It’s Always Sunny In Trifas: A Trent and Xan Production

[Xanothos]

Chapter 1. The Gang Gets Together

Spoiler: Summary

Trifas, an idyllic Transylvanian town, perfect for a small retreat from the hustle and bustle of the city, and now host of the Grand Grail War. Amidst the usual furor and insanity, a pair of wild cards have been pulled and set the usual course askew. Of course, they don't know how things will end, and their only solace is that it's always sunny in Trifas.

Spoiler: Cover

​

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it wasn't actually, but Yohanan Maveth Byzantium pretended otherwise. A tempestuous eve would've set the mood more nicely than the balmy afternoon that it actually was.

He leaned back in his chair then pushed off it, brushing motes of dust from his brown suit-jacket as he rose and crossed the dark room with long, gliding steps.

'Bah, no matter. Though night has yet to fall, this will do. Wait any longer and the slot I desire might be snatched up!'

The pale man glanced at the crimson sigil etched into the back of his right hand, the Command Seal that signified his right to participate in the Grand Holy Grail War instigated by that pompous snake, Darnic.

Yohanan ran a hand through his white hair. Serpent though the man may have been, the Yggdmillennia patriarch's machinations had opened the way for a most fortuitous opportunity.

Yohanan turned on his heel and beckoned with one hand, whorls of light briefly flickering along his arm as his Magic Circuits called to one of his familiars.

And the being obeyed its master's instruction, taking haunting form from the ectoplasm that followed in his wake no matter where he went. Waxy, translucent limbs sprouted from a torso no wider than a human spine, while a visage not unlike a half-melted skull scanned the room with an eyeless gaze. Its thin, clawlike fingers groped around until they found purchase on seemingly thin air, but this impression was quickly disproven.

With a sound like flan being torn apart by a particularly vindictive badger, Yohanan's Mystic Code, the Sefer Dim'dumiym, fell into the familiar's outstretched fingers. Quick as a whip, the Ectothrall presented Yohanan with his magnum opus: a massive grimoire whose very pages were linked to his own Magic Crest.

With a flourish, the pale Magus snapped the book open and strode to one corner of the room, notably barren. With another gesture, razor-thin blades of ectoplasm carved a magic circle just so into the stone floor. The ectoplasm then settled into a liquid form, sinking into the cracks of the summoning circle as Yohanan looked on in satisfaction.

After taking a moment to cackle maniacally (mentally, of course; he had standards, after all), he turned the pages of his grimoire to a particular spot near the center. This page was a new addition, and one he'd taken great pains to acquire. On it was an aria; the aria. The poem that would summon the Servant he sought, in precisely the class he desired. With this, his victory in the Grand Holy Grail War would be assured!

Or so it would have been. As he stepped forward to begin the ritual, his foot touched down on a small drop of ectoplasm that had splashed out of the circle. His boot-clad feet shot from beneath him, his head collided with the corner of a table, and he knew no more.

---

The first thing Johan noticed upon waking up was that he was no longer in his room. Indeed, he didn't recognize where he was at all. The second thing he noticed was the throbbing pain in the side of his head. He touched his temple, and hissed. That was gonna bruise.

The third thing he noticed was his hands. Or rather, that his hands were not his hands. They were several shades too pale, the fingernails were entirely too well kempt and there wasn't a single hair on either of these hands.

Oh, and the unnaturally bright sigil etched into the back of his right hand was also a glaring sign of unfamiliar things. A crimson circle surrounded a spadelike shape that hinted at a mask, though one divided down the middle, with one half calling a tragedy mask to mind, and the other corresponding to comedy.

Johan clutched his head, his breathing growing shallow and his heart thudding in his chest. 'What the hell is going on?!'

---

Trent Blackmore, as he had often found himself in life, had once again found himself holding the bag for someone else. Or rather, staring at a glowing circle on a hotel room floor, replete with arcane symbols and what was clearly a glassy-eyed prostitute off to one side.

He stared at the circle, his head pulsing from the lightshow even as he forced his eyes down to his hands, where a glowing tattoo stood out against the back of his hand; the visage of a crying Virgin Mary in red. His gaze tracked back up to the prostitute, his heart sinking with every second.

The circle pulsed and the light grew to be blinding, causing the blond to cover his eyes and squint against the light. There was a strange sound, like the fabric of something shifting across metal, and the light died away, a new figure standing in the center of the circle.

She stood tall and regal, her silvery hair cascading down around her neck in silky curls while her yellow, hawk-like eyes bored into her summoner. She wore a great red overcoat that came with a high collar of old nobility, all decorated with bone inlay or a form of bone armour over it, and beneath that she wore little more than some skimpy black nightwear, a pair of oddly opaque fishnet stockings, and a pair of golden stiletto heels. When she spoke, it was a velvety, aristocratic contralto that caressed the ears of those who listened. "Assassin of Black, has been summoned. I suppose then, that you are my master."

Trent blinked, a small, wry smile on his face as he pieced together just how truly, truly fucked he was. His lips twitched, but he held the smile, as he knew if he let it fall then he'd burst into tears. After a beat, he nodded. "Right, well, I'm Trent Blackmore, glad to make your acquaintance."

"You're rather calm, aren't you?" Her gaze was cold and judging, though her tone was simply chilly. "And that one? What are we to do with her?" Her remark was joined with a gesture to the empty-eyed hooker, who had yet to shake herself from her stupor.

The blond shrugged and replied, "Well, if you want to play with her, you can." The Canadian recognized the woman well enough after a few moments, placing her as the sociopathic master of Jack the Ripper. "The woman herself is something of a terrible person, and if she were to go on from here, then she'd probably ruin a fair few lives."

"My, to think my master would be so well prepared for me, how…exquisite." She stalked towards Reika Rikudou, her talon-esque fingernails grazing the whore's lovely features just enough to draw blood. The dominatrix let out a throaty chuckle as she gently tilted the hypnotized woman's head, taking in every detail.

The Canuck shook his head as he went to exit the room, but called over his shoulder. "Do make sure to take care of her in the bathroom, there's a drain in there and I'd rather not have to explain an ass tonne of blood to hotel staff."

Without waiting to listen for her reply, Trent had all but run into the main room, his eyes darting for whatever luggage there was. Quickly locating a suitcase that looked to be his he began digging through it, finding a good number of bird feathers, an empty but ornate bird cage, and a scattering of notes. Scanning through them, he found that he was apparently still Trent Blackmore, but not because he'd chosen it. He was a member of the Blackmore Magus Family, and was working with the Yggdemillenia family in order to win the Grand Holy Grail War.

Trent looked up to the ceiling and swallowed the scream that he desperately desired to unleash, knowing that the entire thing would likely be a gong-show. The worst part was that he'd actually have to try and be smart, as his Servant was nowhere near the tier necessary to fight on the level of Karna and Siegfried.

He let his shoulders slump as he pulled the notes back up. He might as well try and figure out how to do something with magecraft, rather than be useless the entire time.

The real issue was that he had to figure out what to do with all these fucking feathers, and why there was a bloody empty birdcage.

With a small flick of his wrist, he flipped the cage around to read the words inscribed on its base. His nose wrinkled in curiosity as he murmured, "'Quoth the raven', is it?"

Putting it down, he went back to his reading, trying to puzzle things out in the magic arena. It'd be useful in the long run, if he wasn't able to get back to his world.

Eventually, he was pulled from his reading by Carmilla emerging from the bathroom, the prostitute's clothes held in one hand. She looked at him, an elegant eyebrow raised in quiet befuddlement though she didn't ask. Instead she held up the pile of clothing and inquired, "Just what should I do with these? My meal has no use for them any longer, and I doubt you'd want them."

"Why not wear them?" the blond suggested tiredly, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Amber eyes stared back at him, their owner clearly unimpressed even as she looked about ready to throw the clothes in his face. Before she could, he raised a finger. "I'm perfectly happy to have you out in material form…but you can't stand out too much. You're already an incredibly beautiful woman, but if you're walking around in your normal wear, you'd attract too much attention."

"Fine then," she huffed, relenting and stepping back into the bathroom. Trent smiled at this development, glad that at least he'd not have to deal with too much horseshit as they left the hotel. He felt his smile stiffen when Carmilla returned, clad in Reika's clothes.

Her torso was wrapped in green tube dress, her bosom straining against the zipper at the top while the material clung her hips and behind like a mountain-climber clings to the rock-face. The boots had been eschewed in favour of her own stockings and stilettos, and she wore the coat off her shoulder, leaving it to be held up by her forearms. The Heroic Spirit took in his look with a confident nod, and declared, "These will do, for now."

"Let's…let's just go." As he said that, Trent gathered his things and prepared to leave while Carmilla picked up Reika's now ownerless purse.

The two made their way down to the lobby in relative silence, a stoic air between them as they went. Carmilla stood off to the side as the Canadian settled the bill, taking in the world that had moved on without her as she did so.

When Blackmore had finished paying and turned to leave, with Carmilla following after him. As they walked out the doors, one of the staff remarked to another, too quietly for the Canadian to hear, but loud enough for the vampiress.

"Wasn't that a different whore than he walked in with yesterday?"

---

Coming down from his panic attack took a great deal of time (the length of which was only exacerbated by the fucking ghost that had popped out of nowhere and started floating around him), but eventually Johan managed it. He staggered to his feet, clutching his still aching head as he leaned on a table, and briefly took note of the small spot of blood on one corner.

It seemed likely that the person whose body he was now inhabiting had hit their head on the corner of the table. Just how that translated into him now being in control of the unfamiliar body was completely beyond him, but the exact mechanics of his situation were unimportant.

What really mattered was the sinking suspicion that he'd developed upon seeing the sigil on the back of his hand, and upon scooping up a thick book that had sat on the floor near where he'd woken up, his suspicions only grew.

Written in a language he didn't recognize and yet could somehow read as though he was born it, were a series of lines. Lines he recognized.

Lines of a spell, meant for calling forth the spirit of an age-old Hero or Villain into the vessel of a Servant.

He couldn't believe it. No, it would be more accurate to say that he didn't want to accept it. As he threw down the book and sprinted out of the dark room, Johan stifled a scream.

He continued his run down a long stone hall dimly lit by torches as his mind raced.

'This can't be real, right? Servants, Magecraft, the Holy Grail War...it's all fiction! It has to be fiction. Otherwise—'

As though the world refused to let him complete his despairing thought, his ankles crashed into the bottom step of a staircase that ended in a flat ceiling and he toppled forward. As he struggled back to his feet, hands scrabbling at the wall for purchase, his hand caught on a ring of metal, tugging it downward.

A deep rumble of ancient stone scraping on stone resounded through the passageway, as the ceiling at the top of the stairs slowly groaned open. The dim light of the torches ended just past the opening, so Johan couldn't see much.

His heart thumped in his chest as he slowly climbed the stairs. He didn't know what waited above, but surely it would be better than a dark dungeon of stone, right?

---

'Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.'

On second thought, a nice, safe stone fortress seemed much more inviting than the unlit catacombs above. Who knows who or what could be lurking up there?

'Nnnnnnnope nopeity nope with a nope rope on top.'

A thoroughly drained and frazzled Johan staggered back into the chamber he'd awoken in, only to see that same pale spirit carefully running its skeletal fingers over the book he'd dropped, as though it was making sure it wasn't damaged. As he re-entered the room, it turned its ghastly visage toward him and rushed forward, eliciting a startled yelp from Johan. Rather than trying to hurt him, however, it instead proffered the tome, handling the book with care approaching the level of reverence.

With unsteady hands he accepted the book, letting it fall open in his limp grip. As he gazed at the same pages that it had been opened to before, he registered the spirit creature fade from sight.

Johan sat in front of the ritual circle, eyes glued to the Servant summoning aria. In all honesty, he didn't want anything to do with a magical fight to the death, even if by some miracle this Grail wasn't filled with the endless malice of Aŋra Mainiiu and actually functioned. On the other hand…

He was alone. Desperately, unequivocally, painfully alone. Johan wasn't the most social of people on the best of days, but he'd always had the ability to reach out to someone. But now…

He chuckled bitterly as he slowly slouched to his feet, book dangling from his left hand. 'Summoning a Servant out of a fear of isolation...what kind of idiot am I, really?'

"So be it, then," Johan said, his voice like silk being shredded by sandpaper. He thrust his right hand over the sigil and began to chant, hoping he didn't botch the ritual.

"Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation."

As he intoned the first line, he felt a heat spread through his arm and back that straddled the line between bliss and agony. As he spoke the second, the circle before him began to glow with unearthly silver light.

"Let Red be the color I pay tribute to. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall."

As soon as the word "Red" left his lips, the silvery light flashed crimson, the exact color of his Command Seals. In tandem with the word "wind", an unearthly breeze rushed from the circle, pushing at the suit-jacket that had long since come unbuttoned in Johan's frantic romp around the dungeon.

