cursory look around showed that the twins were clearly eager to listen in, despite being busy in their stretches. Mash was sitting next to the fire, watching the twins. She sighed and sat down, absentmindedly throwing a stick into the campfire in the process.
"I suppose I could tell you."
The twins gave tired cheers as they winded down and sat, breathing hard. Aife raised an eyebrow. Those two were progressing fast. Just a few days ago, they would simply fall down on the ground.
Taylor inclined her head towards Aife. "What did you see so far?"
"A depressingly white room with metal bars, with you training a young man. He wore a costume with a segmented kilt and a mask depicting a solemn expression, and displayed prowess with manipulating the earth. From what I gathered, he was there to learn from you," she paused. "He never got to beat you, from what I've seen."
Taylor nodded. "Golem. That's what we called him. Although, his real name was Theo." Mash perked up.
"Golem? As in, those animated statues from Jewish folklore, Miss Taylor?"
"That's where it was from? Neat. But yes, that was the name given to him in lieu of his real name to hide his identity."
"Then what's your codename, Senpai?" Rika asked. Aife glared at the girl.
"Weaver. But, that's neither here or there." Taylor coughed, catching the glare. "I was in a...team of people with powers of sorts. Golem was the newbie and approached me due to our past."
Taylor sounded wistful now, and Aife could tell that she was seeing phantom images of her past. She did the same on quiet nights, remembering the endless hours of practicing under the moonlight, carressed by the gentle wind.
"He wanted to be a hero, and wanted to have my expertise and training to teach him. As if it was something worth for an upcoming hero." Her mood turned dark.
"I couldn't teach him how to be a hero, when I was never one. I can't teach him to appear large and reassure people, to minimize collateral, to save people." Taylor gripped her hand tightly, "So, I taught him how to survive and fight."
And taught him, she did. Aife remembered the brutal beating she gave the bulky man. Ordering him to stand up and fight, to use his determination if he's flagging. The students always, always were happy at first to learn.
Until they hated her for teaching them.
Taylor's tale went on and on. How her teammates eventually joined in. Her guilt and disappointment as Golem preservered through her tutelage trying to become a hero, yet only learning the tricks of the trade of a warlord. She spoke how alone she felt in the end, when they started avoiding her.
"I'm no teacher of heroes, so it was no surprise. Even then, I never regretted teaching them."
"How?" The heated words came unbidden from Aife's mouth. "They hated your teaching. They hated your effort! Why would you not regret it?"
Taylor did something Aife never expected. She smiled.
"Because they survived. Even when the city was falling around them, and we were outnumbered and outgunned, all of them lived. They went on to become legends of their own making."
A number images spun through her mind, settling on one. Connla.
"That, I think, is the worth of a teacher. Even if they come to hate me for it, all of them are alive to feel that hate. I will never, ever, regret that."