"Let the four cardinal gates close.Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."

The heat beneath Johan's skin was now firmly across the line into agony, but somehow, it wasn't really registering. Maybe it was the ritual, maybe it was a sense of detachment from the foreign-yet-familiar body, but...

"Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth."

By all rights, he should've been incapable of continuing the aria, but his lips formed the words completely heedless of his pain.

"An oath shall be sworn here. I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven; I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell."

Johan had always prided himself on his ability to endure, but he knew himself well enough to know this was something completely different.

"Yet you shall serve with your eyes clouded by chaos."

Something unnatural.

"For you would be one caged in madness."

Something unearthly.

"And I shall wield your chains."

Something not his.

"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!"

The flame in his skin reached a scorching crescendo as the last line of the aria fell from Johan's lips, and the world was consumed with light.

Mercifully, as the light faded so too did his pain, though it left behind a hollow ache that made him shudder. The book tumbled from numb fingers as his outstretched arm flopped to his side.

He let out a breath, and looked at the circle—no, at the man standing in the circle. To his shock and relief, in spite of only realizing he'd added the extra lines for the Berserker Class after the fact, the person standing before him had utterly unclouded eyes.

The man was blond, bespectacled, and slight of build, though there was an air of quiet strength around him. His clothes and posture both spoke of his being an educated man, and when he opened his mouth such was confirmed (not that Johan had harbored any doubts, considering just who the Servant was).

"Berserker of Red heeds your summons," Henry Jekyll said with a solemn bow. "So then, Master; shall we make ready for the battles to come?"

Berserker was quite put off balance when, instead of making some sort of arrogant proclamation, or even agreeing with him, his Master promptly flopped forward and began sobbing into his shirt.

It was quite distressing, in all honesty.

Fortunately for Jekyll's stress levels, the pale, shaking young man clinging desperately to his shirt seemed to run out of both tears and energy quite quickly. After muttering a nearly inaudible apology, he flapped a limp hand towards a couch, then shambled to a chair and collapsed into it.

"I...I'm sorry for all that, Doctor," Johan gestured vaguely at where they'd been standing, not noticing how Berserker started at the way he'd been addressed. "I...I've just had a bunch of stuff happen all at once and I really don't know what to do." He let out a shuddering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly holding back tears.

Jekyll leaned forward to lay a hand on his arm. "I do not know if I can help, Master—"

"Johan. Just call me Johan. None...none of that 'Master' crap."

Jekyll cleared his throat, then started again. "I do not know if I can help, Johan, but I am willing to listen if you are willing to talk."

Johan let out a deep, shaky sigh. "Where to begin…"

"I am told that the beginning tends to be the ideal place," Jekyll quipped, prompting a snort from Johan.

"Well, it all started when I w-woke up in a b-body that doesn't belong to me.."

---

Trent followed behind his Servant slowly, dragging a newly bought suitcase behind him as the woman wearing the name of the literary temptress and vampiress perused the shops. She was quite handily ignoring the stares being directed her way as she looked over the various different clothing shops.

The blond, still not quite on the same page as her, asked, "So, remind me again why this is necessary? Why it couldn't wait until we got to Trifas?"

"Because I've no desire to continue being mistaken for a common streetwalker. These clothes are good enough for the task of buying better ones, but no more than that." She gestured at the green minidress with more than some distaste, her mouth pinching in annoyance. "Though, I will be keeping the jacket; I quite like it."

Trent had to admit, it was a pretty nice jacket and Carmilla wore it damn well. He was about to, but stopped and remarked, "You might want to know that I do know your true name, just an FYI."

"…And you'd still trust me?" the white-haired woman asked, still facing away from him and seemingly giving a lot of scrutiny to a rather lovely camisole.

The Canuck shrugged as he pulled the suitcase up over his shoulder, and plainly stated, "Willing to, at least. You've not really given me a reason to mistrust you."

"Actually, why did you choose me, if you apparently had the option of knowing who I am?" Carmilla inquired, shooting a narrowed gaze at her summoner. She kept on going through blouses, picking out a few that she found either flattering or to be in colours she liked.

The blond shrugged as he pointed out a few he thought looked nice or would suit her, though most of his picks earned him grimaces of disdain with only a few getting thoughtful hums. "I wanted to fit with the faction's theme."

"Our faction has a theme?" the older version of Elizabeth Bathory asked, seeming utterly incredulous even as she moved from tops to bottoms. She clearly favoured slim pants that flattered her long legs, or skirts that did the same, though more than a few times did the blond catch her eyeing clothes that were more cute than mature.

Trent didn't say anything on the matter of her gazing longingly at the cute clothes, knowing just the turmoil that she was facing due to her younger self. Instead, he nodded sagely as he answered, even as he prepared to pay for whatever purchases that Carmilla might rack up. "It's the Monster Mash."

Her eyes unfocussed slightly as she went through the information on the current age that she'd been granted by the Holy Grail. "I don't believe you in the slightest," she huffed haughtily a second later as she watched him pay for the clothing, finding the whole idea absurd.

The Canadian gave another shrug, though he silently despaired for both his bank account and credit score. He didn't even want to know how much she spent in the lingerie boutique. "You say that now, as you're not ready for the upcoming Graveyard Bash."

The pseudo-vampiress rolled her eyes in exasperation even as she prepared to swat the Canuck with her purse, finding the joke trite and ill-fitting for someone of her stature. Rather than dodge the telegraphed blow, Trent rolled with it in an exaggerated way, acting as if he was gravely wounded as he rubbed the place that was hit.

His stomach, though, felt like it was roiling; tearing at its own walls and making him nauseous. For all his jokes and bravado, they were just that—a means to try and keep from utterly breaking down in the face of what was looming over him.

One of the most hectic and dangerous types of Grail war was about to begin…and there was little he could do but prepare to fight for his life.

 

[Finagle007]

So, Red now has Jekyll/Hyde as Berserker in place of Spartacus, and Black now has Carmilla in place of Jackie, and at least one Master is aware of Amakusa's true nature... this should be interesting...

 

[Xanothos]

Trent sat in the plane, eyes half closed as he dozed in his seat, only somewhat aware of Carmilla's astral self flitting about the aircraft. His peace was disturbed by the Assassin communicating with him, the link between them facilitating telepathy. 'Master, what are our plans for when we arrive in Trifas? The other teams will have had time to set up bases and defences and such.'

'Well, first and foremost will be dealing with the other groups' familiars, and then setting up a proper base,' the blond sent back, trying to sound as casual as possible. 'Luckily, my feather familiars will be perfect for taking care of any enemy familiars.'

Carmilla's end was silent for a few moments. 'You're going to start a war between familiars, aren't you?'

'Carmilla, do I seem like the sort of person to start a war? I'm offended.' With that reply, the Canadian shut his eyes the rest of the way and allowed himself to drift further off to sleep.

---

Chapter 2. Trent Starts a Race War and Johan Gets Shot​

Johan ducked behind a corner as a decaying fingertip moving at the velocity of a bullet shattered one of the numerous skulls embedded in the walls of the catacomb. 'Shit, shit, SHIT! How did shit go this south this fast?'

'I think it may have had something to do with the way you emerged from the secret passage right in front of him without warning, Mast-er, Johan,' came Jekyll's not-voice; Johan still wasn't used to that. 'That said, are you certain that you don't want me to aid you? I may be weak for a Servant in this form, but a Magus is another story.'

'No, hold off. Unless something's really wrong, this guy is part of the Red faction, same as us. Maybe I can get out of this without more viol—OW! FUCK!'

Another projectile had been fired his way, and based on the shallow gash on his shoulder, he'd narrowly escaped his assailant both metaphorically and literally giving him the finger. It burned like nobody's business, and stung far worse than the time he'd been swarmed by angry bees as a child.

If this was what a glancing blow felt like, Johan had precisely no interest in ever being shot.

Of course, that was when the third finger tore through his forearm, and his vision went white from the pain. 'GAAAAAH! FUCK ASS SHIT!'

'Master! Forgive me, but I must disobey your order. You're unused to using the Magecraft of that body; if this keeps up, you may die.'

Through his pain, Johan managed to transmit 'Don—GRHK—Don't kill him. Please.'

'As you wish, Mast... Johan.'

In the next moment, there was a loud thump. After a few seconds, Jekyll signaled to Johan that it was safe for him to come back around the corner, and he did so, clutching shoulder as he stumbled forward. A tall, burly, brunet man bedecked in a leather jacket was laid out on the ground, no visible injuries on his body. Upon closer inspection, he could make out the three clawlike scars over his right eye that the shades he wore failed to conceal. As Johan had expected, this was unmistakable Kairi Shishigo. But really, who else would use rotting fingers as bullets?

Once he'd finished examining Kairi, he turned to look at the Doctor. The thin, empty vial clutched in Jekyll's hand quickly told Johan how the Servant had managed to subdue the man.

"The concoction I used was a mild one," Jekyll said. "He should wake in about an hour or so without any ill effects."

Johan slumped against the wall, eyes screwed shut in pain. "Thank you, Doctor." He let out a hiss as he slid down the wall. "D-do you think you could do anything about t-this?" He gestured at his arm.

Jekyll gave a soft smile, and walked over to Johan. "Certainly, Johan. Just allow me to inspect the wound…"

---

After finally having escaped the dread terror of customs and baggage claim, Trent had hurriedly escaped the airport, claiming his rental car with gusto. It was a cheap, clearly refurbished Ford Pinto that had seen more than a few years and crashes, but it would do its duty to him and Carmilla.

He quickly peeled out, dodging around other cars as well as he could while focusing on putting some distance between him and the airport for the sake of allowing his Servant some freedom to act. They ended up off the road, the boot of the car open as the Assassin quickly changed into something she found suitable for the weather. Trent merely sat in the front passenger seat, head resting against the dashboard as he looked down at the mess of feathers in his hands.

There was something odd about trying to get the whole thing to form. He had the whole blueprint in his notes, but while his hands were able to put it together and set the familiar upon the world, there was still something missing. As another pseudo-bird took off through the window, he willed it to go after other familiars in Trifas, with the desire to camouflage both his and Assassin's actions while crippling Semiramis' operations.

Carmilla slid into the driver's seat, clad in a tight gray t-shirt that bore her midriff and belly button and a pair of burgundy capris, a pair of large orange sunglasses hiding her eyes. She adjusted the seat to suit her preferences, futzing a bit with the rearview mirror to get it just right. She didn't even turn to look at her Master as she declared, "I'm driving."

"Aight." Trent, rather than actually fight her on this matter, instead just shrugged and went back to his feather familiar creation. He wouldn't get in the way of the vampiress having fun while she was in the mortal world, and if she wanted to be the one to drive, more power to her.

The trip through the Wallachian countryside was peaceful, only broken by the squawking and crowing of Trent's familiars as he unleashed them upon the unsuspecting world. As their cruise continued, the relative silence was broken by Carmilla.

"Where are you getting all those feathers, because I know you didn't have them in your luggage?" she inquired, her tone somewhere between bland and threatening.

The Canadian didn't answer immediately and instead finished working on his current familiar. After launching it out the window, he replied, "Don't look in the backseat."

"Master, while I can deal with the fact that this car is far from being up to my standards, the backseat better not be full of bird feathers." Carmilla's fingers gripped the wheel to the point of her knuckles turning white as she seethed at her Master.

Fiddling with a feather, Trent remarked, "Well, it won't be full of feathers by the time we get to Trifas."

"So help me, it better not be," the woman sighed with the force of one thousand exasperated partners, unable to truly deal with the Canuck's nonchalance in the face of her restrained anger.

Of course, neither of them knew the level of chaos that they were unknowingly unleashing upon the skies of Trifas.

---

The burning agony in Johan's shoulder had lessened considerably, thanks to Jekyll's alchemical skills (but not Skill, for whatever reason). Thankfully, the person this body had belonged to (before Johan had been unwittingly and unwillingly tossed into it) had been sensible enough to stock a fair number of useful alchemical reagents, despite it not being his specialty.

The tonic hadn't healed him fully; the ingredients weren't high quality enough for that. But the hole in his shoulder had shrunk to a shallow wound about the width and depth of a penny, which was a marked improvement.

After applying the tonic to his wounds Jekyll had bandaged them, then went back up into the catacombs to retrieve Kairi. Meanwhile, Johan had managed to find some clean clothes so he could change out of the bloodstained ones. Unfortunately, a shower didn't seem to be in the cards for him right now, so he'd just have to settle for a fresh grey shirt and a pair black slacks.

Though he was still in pain, it was much more manageable than before. As he looked over at the couch Jekyll had carefully placed Kairi on, he cupped his hand over his chin. Things really seemed to be looking up…

Which, of course, meant that when the ceiling caved in before Johan, the armor-clad form of Saber of Red landing less than a meter in front of him and immediately putting the tip of her blade to his neck, he wasn't as surprised as he really ought to have been.

Her armor was largely greyish silver, as was her sword, though both had prominent red accents throughout their construction. However, there were two things that immediately stood out to him, other than the sword at his throat, of course. The first were the two massive, unwieldy thigh-plates on either side of her legs. The second was the bull-horned, almost demonic helmet covering her face.

"Oi, oi! Just what the fuck do you think you're doing with my Master, magus?!" the Knight of Treachery snarled through her helmet.

Johan didn't move a muscle as a droplet of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He could feel a pressure on his back and shoulders as the Servant glared at him, as if something was trying to press him down onto the blade. 'This...has turned into a difficult situation.'

'You have a talent for understatement,' Jekyll quipped, the concern in his voice putting paid to the idea that he wasn't seriously worried about what was going on.

Jekyll was no match for Mordred in his base form. As Hyde he could give her a fight, but by the time that transformation was concluded Johan would be long dead. He couldn't even try to use a Command Seal, since there was no way he'd finish the second syllable of an order before he died, and he still had no idea how he was supposed to use the Magecraft of his new body.

So in other words, he had to try and negotiate.

With Mordred.

Joy.

"I'm not doing anything to him," he replied carefully, desperately trying to keep his voice even as he mentally signaled Jekyll to be ready to transform if (and only if) things went sour. "I may have startled him unintentionally and then got shot by him, but he's not hurt. In fact, he should be waking up shortly…" He flicked his gaze over to Kairi, who to his immeasurable relief, seemed to be stirring.

He couldn't see her face past the enchanted helmet on her head, but something in him could tell that Mordred was focusing her glare on him even more intensely. She gestured with the tip of her sword, just nearly missing opening his neck from ear to ear. "Move back, magus. I'll be the judge of my Master's safety." Before Johan had a chance to move, though, she gave him a shove with the butt of her sword.

Thankfully, she hadn't put much force behind it, so instead of being slammed into the wall with enough force to crack the stone and his bones, he merely stumbled back into the wall. As he slumped against the cold stone, he let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. In the next instant, Mordred was at the side of Kairi's couch, berating him for getting captured.

If Johan hadn't been an inch away from losing his head a moment ago, he might've found the way Mordred fussed over her bear of a Master charming. As it was, he was more concerned with getting his heart rate back down to a level not putting him at risk of arrhythmia.
"Oi."

'This fucking war will be the death of me, I swear,' Johan thought, honestly too exhausted to have another panic attack.

"Oi."

"Let us attempt to avoid that outcome, shall we?' Jekyll's attempts to lift his spirits were appreciated, even if they weren't as effective as either of the Master-Servant duo would've liked.

"Oi! Pale bastard, you awake?!" Johan snapped from his musings to see that Kairi was now sitting upright on the couch, staring at him from behind shades with what he assumed (hoped) was a measuring gaze.

"Oh! Sorry." Johan scratched the back of his head. "I was conversing with my Servant."

And just like that, the weight was back. Kairi stood, a shotgun having filled his hand while Johan was still reeling. After taking a few moments to stare at him, weapon trained on his head, he lowered it once more.

"You're not Yggdmillennia. I guess that makes you Berserker of Red's Master? That shifty priest said you were the only other one who hadn't checked in with him." With his words, the pressure in the room receded to a nearly unnoticeable level—but it was still there.

Johan nodded. "I've run into a few...issues, so I haven't had anything approaching time to do so." Johan glanced at Mordred. "I'm guessing you are Saber of Red?"

"Aye, and don't you forget it!" she snapped in response, a mix of anger and pride filling her tone.

"Well," Johan began, gesturing for the duo to take a seat before doing so himself. "We didn't get off to the best start, so I think it would be best for all parties if we start over from the beginning."

At Kairi's cautious nod, Johan spoke. "My name is Johan, and this is my partner, Berserker of Red." He waved a hand to one side as Jekyll materialized beside his chair, giving a gentlemanly bow.

"Oi, oi. Is this some kind of joke?" Mordred cut in. "He doesn't even feel like a Servant, let alone a Berserker.

Johan looked over at Jekyll. 'If you don't mind telling them, I think it could do a lot to build trust between our groups. And, well...I know it seems absurd for me to say this since the man shot me, but Kairi Shishigo is, as far as magi and spellcasters go, a decent man.'

Jekyll gave a light frown. 'I will admit: I have some reservations about offering them such information, even if we have the same information on them due to your...knowledge. That said, I am willing to trust your judgment on this matter, Johan.'

Johan gave a small, bittersweet smile. 'I appreciate that, Doctor.' He then looked back at Kairi and Mordred, both of whom were regarding him with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
"Sorry about that; Berserker and I just needed to come to a decision." He leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. "The reason he doesn't feel like a Servant is due to his identity, and we have decided to share that identity with you as a show of good faith."

Kairi's jaw dropped open, and Mordred let out a wordless noise of surprise even as Jekyll stepped forward.

"I, who have been called forth under the Class of Berserker, am Doctor Henry Jekyll. While in this form, I barely classify as a Servant. However, when that thing takes control…" Jekyll shuddered. "The creature known as Edward Hyde more than qualifies me for the Class I bear. It is an utterly wretched thing, but it will do a far better job protecting my Master than I ever could."

And that was a statement that nobody present had a response for.

---

When the Pinto crested the final hill between it and Trifas, Trent's eyes widened in shock at the sight.

The sky above the town was filled with flocks of birds, doves and the pseudo-ravens that he called familiars having taken to the air as they tried to kill each other. People had taken shelter indoors, watching the skies in horrified awe as the avians tore each other apart.

Torn and ruined feathers decorated the streets and anything in them, even as unidentifiable bird corpses fell among them like some macabre pillow factory accident.

The Canadian Master raised a hand to his mouth, unable to speak in the face of the race war he'd wrought, birds dying across the whole city due to his machinations. On one hand, should probably have been pleased to have been so successful in his attempt to hinder Semiramis; on the other, the sight was horrific.

Carmilla, took in the view with nothing more than bland stoicism, though she did take a moment to pull her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to look over the tops of them. After a few quiet moments, she remarked, "Are you sure I wasn't a compatibility summon?"

 

[Crusader Jerome]

Congratulations, you've ruined all of Apocrypha forever. Not that it was a difficult task, mind.

 

[Xanothos]

Congratulations, you've ruined all of Apocrypha forever. Not that it was a difficult task, mind.

Click to shrink...

Out of curiosity, in what way did we ruin it?

 

[Crusader Jerome]

In the best way.

Meaning that I won't actually get any spoilers that matter, although I've already wiki-trawled enough for that to be a non-issue.

 

[Xanothos]

Chapter 3. The Gang Terrorize a Trio of DILFs​

Trent and Carmilla sat in the small hotel room that the blond had rented, neither of them saying anything as Trent sat with his head in his hands. Eventually, he broke the silence.

"I can't believe that I've done this."

The Assassin quirked an elegant eyebrow, her expression torn between bemusement and genuine humour. "And yet, here we are."

'Here' was the state of things outside, as the streets were covered in torn feathers and bird guts, all from the war that the Canadian had accidentally started with Semiramis' doves. It was still ongoing in some places, with squadrons of birds harrying each other and trying to go for the kill.

Trent looked up at Carmilla and asked, "What am I even going to tell the rest of the Black Faction? Seriously, I've probably caused so much havoc."

The vampiress shrugged at the question and returned one of her own. "Do you even plan on getting in contact with them? We're technically supposed to be the team dedicated to remaining under suspicion."

"…I've got it," was all Trent said in response, closing his eyes and quickly wresting control of one of his familiars. With that done, he pulled it away from the ongoing bird war and had it wing towards Yggdmillenia castle. The collection of old European buildings earned a curl of his proper lips as he watched his familiar approach them from the skies.

After flying in through a window and dodging a number of housekeeping homunculi, the familiar eventually found its way into a large hall, where Lancer of Black and his Master were quietly scheming. Trent tried to force his familiar to broadcast him clearing his throat in order to gain their attention, but only succeeded in making it caw loudly.

This action still got their attention, but it also nearly got his familiar impaled by a sudden stake, though he managed to get it to dodge out of the way in time. Frowning as best he could through the familiar, he remarked, "As should be expected from an unenlightened mudman, attacking on sight."

"You've some nerve saying that, with all that you've done in Trifas," Vlad the Impaler shot back, leaning back in his throne regally.

The pseudo-raven lifted a wing up and smartly retorted, "Honestly, you should be praising me, as I've not only disrupted our enemies' spy network, but have also created an effective smokescreen and a reason to keep the uninvolved off the streets."

The fact that he had done all these completely unintentionally didn't really seem relevant to the conversation, so Trent cheerfully ignored it. He might not have been happy to be flying by the seat of his pants, but it did help him think.

"I suppose your words do have some merit, though it was still tactless and overblown," the former ruler of Wallachia declared imperiously, even as Darnic stepped forward.

The elder magus cleared his throat and interjected, "The real question, Blackmore, is when exactly you're going to join us here in the castle. It's the ideal staging location for us when going up against the Red Faction. More than that, it would actually be better for us were you to do something useful rather than something overblown and idiotic, so why don't you start by joining us here."

"Actually, as the Master of Assassin, it's honestly more practical for me to be outside the Black's staging area, as enemies will expect us to come from there," Trent replied. "Also, like fuck I'm showing up in person before you, you actual Nazi." A vein in Darnic's forehead visibly pulsed at the reply, and his mouth had already opened to retort when the familiar obnoxiously continued, "Where's my Iron Cross for all my Race Warring? I did it better than you, you stinking mudman, SCRAWWWWW!"

It was at that point that a wooden stake flashed into existence in the familiar's head, causing it to fall to pieces and Trent to snap back to reality with a horrible headache. He looked up to Carmilla and flashed her a thumbs-up, meeting her unamused gaze. She crossed her arms below her chest and asked, "Did you have to shout that last part?"

"Absolutely necessary, had to sell the act," he replied, as he once more cradled his head, this time wishing for some aspirin.

The Assassin stared at him blandly, and asked, "That you're a crazed bird man?"

"Exactly," the Canadian answered.

Carmilla shook her head, disappointment clear on her face. "Why are you like this?"

---

"Wha…" Johan gaped at the streets of Trifas in unmitigated horror. When Kairi had suggested that the four of them go topside to acquire Mordred and Jekyll some casual clothing so they didn't stick out, Johan had definitely not anticipated surfacing to see the streets run red with the flesh and blood of dead birds.

Kairi, meanwhile, was more focused on the skies, his keen eyes noticing a few dark shapes still remaining in the air and battling with one another. He spat off to one side in disgust. "Blackmore." He said the name like a curse, the look on his face one of distaste.

"Oi, master." The Knight of Treachery's voice echoed out of empty air, nearly causing Johan's heart to pop out of his chest. "You know who's behind this mess?"

The necromancer let out an affirmative grunt. "The Blackmore family Magecraft, no doubt. Only those damn lunatics could control this many birds at once." He pulled a cigar out of his jacket and stuck it in his mouth, before lighting it with a rune. "Not like them to be this sloppy, though."

Johan turned to look at Kairi, his mind working. Blackmore, Blackmore...where had he heard that before?

Oh.

"When you say 'Blackmore', Mr. Shishigou, do you mean 'Gransurg Blackmore'? The Dead Apostle Ancestor?" Johan asked tensely. (Kairi had already determined that he wasn't going to convince Johan to drop the formalities.)

Kairi chuckled darkly. "They claim to be his descendants, but hell if I know if they're telling the truth. All I know is they're obsessed with bird-themed Magecraft, and their heir, Trent, is supposed to be a piece of work."

Johan blinked owlishly. 'Trent...Blackmore? No, it can't be. What kind of coincidence would that be?'

'Master?' Jekyll asked silently.

Johan shook his head minutely. 'No, it's just…someone I knew went by that exact name. It's probably just an odd coincidence.'

Jekyll gave the telepathic equivalent of a shrug. 'I would not know the likelihood of such a thing; the True Magics are far outside my area of expertise, and what happened to you certainly seems to qualify as the use of two. That said, if one soul has been displaced, who is to say another was not, as well?'

Johan looked down, eyes clouded with thought. 'Perhaps, Doctor. Perhaps.'

After a long moment, he turned back to Kairi. "Is this…Trent part of our faction? Or is he one of that Yggdmillenia snake's pawns?"

Kairi shook his head. "He's not one of ours, that's for sure. But the Blackmores are old. If he's working with Yggdmillenia, it's not to become a part of their little group. He's probably a merc, like us."

He dropped the butt of his cigar and ground it beneath his heel. "One thing's for sure, though. With how things have calmed down, he's probably near or in Trifas. He'll want to see the results of his work." The necromancer bent down and scooped up a particularly meaty giblet. "I think I'll pay him a visit."

A faint flicker of mana crossed Johan's senses. As he turned to look at Kairi, the other man asked, "You coming, kid? It'll probably be dangerous."

Johan paused. He had to admit, part of him wanted to see if this Trent was the one he knew. And that aside…

"I'm probably safer with you, Mr. Shishigou. Until I fix the problem with my circuits, I'd rather stick with you." He scratched the side of his head. "Sorry for putting you on the spot."

Kairi snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "If we're gonna team up for this clusterfuck of a war, I might as well get used to it. Just pay me back if I'm in a pinch, huh?" Johan nodded. "Right then. Follow me, kid." Kairi started waking down the street, not bothering to step over the mangled avian carcasses in his way.

...

The squishing, crunching noises that his boots were making made Johan shudder. If the guy they were going to meet was, by some contrivance of fate, the Trent he knew...well. He'd have some explaining to do.

---

The Master and Assassin pair sat in the quiet hotel restaurant, as most people were in their rooms, making concentrated efforts to not to look outside and upon the carnage. The food was honestly quite lovely, though Trent had some issues actually eating; still, he tried while Carmilla calmly consumed her lunch. The wait staff had decided to leave them alone for the most part, only coming by rarely to make sure everything was alright.

The Canuck eventually put down his utensils, staring at his plate in melancholy. After a few moments, he remarked, "I bet that so many wild animals and hobos are gonna be heavy with dove meat."

"Really? Right now, while we're eating?" Carmilla asked, though she didn't stop.

The blond shrugged and said, "I can't stop thinking about it. It's like someone out there decided to throw a number of bird flocks through a thresher. It's a PETA member's nightmare." He paused, then smiled. "Wait, that's a good thing. Fuck PETA."

"More and more, I'm coming to the conclusion that we're far too compatible," the vampiress sighed before sipping at her wine. "Then again, perhaps it would be better if we were more compatible; maybe then you'd not exasperate me so."

"It's a talent," Trent remarked as he continued to stare at his plate. "That and pissing off unenlightened mudmen are my two primary talents."

"Please, do find other ones to hone," she shot back with a scowl.

Trent made a whining noise and turned to look out the window, only to make a choking sound. Outside the window was one Kairi Shishigou, looming menacingly and staring them down from behind his sunglasses. Standing behind him, peeking over his shoulder was some gangly albino that Trent didn't recognize, which confused him.

They stayed staring at each other, neither moving until Trent made an exaggerated motion to indicate that he was inviting them to sit with them. This earned him a cocked eyebrow from the mercenary, but it was the least he could do.

They were out there in the dove guts, after all.

The aforementioned albino appeared to say something to Kairi, who turned to reply, gesturing back at Trent and Carmilla. The stranger glanced back their way, eyes lingering on Carmilla for a brief moment before returning to Kairi, running a hand through his hair and gesticulating.

After a few moments, they seemed to come to an agreement, and entered the restaurant. The waiter that came to meet them seemed rather nervous, likely because of how intimidating Kairi was. However, they were shown to Trent's table in short order, where they both took a seat opposite Trent and Carmilla.

Quiet settled over them as they stared at each other, only Trent was panicking internally as he tried to figure out just what to do. After a few moments of awkward silence, he cleared his throat and said, "Mister Shishigou and…his friend."

"Johan," the now-named man interjected.

Trent nodded, somewhat surprised by the name as he knew a Johan back before he was forced into his current situation, but tried to stay cool. "Well, Mister Shishigou and Johan, what brought you to me?"

Kairi snorted. "You know damn well why we're here, Blackmore." He lowered his voice. "What the fuck were you thinking?" the man hissed, a scowl on his face.

The blond raised a finger as he retorted, "First, I never expected things to escalate as they did, it was more to try and cripple the enemy's spy network. Secondly, the old Nazi's the one who told me to make myself useful."

Johan looked at him balefully. "Please, by all means, explain how this is 'useful'. Because what I'm seeing looks like something out of Birdemic."

"Really, Birdemic? At least show some respect to the classics and cite Hitchcock," Trent scoffed as he leaned back in his seat. "Also, it should be noted that I sent them after enemy familiars, and I consider stopping my enemy's creation of a police state useful."

"To your first point," Johan began, "I cite Birdemic because Hitchcock would've been appalled at your sloppiness. As to your second…" Johan paused, seemingly in thought. "I suppose that destroying her familiars is a worthy cause, but still."

It was at that moment a voice sounded from nowhere. "Oi, master. Why're we sitting around and talking? Working with them I get, they're more trustworthy than the witch. But these two are Black Faction!"

Kairi sighed. "They invited us, my king. It's the least we can do to hear 'em out before we start shooting."

"Also, consider the fact that I honestly don't really care about the whole team thing. Seriously, it's led by a Nazi, literally a huge monster, and also has that dumb bitch Celenike on it. Sure, some of the others are salvageable, but…" The blond explained, holding out a single hand to gesticulate with. "Furthermore, I'm not going to be told off by a preteen who's too cowardly to show their face."

A sound somewhere between a shocked splutter and an enraged roar sounded, and the Knight of Treachery materialized in all her armored glory, Clarent pointed at Trent. "Wanna try that one again, bird-shit for brains?"

Kairi palmed his face and Johan stood up, hands pressed against the table. "Can we please not. This was going so well...at least, as far as meetings between Magi go." He gave a tired sigh, and slumped back into his chair. "This fucking War is gonna be enough of a mess without people getting murdered at the negotiating tables." He glanced around, presumably checking to see if anyone had seen the spat at their table. Thankfully, it seemed to be a very slow day, probably due to the race war.

"Lord knows that I don't trust that fucking priest as far as I could throw Saber; wouldn't it be better if we worked together?" Johan added with a nod towards her.

Kairi snorted. "You must be naive or stupid, kid. Working together with other Magi is a pipe dream on a good day, and with this War in the mix…" He shook his head before glancing at Mordred. "My king, his insult isn't worth staining your honor, right?"

"Despite his relative pigheadedness and poor ability to gauge the consequences of his actions, I'd ask that you leave my Master unharmed," Carmilla interjected as she dabbed at her lips daintily. "More than that, I think it would be incredibly uncouth to kill him while sitting and having a civil conversation, to say nothing of whether it would be honourable or not. Then again, given Saber of Red's temper, I'd guess that their honour's about as good as their self-control."

If Mordred had been angry before, now she was on the edge of spontaneously changing to Berserker Class. Before she could speak, a blonde man dressed in the garb of a Victorian gentleman materialized beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. He whispered something inaudible in the Knight of Treachery's ear, and whatever it was, it seemed to be sufficient to calm her down and cause her to scoff and lean up against the wall. The man then turned to regard Trent and Carmilla.

"Pardon my rudeness, sir and madam," said the man, offering a courtly bow. "I am Berserker of Red, though I may not look it."

Trent stared at the Heroic Spirit that he recognized as Doctor Henry Jekyll, screaming internally as he remembered the sheer lunacy that was needed to put down the Berserker version of Mister Edward Hyde in Prototype. He was quiet for a few moments, and then clasped his hands together. "So, I must say that an alliance would be…quite welcome, in truth. While Assassin and I can take care of a few priority targets easily enough, working together with the four of you would be quite welcome."

Johan glanced at Kairi, who was frowning, but didn't object. "I don't see why not," the younger man said. "I'll take working with someone who doesn't approve of Nazis over that serpent in a cassock any day."

Mordred scoffed, but didn't comment.

"Now, I know that you might not trust me overly…but what if I told you that I had a plan to take out Assassin of Red?" Trent offered with a wicked grin.

Mordred now looked considerably more interested in the discussion at hand.

Carmilla looked to her Master and sighed. "Master, please don't just say things like that. The last time you were so self-assured it ended up with the tableau outside. If anything, it would be wiser to deliver her head to them and then tell them that you had a plan like that."

"I'd rather have someone know to avenge me if we fail and die to Kirei's adopted gyaru-oh brother," Trent sniffed as he turned his nose up.

Johan, who had been taking a sip of complimentary water, promptly inhaled it through his nose and began choking. Kairi, on the other hand, simply pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "I'm too old for this shit."

 

[Crusader Jerome]

Gonna finally put on my thoughts here.

Trent, if you keep that up, you're likely to get two angry homunculi threatening your life instead of just one. And I'm not talking about Sieg.

On a more serious note, I would like to see more in-depth characterization. The weakest part of stories with bloated casts, and especially Fate stories with bloated casts, is that we don't spend enough time with people to get to know them, and thus to care about what happens to them. That was one of Apocrypha's biggest failings. With this story, you have two main characters from the start to focus on. While both of you have successfully established a basic personality and modus operandi for your SIs, it's not enough. We need some personal history and some interactions that cuut deeper than basic plot progression and antics.

Don't be afraid to use flashbacks--showing is better than telling in that regard. I think both of Trent's stories on SB would have benefited from those (the CfV and To-Love Ru ones).

Aaaaand I should have just posted this on SB so I could tag him directly.

 

[Xanothos]

Gonna finally put on my thoughts here.

Trent, if you keep that up, you're likely to get two angry homunculi threatening your life instead of just one. And I'm not talking about Sieg.

On a more serious note, I would like to see more in-depth characterization. The weakest part of stories with bloated casts, and especially Fate stories with bloated casts, is that we don't spend enough time with people to get to know them, and thus to care about what happens to them. That was one of Apocrypha's biggest failings. With this story, you have two main characters from the start to focus on. While both of you have successfully established a basic personality and modus operandi for your SIs, it's not enough. We need some personal history and some interactions that cuut deeper than basic plot progression and antics.

Don't be afraid to use flashbacks--showing is better than telling in that regard. I think both of Trent's stories on SB would have benefited from those (the CfV and To-Love Ru ones).

Aaaaand I should have just posted this on SB so I could tag him directly.

Click to shrink...

Don't worry, I'll just show him on Discord.

 

[Crusader Jerome]

Don't worry, I'll just show him on Discord.

Click to shrink...

Fair. I could also repost it, but whatevs.

 

[Xanothos]

Chapter 4. Jekyll Persuades A Minor​

After Johan managed to stop choking on his water, due in part to Jekyll patting his back, he suggested that the six of them, quote, "go somewhere that doesn't smell like a charnelhouse" for the remainder of their planning session.

Trent, ever willing to point out the obvious, was about to comment on the fact that it smelled quite lovely in the restaurant, only to receive a pinch to the side from Carmilla. After giving her a hurt and teary look—which was met with a stern glare that he withered before—he gave his assent after settling the bill.

Johan allowed Kairi to take the lead, partially out of respect and partially because fuck if he could remember the way back. He wasn't quite as bad as, say, Ryoga Hibiki, but his sense of direction was still shit.

Regardless, once they'd reached the graveyard, and subsequently, the entrance to the catacombs, Johan sketched a sarcastic bow. "Welcome, lady and gentleman, to our humble abode: the Bone Zone."

The sound of Kairi's hand impacting his face echoed through the graveyard.

"While I'm flattered, it's a bit early in our relationship, isn't it?" the Canadian inquired as he nudged a clod of dirt that looked suspiciously like a severed foot. He then looked askance at Carmilla, as she'd simply walked with them to the catacombs.

The vampiress looked about, clearly nonplussed with their new accommodations, and sniffed. "Honestly, the whole 'Magi skulking around a graveyard' thing is rather trite, isn't it?"

Kairi shrugged. "I dunno why the kid set up shop down there, but I'm a necromancer; this place is like an ammo depot for me."

Johan scratched the back of his head. "On my end, I'm an ectomancer, apparently." This last he muttered low enough that Trent could barely hear him, before he continued, "So where Mister Shishigo can get physical materials, I can get metaphysical ones...or at least I could, if my damned Circuits were functioning properly!" He punctuated his agitated statement by scuffing the toe of his boot against the ground, sending up a puff of dirt, dust and probably bonemeal.

"I mean, you don't see me setting up shop in an aviary, you know?" Trent replied as he looked between the agitated young man and the clearly disgruntled older man. "It's just kinda… I dunno, gauche? A bit too on the nose?"

Kairi fixed him with a deadpan stare over the top of his shades. "Take a good look at me, kid. Do I really look like the kinda guy who cares about shit like that?" He gestured to himself with both hands.

"I don't know your life," was Trent's smart aleck reply, though he trailed off at the end rather quietly. "Is what I should say, but then again, I do know some dank shit…"

"'Dank shit' like knowing what a gyaru-oh is despite being from an ancient European magus family?" Johan quipped without looking back.

The blond shrugged and remarked, "Well, it's like one of my Japanese animes, as the Otacon so wisely said."

Johan snorted. "And there I thought you were a purveyor of Chinese mangos; my mistake." Internally, though, he was rapidly starting to consider the possibility that this Trent Blackmore might, in fact, be the same Trent Blackmore that he had known in his own world.

"I'm a fan of Taiwanese Puppet Shows, especially when Shooting Doujin voices a sultry sword," Trent chuckled, feeling like he was right back at home, shooting the shit with the boys. Johan made a noise somewhere between a snort and a surprised chuckle.

"What the hell are they talking about?" Mordred audibly asked Kairi from spirit form.

"I've got half a clue," Kairi replied, "And that means I know enough to know I don't want to know more."

"You too?" Carmilla remarked as she made a show of daintily stepping over a small dip in the ground, clearly not enjoying their surroundings in the least. She was even grumbling as they traipsed through the catacombs. "While I know that I'm associated with dungeons and the like, I feel that going the way of the cryptkeeper is a bit much…"

A nervous chuckle echoed as Jekyll faded into view. "Now, now. Surely we can let them have their fun. Lord knows that my Master could use the company of a kindred spirit. I have done my level best to support him, but...he has been having difficulties, of late."

"While that's all well and good, I find it hardly any good for there to be someone encouraging my Master, especially after the last time he got 'inspired'." Even as she said that, Carmilla's lips twisted into a disgusted grimace, an expression that Jekyll mirrored as he recalled the avian apocalypse they'd witnessed.

Trent turned to look at her, hurt and betrayed, and replied, "Hey, if it's stupid and it works, it's not stupid."

"No, covering a town in bird viscera doesn't count as working, it counts as causing a hell of a scene!" The vampiress all but roared back, eyes blazing with anger. "I wanted to be able to relax, enjoy the town a bit! It's so nice to be close to home, after all, but then you caused that horror show outside!"

Trent shrunk in on himself. "Sorry…"

Kairi stared at the ceiling as he brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it. As he blew out a cloud of smoke, he muttered, "So this is my life now, huh?"

It might've just been his imagination, but he thought he felt Saber put a commiserating hand on his shoulder.

---

All but collapsing into a sitting position on a coffin, Trent couldn't help but think that he was probably doing something at least marginally blasphemous...but given that he planned to arrange for an assassination in a church later, he decided to put it down as a small misdemeanour. Putting his elbows on his knees as he steepled his hands in front of his face, he began, "You might be wondering why I gathered you all here toda—"

Before he could finish, Carmilla smacked him across the back of his head, clearly unimpressed. Rather than actually respond to the assault, the blond cleared his throat and continued, "So, the plan to deal with Assassin of Red. It's pretty simple, but bear with me. Essentially, it's an incredibly simple plan with Assassin and I approaching the church in the day, with Assassin using her Presence Concealment to simply appear as a regular human rather than as a Servant. Then, I'll distract Kotomine with statements about his brother, family, and goals while Assassin heads down and takes out Assassin. Luckily, Assassin's Noble Phantasm is anti-female, so it should basically take her right out."

Johan blinked slowly, and was silent for a few moments. "Is...is that all?" he asked, almost incredulously. "That seems a bit...no, it completely hinges on two pretty big assumptions. First, that you can distract and survive Ama—er, Kotomine, long enough for Assassin to get in. Second, that Assassin can go toe to toe with a Servant who is not only from the Age of the Gods, but has all the advantages of both a Caster and an Assassin, on her home turf."

Johan glanced at Carmilla. "Don't take this as me insulting your abilities, Assassin; I'm just concerned that, even with your legend supporting you, the Queen of Assyria may be too powerful to take down so easily."

"Hm, so you say…" Trent hummed as he leaned back in his seat. "I suppose that it would probably be best to discard with the dancing around then… Johan?" Pulling his arms across his chest, he eyed the man suspiciously, as he declared, "You just admitted to knowing about things you shouldn't have there! Semiramis's Double Summon, her very identity, and more than that, you admitted to knowing the truth of Shirou Kotomine!" He stopped there, but then sighed.

"No, I said we should discard with the dancing, you know the truth about the former Ruler, the Apocryphal Saint. Amakusa Shirou Tokisada!" As he said that, he whipped his arm forward, pointing at Johan with a massive flourish.

Kairi glanced between the two, eyebrows raised. "Mind filling me in on what the fuck you two are talking about before you start flinging overdramatic accusations at one another?"

"In my defense," Johan replied, "I haven't flung any accusations, overdramatic or otherwise, despite my suspicions." He looked back at Trent. "As for 'admitting things I shouldn't have', I just thought we ought to put all our cards on the table." He winced. "I'd feel like a piece of shit if my being cagey with what I know got one of you all killed, let alone me."

"In my defence, I am a drama queen," the blond admitted. "And honestly, that's fair. If we're putting all our cards on the table, then our best bet would honestly be having you figure out whatever the fuck's wrong with your circuits and then unleashing Hyde on the two teams. While they have Karna, it's doubtful that they'd be willing to have him team up with Siegfried and Vlad to take him out."

At that, Jekyll materialized, looking very concerned. He glanced at Johan, who, rather than looking shocked, seeming to have come to a realization. "Mr. Blackmore," Johan said seriously, "What is your opinion on the works of Takeuchi? Specifically, his work on portraits."

Kairi, Carmilla, and Jekyll blinked almost in unison at the seeming non-sequitur, but Trent simply narrowed his eyes as he answered, "Quite simply, that if he makes any more girls look like Mordred over there, then we'd all be fucking tired enough to riot and make the man draw someone other than Arcade Bumsteed or Arturia!"

The next series of events happened very quickly. Even as Johan looked on in horror, Mordred materialized right in front of Trent, pulling him off his feet by his lapels and giving him a gentle (for her) shake. "Oi! How'd you know my name, Bird Bastard!?"

"A little bird told me!" Trent joked, irreverent in the face of the angry Saber, despite the fact that he really shouldn't have been. "Real talk though, I'm…familiar with Heroic Spirits in general! Arty's kind of a big deal!"

Before Mordred could go any further, Carmilla interfered by wrapping a hand around one of the Homunculus' wrists. "As much as he infuriates me and seems to earn treatment like this, I do need him alive. Let him go, Knight of Betrayal, so that he might answer properly." Though her tone was icy calm, she spoke in cold, imperious tones, and that added to her greater height caused her to look down her nose at Mordred.

Mordred, for her part, ground her teeth and glared at Carmilla. Kairi stood up even as Johan let his face drop into his hands. "Dammit, Trent. It really is you, isn't it? Only you would run your mouth to a Servant, and a Saber no less." He looked up balefully, and addressed Mordred. "Saber, would you mind all to terribly not killing him? I know he thinks he's a lot more clever than he is, but underneath all that mouth, he's actually a genuinely good person, so… Please don't kill him?"

"As an aside, before you think about killing me," Trent grumbled as he hung limply in her grip. "I coulda answered you a lot worse, and made you a lot angrier. If it makes you feel any better, I could probably explain just why you didn't get what Morgan promised to you, or at least, Arty's reasoning!"

"Goddamnit Trent," Johan almost-screamed, slamming his face into his palm even as Mordred's eyes twisted in genuine rage. 'Since there's no way you can transform because I don't know how to turn on my fucking circuits, do you think you can talk her down, Doctor?'

'I can try, Johan. I can try.' Jekyll walked forward, his gait far more confident than his mental voice. "Sir Mordred," Jekyll said calmly but firmly, standing a pace or two away from the Knight of Treachery. "While Blackmore's words seem to fly faster and looser than his mind seems to realize, I implore you to ask yourself: are words spewed in a panicked frenzy truly worth breaking an agreed-upon parley and thereby staining your honour?"

Jekyll folded his gloved hands behind his back. "I am certain that, despite what the legends may say about you, that you are first and foremost a proud and honourable knight." The doctor spared a glance at Kairi. "Otherwise, you would not have answered Mr. Shishigou's call."

Mordred took a long look at Jekyll, then huffed and let Trent fall to the floor. She spat to one side, then said, "You remind me of that damn songbird; always talking and persuading." She bared her teeth in a bitter smirk. "But at least he could fight. We'll have to see if you're more than talk, glamor boy." As she walked back to her Master's side, she fixed him with a challenging gaze, which Jekyll met passively.

"Considering that Berserker Hyde needed Arty, Brynhildr, Ramesses the Second and Arash to take him down, with a dead Master and fuck all mana available and still gave them the sort of fight that Berserker Herakles powered by an Einzbern Homunculus would? I think that Jekyll deserves some props," Trent opined from the floor, having not bothered to get up, just in case Mordred decided to hit him or something, so it would be a short trip.

Before Jekyll or Mordred could react to this absolutely ridiculous, albeit absolutely true statement, Kairi finally reached the limit of his patience. "Alright! I hate repeating myself, but I'm gonna need you two to tell me what the fuck you're on about."

"Before I do that, I gotta ask Johan something," Trent said as he raised a finger up to point at the skinny albino. "You the Johan I know? My shitposting chuuni buddy who really likes Dantès and Hans?"

Johan gave a weak chuckle. "I'd say that my path goes beyond Love and Hate, but at this point it's going more beyond Depression and Mania. That's me, although it would seem that this time I'm the Albino, while you're just Very Mean."

"I'm an asshole, I've never lied about that," Trent grumbled as he forced himself into a sitting position. "As for just what we're on about, me and Johan are an isekai plot, we got thrust into our current bodies from our old universe where we had a…sort of, outsiders' view of things in this one and ones similar to it. Swear it on…uh…Merlin's still catfishing people from Avalon. Using the internet. What a guy, real inspiration."

Before Kairi could respond to that whopper of a statement, something very odd occurred. Despite them being deep underground in a catacomb, a fresh breeze smelling of flowers blew through the area, carrying on its back pink flower petals and an airy chuckle.

A chuckle that, judging from the way Mordred's face turned pale, she recognized it as well as Trent and Johan did.

"Oh, good," Johan said flatly, a dead look in his eyes. "The 'trusted advisor' has decided to grace us with his attention."

"Mordred, Carmilla, a cautionary tale: Merlin has attached definitively male appendages to places where they decidedly do not belong, of which Mordred is a result," Trent remarked as he slumped tiredly back to the ground. "Also, supreme sadboiz, it's not Proto, so no ara ara onee-san semen demon sorceress."

"Don't worry, Trent," Johan said in a mock consoling tone. "I'm sure that, if you wish hard enough, Magi✩Mari will visit you in your dreams."

"I want a real ara ara onee-san semen demon sorceress, not a catfish made to fuck with Solomon," the Canuck shot back, just bonelessly lying on the ground. "Listen man, I'd take Shuten at this point and risk the deboning."

By this point, Kairi had given up trying to follow the duo's conversation and had lit up another cigarette, while Mordred was busying herself checking the corners of the catacomb for 'that shitty wizard'. Carmilla just shook her head, having already decided that she was stuck with Trent and his shenanigans for the foreseeable duration of the war, even if he did give her headaches.

Johan gave a full body shudder at Trent's comment. "My dude, I can't say I relate. ASMR is all well and good, but that bony oni is absolutely terrifying. I'm not saying I'd rather summon Bluebeard, but Shuten's not that much higher on the list. My bones will stay right where they are, thanks."

"Sometimes, you just want to die while eating the ass of a petite oni who's got hips like whoa," Trent sagely remarked, still flopped on the ground. "Besides, I'm lucky that I didn't summon Jack the Stripper and get ganked for having Reika in the room with me."

Johan made a face. "What happened to that psycho, anyways?"

"I let Carmilla bleed her dry, figured it'd get her out of the picture and give Carmy something to wear while we bought her better clothes," the Canuck answered, rolling his head to the side to dodge a slow and telegraphed stomp from Carmilla. She clearly did not enjoy her new pet name, but Trent was sure that it would grow on her like he had, in a decidedly fungal manner.

"Oh," Johan replied, nonplussed. He glanced at the vampiress, and then sighed. "Well, the woman was a genuine danger to society, and as much as I should be upset about the literal murder, I can't seem to muster the energy."

He raised a finger and lazily shook it at Trent. "Please refrain from killing people who aren't murderous psychopaths or trying to kill us, mkay?"

"It was one time…before today. Besides, you agree with me that Amakusa's slampiece needs to go, and so does that dumb bitch Celenike," Trent shot back, crossing his arms across his chest as he lay in the dirt and bonemeal.

"Honestly, other than the Forvedge kids and maybe Gordes, the Yggdmillenia can all eat a Vasavi Shakti to the face for all I care. Darnic is a knockoff Zouken on top of being a literal Nazi, and Celenike is cartoonishly evil. As for the kid…" Johan paused to think for a moment. "I don't remember him being especially heinous, but doesn't that Kamen Rider villain motherfucker feed him to his Adam golem?"

"He was just a lonely kid who didn't know how to socialize that got preyed on as a sacrifice to make Adam go," Trent explained tiredly. "Poor autistic child, used to fuel a golem. Couldn't even help the Predator evolve."

Johan made a face. "That's...well, honestly par for the course when it comes to most Magi, but still." As they discussed the Yggdmillenia, a thought occurred to him and he turned to Jekyll. "Say, Doctor. Do you think, assuming we can gather reagents, you could create an elixir that could restore normality to malfunctioning magic circuits that are causing someone horrible pain and preventing them from walking?"

"Great idea, that'll lure the Forvedges to our side, and possibly bring over horse cock and Frankenstein's potato daughter." Trent chortled from the ground, clearly having some fun with the idea. "Any ideas on what to do with burnable waste? Or should we just steal his Catholic School Girl?"

Jekyll looked between the two of them, then answered Johan's question. "I should think that I could create something of the sort, though it would indubitably help to meet with the patient." He looked over to Trent curiously. "Now, what was that about Victor's daughter?"

"She communicates almost entirely in grunts and noises, and while definitely a good girl, she's a potato. She's just…not entirely functional as person, it happens, some people are like that." The blond replied, trying to just sort of phase into the ground to escape Jekyll's judging stare. "She's also the Berserker of Black. May or may not be in for a whole dish of trauma from Shakespeare using his Noble Phantasm on her."

Jekyll narrowed his eyes, for the first time since his summon looking genuinely angry. "He does, does he? I think I may have to pay that man a visit."

"He likes to hang out in the woods around the Church so if you want to come with me and Carmy…" Trent offered from where he was laying, having no other course of action.

A very un-Jekyll smile crossed Jekyll's face as the Doctor's fingers curled around scalpels that weren't there. "I think I would like that very much, Mr. Blackmore."

Johan cleared his throat. "You do recall that I can't open my magic circuits due to this being some random guy's body, right?"

"Hey Johan, grit your teeth." With that, Trent pulled out a feather from his sleeve and stabbed it into his friend's ankle, forcing mana through it and into him, forcibly activating his magic circuits.

Johan, having not gritted his teeth at all, toppled from where he was sitting with a shriek as his body convulsed with foreign mana. As Johan's consciousness faded, he had time for one thought.

'You motherfucker.'

 

[Finagle007]

"I'm an asshole, I've never lied about that," Trent grumbled as he forced himself into a sitting position. "As for just what we're on about, me and Johan are an isekai plot, we got thrust into our current bodies from our old universe where we had a…sort of, outsiders' view of things in this one and ones similar to it. Swear it on…uh…Merlin's still catfishing people from Avalon. Using the internet. What a guy, real inspiration."

Before Kairi could respond to that whopper of a statement, something very odd occurred. Despite them being deep underground in a catacomb, a fresh breeze smelling of flowers blew through the area, carrying on its back pink flower petals and an airy chuckle.

A chuckle that, judging from the way Mordred's face turned pale, she recognized it as well as Trent and Johan did.

"Oh, good," Johan said flatly, a dead look in his eyes. "The 'trusted advisor' has decided to grace us with his attention."

Click to shrink...

Do you actually want him to show up? Because his A-rank Independent Manifestation says he can, if he wants to...

 

[Xanothos]

Chapter 5: The Gang Bets On A Catfight
{It's Always Sunny In Trifas is written in front of a live studio audience.}​

After Johan had stopped convulsing on the floor and recovered enough to actually talk, Trent had started elaborating on his plan. "So, part of the reason why I suggested bringing Carmy into a throwdown with Semi-truck was because she gets a fame and homeland boost due to us being right next to Hungary. On top of that, if we fight them during the day, then the vast majority of the Red Faction won't be able to help her due to them all having supremely flashy attacks." He had actually sat up as he explained, hands at his side, the feather that he'd used to stab his friend hidden up a sleeve. The blond was forced to grunt when Carmilla swatted him lightly, unimpressed with his nickname for her.

"Except Shake and Bake," Johan interjected, levering himself to his feet with a grunt. His everything hurt, but he was coherent and capable of movement, so he counted it as a win. He glanced at Jekyll, who had snapped out of his cold rage to fuss over Johan and was now standing to one side as composed as ever. "But I think the Doctor can handle that, especially if I'm actually providing him with mana now."

He raised an eyebrow at Jekyll, who nodded, replying, "Oh, certainly. Where before I was barely able to manifest into this world, now I'm sure that I could use my Noble Phantasm, at least for a short while."

Something about that statement twigged something in Johan's memory, and he pulled out the grimoire that he'd woken up with. He paged through it rapidly, and eventually found what he was looking for. "If I can figure out how to use this friggin Magecraft, I might be able to extend that amount of time…" He snapped the book back shut after marking the page. "...But it'd probably be better to do that later."

He looked up at Trent, then glanced at Kairi and Mordred. "So...any ideas for what Bone Daddy and Saber should be doing?"

As Kairi spluttered in confusion, Trent leaned forward, and prepared to stand up, his back cracking as he did so. Carmilla peered at his incredibly dirty and dusty back, her face twisting distaste at the accumulated filth. The blond cleared his throat and admitted, "Well, I'd hoped that Mr Shishigou would be on standby outside as a getaway driver, while Smoldred would wait in the distance to keep her from being noticed."

"The Hell'd you call me?" the aforementioned knight all but roared, once again marching up to Blackmore, eyes blazing in fury. She was about ready to shake him when the others all gave her disapproving looks, which caused her to stop. She then gave him a quick punch to the kidney, sending him to the ground, wheezing in pain.

Surprisingly, it was neither Carmilla nor Johan, but Jekyll who commented, "You deserved that, you know."

Trent hacked out a cough, eyes wide and watering as he choked, "Alright, stopping now. Also, I did say that I'm an asshole. Needlessly antagonizing people is my comfort zone."

"Every day, I wonder if this is some punishment for my acts in life. Then I realize that this was just the most twisted compatibility summon ever," the Assassin grumbled, her lip curled in disdain as her sunglasses hid her eyes.

Johan stroked his chin as though pulling on a lengthy beard, then spoke. "Remember the wizened words of words of our dear Elizabeth Báthory-obsessed friend: Your rights end where other people begin." He shook a finger at Trent with mock severity. "Only antagonize people who can't turn your body into a cubist art display with their bare hands."

"Listen man, I need to get my fix somehow, it's either needling people or accidental bird race wars. Take your pick." Even as he said that, he shuffled back up to his full height, groaning as he rubbed what would obviously bruise. Though he did look to Carmilla, who had sent a mental squeak across their link when the albino had mentioned her old name."And it's not my fault Gawain and Lancelot didn't crack short jokes…"

"I'm sure that between the Knight of the Sun's potatoes and the Knight of the Lake's philandering, Saber received more than the requisite amount of torment from the other Knights of the Round." Johan replied dryly, sparing a glance at Saber to see how close Mt. Mordred was to erupting again.

While she definitely wasn't amused, she didn't look about ready to erupt, and instead interjected, "Feh, those guys wouldn'ta done it unless they thought they could get away with it! Gareth might, but only by accident."

"Yes, well, she did a lot of things by accident, like seducing all those knights and princesses," Trent chuckled at the thought of Lancelot's biggest fan trying to get along with Mordred and ending up insulting her. "Actually, wouldn't Kay've? No, he'd have gone after Arty, for sure…"

"Can we please stop gossiping about the Round Table? It's getting rather old at this point, and while slapstick is all well and good, I'm sure that the only one waiting for you to get kicked up and down the crypt by the Knight of Betrayal is the Knight of Betrayal," Carmilla sniped, looking both unamused and bored out of her mind. All while her eyes were hidden behind her shades.

"I dunno," Johan mused as he stood up. "I'd give it even odds that the dickwizard would find it funny." The exact moment before he finished getting to his feet, a pink petal materialized beneath his heel, sending him tumbling back down to the ground. A faint chuckle echoed throughout the crypt.

"See?" he groaned. "Merlin loves slapstick!"

"That's only because he knows that if he were here, he'd be the one getting hit," Trent grumbled, glaring at the petals as they swept through. "He knows that we know that he knows, and so do Gil and Solomon. And probably the Queen of Sheba."

He then looked up and remarked, "I probably just got all eyes on this event, didn't I?"

Johan sighed. "Moving on from the metaphysics and terrifying implications of EX Ranked Clairvoyance…we gonna do this thing or what? I'll be about as useful as tits on a bull, but I can at least go with you and act menacing at Amakusa."

"I mean, wouldn't it be better for you to actually start figuring out how to Magecraft? Like, if you wanna come, why don't you just hang out in the car with Mr Shishigou and he can give you advice?" the Canuck offered as he scratched at his chin, one hand still on his side.

Johan sighed. "Unfortunately, while you opening my Circuits definitely helped me out on that front, what I lack are materials. Specifically, ectoplasm." He glanced around the crypt. "While I think there is plenty here, I'm frankly not too thrilled with the idea of staying here by myself while y'all go and assassinate one, maybe two enemy Servants." He glanced around the crypt and shivered slightly. "For a number of reasons."

"I mean, if you wanna come and loom at Amakusa with me, feel free. Maybe you can help me make jokes about Kirei wanting to kill his wife when she necked herself," Trent said as he started to head for the entrance to the crypt, Carmilla shaking her head as she followed behind him.

Johan side-eyed the other man. "Sometimes I wonder why we're friends." He sighed, something he was starting to think he'd be doing a lot of. "Oh well. At least you're more likely to draw aggro with that mouth of yours."

"We're friends because you know that I ultimately mean no harm to people I like, while declaring the big fuck off at people I don't like," the Canuck said with a sharp nod. "It's not my fault that Mordred doesn't like my playful poking."

The Saber class Servant, while somewhat calmed, responded by beaning him with a rock. Again, light enough to hurt, but not maim or kill. He just rubbed at the back of his head, and admitted internally that the response was fair enough.

Johan rolled his eyes. At least Saber seemed to have settled on responding to Trent's insatiable appetite for punishment with non-lethal responses. That was...progress, right?

Right.

---

Stepping into Trifas's historic church alongside Johan, Trent couldn't help but feel that he'd made a horrible miscalculation. Rather than being empty except for the three of them, the chapel was packed with praying and worried people, one of whom was even currently speaking with the priest. As he hung back at the entrance of the chapel, the blond couldn't help but grumble, "I can't believe that all my plans backfire on me like this."

"I can. This is us we're talking about, after all," Johan quipped. "So, what's the play?"

"We continue on. While it's technically inordinately scummy, if he doesn't start anything then everyone in here will make it out just fine," Trent declared as he steeled himself to be even more horrible, it wasn't like he was trying. At this point, he was fairly sure that Darnic actually would just give him an Iron Cross.

Johan blinked, then an expression somewhere between disbelief and horror crossed his face as he processed what Trent was proposing. "I...I'd like to go on record that I oppose this, even if I don't have any better ideas."

"It's terrible, horrible, and completely morally bankrupt. However, it's also incredibly useful for us," the blond remarked pragmatically. As he said that, he approached Amakusa while the priest noticed him and started to head his way.

The tanned Servant offered a mysterious smile as he greeted, "Hello, I'm Father Shirou Kotomine; if you're here for a service, I'm afraid that I'm rather swamped giving people guidance." His gaze drifted over Trent's shoulder and to the doors and his smile shrank. "The situation outside has driven many believers to seek shelter here in fear of something akin to the Rapture outside."

Receiving confirmation that Carmilla had penetrated the depths of the Church, the blond clasped his hands in front of him as he inquired, "Well actually, I was familiar with another Kotomine, so I figured that I'd come and see what the one here was like. Good ol' Kirei, I wonder if he got to the 'torturing children in his basement' phase…"

"…My brother unfortunately took his own life rather recently," the priest said, his smile giving way to a frown, especially considering the circumstances.

Johan's face became completely blank at this. "...You have my condolences." Sure, they were here to kill Amakusa's Servant (and hold a bunch of innocent people hostage, apparently) but come on. There were lines.

Trent pursed his lips at that, his brows raising in surprise at that news. After a few moments, he apologized, "I'd not heard, my condolences. The crack about the basement was something of a…joke, told by those who knew him."

"I wasn't aware of any such joke, but I'll admit to having been estranged from him for quite some time. Still, was there anything else that I could help you with?" Amakusa asked as he considered just what he'd learned from Trent.

The Canuck considered it for a moment before reaching the hand with his Command Seals on the back of them out and taking one of Shirou's hands. Making sure he could see the Seals, he declared, "Mister Amakusa, I'd ask that you not do anything hasty, as if you do, then every single person in this church will become aware of Magecraft. This method is truly distasteful, but I've found that sometimes, you need to dirty your hands."

"You dare? In the house of the Lord?" Shirou quietly snarled, his face twisting in rage at just what was occurring before him. He didn't even care about his true name being revealed in favour of being outraged with what Trent was doing.

"Believe you me, I'm not happy about this either," Johan shot back. "But considering what you plan to do, good intentions or not, I think this a case of stones and glass houses."

Trent held up a finger as he remarked, "Mister Amakusa, I'm not letting you Lostbelt the timeline that I have to live in, but rest assured, we've no plans to let Darnic achieve「Heaven's Feel.」"

Johan nodded. "Honestly, neither of us really have a wish; we just want to give Bone Daddy his Bone Daughter back."

"We just want to reunite a skeleton family," the Canuck agreed with a solemn nod.

Amakusa wasn't taking it, and responded, "I'm trying to bring humanity salvation!"

"You really aren't," Trent replied with a shake of his head.

"Your intent may be salvation, but in truth your wish will spell naught but damnation," Johan added, leaning against a pew in Edgy Monologue Pose 3, arms folded and hair shading his eyes. "The Grail could wipe the desire for conflict and evil from humankind's mind, certainly. However!" He threw a hand out dramatically, palm up. "Sad though it may be, without conflict humanity will stagnate, and then the World will discard this timeline, consigning it to oblivion."

The incarnated Ruler scoffed, "There's no way that the Lord would do that, not with the miracle that he bestowed upon me." As he said that, his free hand curling into a fist.

"You say that, but there's a reason why Solomon isn't on the Throne anymore," Trent said blandly, trying to hold down the emotions surging within him. "Your Lord's plan certainly accounted for him getting yeeted out of existence."

"I've no idea what you mean; King Solomon more than earned his place on the Throne." Despite the duo's assertions, Amakusa remained strong in his convictions.

Johan sighed. "It seems that we're at an impasse, then. Your faith in your God dictates that what we say must be a lie, but our knowledge dictates that we must oppose you."

"In the end, it has to be this way," Trent said solemnly as he sent a mental message to Carmilla, ordering her to kill Semiramis as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Likewise, Johan directed Jekyll to find and cut down Shakespeare.

The blond shook his head as he eyed the priest before him, it would have been better if they could have stood together, but this was expected.

---

Assassin of Black strutted through the shadowy basement of the Church, keeping her eyes peeled for any Servants though she was able to sense most of the ones hiding beneath it. Eventually finding the door that she was looking for, she slipped inside it while taking care not to set off any of the barriers around it.

Within the room was a beautiful brunette woman in a long black dress, a furry ruff around her neck, elven ears peeking out of her cascade of hair, and a pair of golden nails through the palms of her hands. She was working on putting together some large structure, using magecraft to get it all put together to her liking.

Deducing that this was Assassin of Red based on what her Master had told her, she prepared her Noble Phantasm as she silently approached her target.

Carmilla understood that she was not a good person.

The existence that was the Heroic Spirit Carmilla was based upon the actions and consciousness of Elizabeth Bathory, affected by the stories and legends she spawned of the vampiress Carmilla. Rather than be dragged down by this, she understood that her actions were evil and that evil was the path she'd travelled down; and thus, she used it.

She was an evil person, an assassin who specialized in the killing of women.

Standing behind the Wise Queen of Assyria, she shucked off her Presence Concealment, and activated her Noble Phantasm.

Semiramis twisted around, eyes widening in surprise as she tried to respond to the sudden attack.

"Bleed out for me, so that I might use it for my bath, Queen of Assyria!" Carmilla roared as the giant Iron Maiden loomed up around the Assassin of Red, the spikes swinging in towards her at high speed. It was like a beautiful, sculpted guillotine, the woman at prayer looking truly contrite for her part in the execution. "Phantom Maiden!"

The Queen's face twisted in rage as the doors slammed shut, her eyes wide and manic as she tried to fight against the instrument of her imminent demise. The nails in her hands were forced out of them from the weight as she tried to keep the doors from closing on her, her arms and legs failing under the heavy strain. Her eyes darted to the blood on the ground before snapping back to her assailant, her mouth twisting into a vengeful grimace.

As the sides of the Iron Maiden finally slammed shut, blood squirted from the crevice and hit Carmilla's face. Rather than enjoy this, she winced and quickly brushed the sizzling liquid away from her flesh as it had somehow been converted into a supremely caustic substance.

Quickly reassuming her Presence Concealment and hiding her Noble Phantasm, the Assassin contacted her Master and appraised him of her success. As she prepared to sneak out of the Church's basement, Carmilla wondered if things were going as smooth for the Berserker they brought with them.

It's not like a Caster who was based on a playwright would be too much trouble, right?

---

William Shakespeare screamed as a scalpel carved through the door of his study. An emerald eye peered through the gash, wide and manic. "Heeeeeere's J—"

The menacing drawl was cut off as Shakespeare, shaken by the display, launched his book at the intruder. As the book slammed into the damaged door, the eye withdrew.

Caster of Red's reprieve was only momentary, however, as the door was blasted off its hinges by the intruder's kick.

The man strode into the room, a scalpel in each hand. An unhinged smile split an otherwise handsome face. "So, you are the dastard who would dare sink your filthy paws into dear little Fran's mind." Mad fury burned in the man's eyes, and Shakespeare realized that he was facing a Berserker.

"Pick a god and pray."

 

[Finagle007]

Slightly surprised you didn't tell Amakusa to ask Zelretch's opinion on the matter. With his 9 centuries of unlife, he's bound to have witnessed more than a few timelines being culled, such as the one Musashi came from.

 

[Xanothos]

Slightly surprised you didn't tell Amakusa to ask Zelretch's opinion on the matter. With his 9 centuries of unlife, he's bound to have witnessed more than a few timelines being culled, such as the one Musashi came from.

Click to shrink...

There's a couple of problems with that, but chief among them is Amakusa's faith.
He is so utterly convinced that the god he believes in would never allow something like that to happen that he's blind to the possibility of anything but what he believes in happening.

Faith can be a beautiful thing, but it can also be utterly terrifying.

 

[Nami Tetra]

"Pick a god and pray."

Click to shrink...

Fredricks crit quote. Nice.

 

[Finagle007]

There's a couple of problems with that, but chief among them is Amakusa's faith.
He is so utterly convinced that the god he believes in would never allow something like that to happen that he's blind to the possibility of anything but what he believes in happening.

Faith can be a beautiful thing, but it can also be utterly terrifying.

Click to shrink...

And now I want to see an FGO snippet where the Amakusa summoned by Chaldea does indeed get his faith broken when he finds out about the Lostbelts and is forced to accept that yes, his God would indeed allow such a thing to happen.

 

[Crusader Jerome]

Crossposting from SB:
See, the problem with Amakusa is that his author doesn't understand the basics of Christian theology, thus meaning that Amakusa himself doesn't understand the basics of Christian theology.

There are two ways his plan can go (someone who's actually read/watched Apocrypha may be able to clarify for me which of these it is):
1. He wants to remove the capacity of human beings for evil.
- Counterpoint: it is Catholic doctrine that God gave human beings free will, the ability to choose the good, or not to choose it. Amakusa is saying he knows better than God concerning the nature that human beings should have.
2. He wants to remove the attachment/predisposition to evil that human beings have because of the Fall and original sin.
- Counterpoint: Jesus instituted the sacraments as the regular means to dispense grace, which allows humans to overcome their fallen, sinful nature and become holy. Amakusa is saying that his path to holiness is better than God's path to holiness.

Also, magic of any sort is, like, strictly prohibited under the First Commandment, because it's an attempt to gain supernatural power from somewhere other than God.

What completes the irony is that Nasuverse is, metaphysically, completely incompatible with Christianity on the level of how souls work, as well as others. Personally, I like to think of it as the epitome of a world without God. But, YMMV.

 

[SilverShadows]

That's a distinct possibility. Whether God exists or not in Nasuverse is purposely kept vague and occasionally contradicting despite it being outright fact that other religions deities absolutely existed.

At least one implied possibility is that God is actually Alaya, at least in regards to Jeanne. But that doesn't really work for, say, Solomon's sheer shenanigans tier abilities.

 

[Xanothos]

Chapter 6: Johan Manipulates A Paraplegic​

As Jekyll stalked towards Shakespeare, one hand fishing in his pocket for something, the playwright gathered his wits and boomed, "Now, my good sir! I've nary an idea of which you speak, but assuredly, you must have the wrong person!"

Jekyll let out a dark chuckle. "Perhaps that might seem the case from your perspective, but I have been afforded a...unique perspective on this farce of a war. No matter; even if it is for sins yet to pass, your life is forfeit nonetheless!"

As he snarled this last, Jekyll's hand emerged from his pocket, a small, rose-adorned phial containing a pinkish liquid clutched in his hand.

"Come now, blaming a man for something he's not done is like shooting the messenger! It's a tragedy in the making and I won't even be there to record it," Shakespeare argued as he tried to back away from the advancing man.

Ignoring the Caster's protests, Jekyll lifted the vial to his mouth, tore the cork from it, and downed it in one gulp, snarling, "Noble Phantasm! Dangerous Game!"

The vial and scalpel fell from twitching fingers as Berserker's body began to twitch violently. He let out a blood-curdling howl as he grasped his head and hunched over, his flesh roiling like storm-tossed water.

Scurrying back, the playwright snapped his hand before him, stumbling over his words as he chanted, "Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player! That struts and frets his hour upon the stage – First Folio!"

And then the world was light.

---

As the light of First Folio faded, Shakespeare found himself in a house. As he looked around the room, he saw that he was in the sitting room of a fairly nice Victorian house. A fire crackled merrily in a fireplace, and numerous shelves full of books lined the walls. A pair of chairs faced the fire, and Shakespeare could see the unidentified Berserker slumped in the chair, asleep. The other Servant's face was far more peaceful than it had been in his office, Shakespeare noted.

The other chair, though, contrasted heavily with the homey feel of the room. It was mangled and damp, barely held together by its wooden frame and scraps of cloth.

Looking about, the brunet Servant narrowed his eyes as he took in the setting. His fingers dusting over surfaces as he strode about the main room. The sole window to the outside revealed a howling void, but even then, it felt like it was the next step in the journey. He chuckled a bit as he eyed the sleeping Berserker.

"My, my, how dreadfully dreary a mind you have for one so enraged," Shakespeare said as his eyes drifted across the spines of the books. "I'd have thought you'd have had a more tempestuous mind, something to make me think back to the great work of Titus Andronichus. But you've presented me with this. Come now, come now, wake up my good sir, so that I might find out just what makes you tick!"

The brunet clapped his hands a few times before the sleeper's face, and shook him when he didn't respond. Eventually, it became clear that what he was touching was an empty shell; alive, true, but empty nonetheless. Whoever Berserker was, his mind was somewhere else...and Shakespeare could guess where. "Truly, I must now take after the great heroes of today, and step into the great beyond. What a thrill, though it's not as fantastical as their journey!"

There was an almost jaunty skip to his step as he headed for the door, a grin on his face as he reached for the doorknob. Oh, he was so curious as to just what might be waiting for him. What might this give him to write about?

As Shakespeare crossed the threshold into the yawning void, he heard the door snap shut behind him. When he looked back, the house was nowhere to be seen. In all directions, there was naught but abyss. Undeterred, the pernicious playwright sallied forth into the looming black, his feet finding purchase on a path made of nightmares.

After walking for what he guessed was about five minutes, Shakespeare started to feel...something. He couldn't quite place it; had he been a Servant with any inclination or experience in combat, he'd probably have been able to tell what it was...but he was a scholar, and so William Shakespeare continued walking, blissfully unaware of how he was walking directly into the jaws of the beast.

In the space between one step and the next, there was a rush of wind and a burst of searing pain.

The arm that held Caster's Folio had vanished, torn off and cast into the infinite dark.

Even as he inhaled to let out a bellow of pain, his breath was stolen away by the massive, pitch-black claw erupted through his back and out of his chest, clutching his heart in its hands. As his vision faded to white, he felt razor-sharp fangs dig into the flesh of his neck. An inhuman growling echoed in his ears as his Noble Phantasm destabilized.

---

Shakespeare's eyes snapped open, raw terror surging through his veins as he looked about, confused by the fact that he was back in his study. He went through a quick check of his body parts, eyes scanning around as he tried to steady his breathing. He wasn't quite sure as to what he'd just experienced and what had happened.

Never before had he ever experienced such a reaction to his First Folio, nor was he sure that he was entirely intact.

As his eyes scanned his studio, his eyes came to rest on an unfamiliar shape, hulking, black, and covered in coarse, stiff fur. The...creature was slumped on the ground a few paces away from him, exactly where the Berserker had been prior to his Noble Phantasm's activation.

It didn't take a rocket surgeon to discern that the well-dressed Servant and the man-sized black beast were one and the same. Thankfully, though, the monster seemed to still be unconscious, likely due to the effects of his Noble Phantasm.

Slowly, carefully, Shakespeare struggled to his feet, raising a gloved hand to his head as a spike of pain shot through his mind. He felt a wetness on his lips, and when he touched his fingers to it, they came away red. 'Curiouser and curiouser, to have been so hurt by my own Folio…though, I suppose that a Berserker would be most likely to do so…'

As he thought that, he tried to stumble his way to the door, his hands dragging across the walls to support himself. As one hand stretched out towards the doorknob, there was a noise behind him, and he froze.

This was the wrong choice, but he would never know it, as his head went flying an instant later. Fangs and claws tore and ripped at Shakespeare's now-headless body, rending his spiritual core from his chest and and swallowing it whole.

As the mana suffused his form Hyde chuffed in satisfaction, and fur and claw became flesh and cloth.

Doctor Jekyll glanced around the study with a dispassionate gaze, eyes skipping over the mangled corpse disintegrating into spiritual particles before he grasped the doorknob. As he left the room far too calmly, he reached out across the mental link between him and his Master.

'Caster of Red, William Shakespeare, has fallen. Shall I come to where you are?'

After a moment of silence, he received a reply. 'Sure. I think we're about finished here. Good work, Doctor.'

---

The members of the Black Faction had gathered in the main hall of their Castle Yggdmillenia, listening to a briefing from Darnic and Vlad when what looked to be a crow winged into the room, screeching obnoxiously as it did so. "SCRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW! I'm here to give you unenlightened mudmen some truth, SCRAAAAAAAAW!"

"…Blackmore," greeted Darnic, his expression pulling into a powerful grimace as he eyed the familiar. "What, exactly, do you want with us? Or are you here to disclose the name of your Servant, as you were supposed to?"

"SCRAW, Assassin's identity shall remain hidden from you until such a time as it becomes necessary for it to be revealed, you unenlightened mudman!" Trent cawed through the bird, flapping his wings somewhat. "I actually came to tell you, that unlike all the rest of you, Assassin and I actually took out both Assassin and Caster of Red. So yeah, while you all were sitting here with your thumbs up your asses and having a circlejerk, we were doing work."

Swooping around the hall, he cackled, "I love how you all think I'm the useless one, but you all have done all of jack and shit!" As he said that, a glodule of something fell from the familiar's rear end and splashed down on the top of Darnic's skull. Though he set the familiar to flee the hall it was quickly impaled by a spontaneous stake from Vlad, but it died laughing.

As Darnic stood to leave the room and wash off the shit on his head, a second familiar winged in and dropped its load on Celenike, cackling the entire time, "That's what you get, you dumb bitch! SCRAAAAAAAAAAAW!"

It was shot down by a thrown curse, but it too went out laughing as Trent was clearly having a ball harassing his own team. Still, the meeting was very much canceled due to two of the people having been shat on by birds, though it was definitely successful. The various members of the Black faction dispersed throughout the castle, even while Trent's destroyed familiars unleashed their final, ectoplasmic payload while unattended.

Indeed, the birdshit that had come falling upon the heads of the Yggdmillenia was no ordinary faeces. No, contained within each payload was a dormant familiar made of ectoplasm, each possessing exactly enough mana to deliver their respective letters before collapsing into the ether.

And deliver them they did; one letter from Berserker of Red to Berserker of Black (via Caules Forvedge Yggdmillenia), and one letter from Johan to Fiore Forvedge Yggdmillenia.

The contents of the good Doctor's letter was unknown to Johan and Trent both, as it was a message of an incredibly personal nature. The contents of Johan's letter, however, was known to all of their group, as Johan had requested assistance with the wording and presentation.

It read as such:

Honoured Fiore Forvedge of the Yggdmillenia alliance,

It has come to our attention that the Wish for which you seek the Grail is the reparation of the Magic Circuits in your legs, that you may retain both your status as a Magus and regain your ability to walk.

We are likewise aware that your brother, the Honoured Caules Forvedge, seeks the Grail solely for your sake. Further, one among our number is an individual who was well acquainted with Berserker of Black in life, and would like nothing more to work alongside her, rather than against her.

Among the Yggdmillenia alliance, you and your brother are those whose temperament we find the least objectionable. Indeed, we suspect that the Forvedge allied with Yggdmillenia out of convenience, not out of any particular moral or theological consensus. Thus, we propose:

One of our Servants shall restore to you the use of your legs while allowing you to retain full usage of your Magecraft. In exchange, you and your brother, as well as your Servants, shall ally with our group to secure the Grail.

We are prepared to offer a Geas Scroll agreement as a symbol of our sincerity.

Should you, your brother, and your respective Servants choose to accept, leave a letter of reply on the balcony of your room.

Regards,
The White Faction

---

A thin, shaky hand gripped the letter. Brunette hair shaded blue eyes clouded with uncertainty and distress as Fiore leaned forward in her wheelchair. An unknown faction in possession of an uncertain amount of intimate knowledge about her and her brother, at the very least, and claiming to be capable of healing her legs...she did not know what to think.

Grandfather Darnic was...not a good person, as was typical of a Magus. Fiore worked very hard to live up to his exacting standards, but in her heart she knew that she was not capable of separating herself from her emotions and perpetrating horrors in the name of reaching the Root.

As for Caules, nothing truly needed to be said about him. He was no Magus, and she preferred it that way. Better that he could live a life far away from the backstabbing butchery of the Magus lifestyle.

The point was, she had too much empathy. And yet…

And yet, these other Masters claimed it was that very empathy that made her worthy of consideration. Were they spellcasters, heretics who cared not for the ways of Magi and used Magecraft for their own ends? Or were they liars, attempting to trick her into a position of vulnerability so they could cut her and her brother down?

She was unsure, and that frightened her. The fact that she was genuinely tempted by this offer, was genuinely tempted to put herself, her brother, at risk…

...But then, wasn't she already doing that by participating in this Grail War?

Fiore folded the letter up and slid it into her pocket, before turning her wheelchair towards her balcony window. Wherever they went from here, she decided, would be determined by all four of them; Masters and Servants both.

---

Trent and Johan sat outside the crypt, the Canuck looking torn between satisfaction and some horror based on his earlier actions. He was scratching at his chin, thinking on just what they'd do with the Iron Maiden full of acid that Carmilla had brought back with them. The blond blinked and then remarked, "Do you think we'd get in trouble for selling this acid? Like, if we found a way to bottle it up? We could probably brand it as a corpse remover…"

Johan raised a finger. "We could do that. We could. On the other hand…" He gestured to Jekyll. "The good Doctor here is a notably skilled alchemist. A poison created by a Caster from the Age of the Gods and refined by the man who used alchemy to split good from evil…" Johan hummed. "Something like that could possibly be a check against the son of Surya, don't you think?"

"Maybe? The real question is delivering it to him, while we could probably keep some if we have to deal with Chiron and them…" the Canuck murmured as he tried to get it all figured out in his head. "Of course, dealing with the son of Surya will probably be one of the final steps in our plan, along with dealing with the Stake-y Boy. If I were to be honest, I think that the Chaste Huntress would be the ideal target for Carmy."

Johan nodded. "If we can, I'd hope that the Forvedges accept our deal, and then we can just have Saber and Chiron fight it out for the Grail, with the winner getting their wish alongside Mr. Go-Lion."

He rubbed his chin. "As for Karna, ideally we'll be able to point Seigfreid at him and watch the fireworks, but you know shit never goes ideally..."

"If things went as we wanted them to, I wouldn't have caused a fucking race war," Trent groused, his face set in a hard scowl. He folded his hands up before his mouth as he admitted, "Hell, if things went as we wanted them to, I wouldn't have had to take an entire church congregation hostage."

"Excuse me, but did I hear that you took a congregation hostage?!" a sweet voice demanded from over their shoulders. The lads turned their gaze and found Jeanne d'Arc standing behind them, clad in her backless button up shirt and booty shorts, her long blonde hair in a braid behind her.

Trent's eyes darted to Johan. Then they darted back to Jeanne. Then he remarked, "Now, listen, if I wanted the opinions of actual kindling on my accidental crimes, I'd have built a bonfire. You dumb bitch."

Johan stared at Trent for a long moment, then dropped his head into his hands. 'Goddamnit Trent.'

 

[Cmmdfugal]

I think that someone is emulating Leman Russ from Text to speech device because that. THAT was the worst possible thing you could say to her. Thank you.

 

[Finagle007]

Yeesh. About the only way Trent could be any dumber would be to say that to Jalter instead of Jeanne.

 

[Cmmdfugal]

Yeesh. About the only way Trent could be any dumber would be to say that to Jalter instead of Jeanne.

Click to shrink...

I think jalter might be impressed by his audacity the worst thing to say to her would be what unlimited blade works abridged shirou said to archer.

That statement being I think you are a good person.

 

[Mockingly-Tricky]

*hyena cackling*

Trent's eyes darted to Johan. Then they darted back to Jeanne. Then he remarked, "Now, listen, if I wanted the opinions of actual kindling on my accidental crimes, I'd have built a bonfire. You dumb bitch."

Johan stared at Trent for a long moment, then dropped his head into his hands. 'Goddamnit Trent.'

Click to shrink...

*cackling reaches hypersonic levels*

Please, please include a line along the lines of, "And because of you, people actually began listening to the voices in their heads! Thanks a lot, you enabler!"

 

[Xanothos]

Chapter 7: The Gang Tries To Lead A Catholic Schoolgirl Through Metamorphosis​

As the suddenly manifested flag swung at Trent's head, he brought his hands up and shouted, "You can't actually attack me! It would be seen as you breaking your impartiality!"

Jeanne paused, standard in hand as she eyed the blond suspiciously, ready to continue in her pursuit of justice.

Johan raised his head from his hands to flatly interject, "As long as you don't do any lasting damage, I didn't see a thing."

The saint offered him a wan smile, but shook her head. "Sadly, the Master of Black has already made too good an argument for me to actually go through with my original plan. Even though he really does deserve some sort of punishment for his sins."

"My sins are few, and all of them minor, I'm sure even Midas would agree that it's the Fields of Asphodel for me," Trent retorted, finger up as he tried to protect his dignity.

"If words were knives, you'd be the most notorious mass murderer in history," Johan deadpanned. He then looked over to Jeanne. "Ruler. Setting aside my...associate's lack of tact for the moment, was there something we could help you with?"

"I can't believe that Karna's my Lancer compatibility summon…" the associate in question muttered, his brow creased.

Jeanne cleared her throat as she looked to the albino and answered, "My aims here were simply to find the one responsible for the uproar in town in regards to the clearly magical bird war. Suffice to say that I'm most cross with them, as they caused a huge panic."

"The only reason it happened was because Semiramis escalated the conflict, my feather familiars were only to deal with hers. Besides, I never intended for it to spiral out of control as it did," Trent tried to defend himself, expression twisting in annoyance. "I'm innocent."

The Maiden of Orleans sighed, "While I'd very much like to deliver divine punishment upon you for how you endangered the secrecy of the war, you were lucky enough to have not actually tipped anyone off."

Johan snorted. "Lucky, huh? I guess you're right, even if our plans never seem to go as intended. We're not dead yet, so I guess it evens out, kinda."

"I just wish that the last one hadn't gone so awry, I'm gonna feel like scum for days because of that hostage situation I did," the blond muttered as he scratched at his chin. It was gonna be hell dealing with that one, but at least no one had gotten hurt.
Johan sighed. "You're not the only one who feels that way, dude. I'm glad Amakusa didn't call our bluff, though. That's a mess I'm not ready to deal with."

"If he'd called our bluff, I'm fairly sure that he would have been the one to kill everyone in the church, given that he'd essentially have been calling up either Karna, Achilles, or just letting loose himself," Trent remarked, thinking on just what would have happened had the Apocryphal Saint decided to fight them.

"Yes," Johan replied, "Everyone in the church. Especially us. Forgive me if I don't want to get incinerated, impaled, riddled with arrows, or squeezed into spaghetti by that man's magic blackhole fap hands."

Jeanne looked between them, exasperation clear on her features as she asked, "I'm certainly glad that things didn't come to that, as I'd like for this Grail War to proceed in a proper manner."

Johan glanced at Trent. "Since you're already in the doghouse, care to break the bad news, the worse news, and the "Why Do You Hurt Me In This Way" news?"

"How dare you, you coward," said the man already in the doghouse, receiving a snort in return. "So, from the top: this Grail War's been fucked from day one; the two of us along with some others are planning to form our own faction while saying 'fuck you' to our current ones; and finally, the leader of the Red Faction is in fact the incarnated Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, who plans to use the Grail to eliminate all evil from humanity's souls and thus Lostbelt the entire timeline."

"...You know what?" Johan said, "That's fair enough; that's about what I asked for." He tented his hands and rested his elbows on a coffin. "Aside from that, there's the not-so-little problem of the bodysnatching Nazi who could genuinely take over a Servant's Saint Graph, given the chance, and who is currently in possession of the Greater Grail. Add to that the numerous top-tier Servants that both the Ruler of the Third War and Darnic Prestone Yggdmillenia have in their corners, and this is gonna be a right shitshow."

"I figured that I'd just go for the main stuff, but I can see that you wanted to give her a full suffering sundae," Trent remarked candidly, eyeing the saint who was torn between confusion and mounting horror.

Johan shrugged. "Forewarned is forearmed, and whatever personal feelings you might have about Ruler, you can't deny that she's a better choice to confide in than the lich and the zealot."

The blond nodded at his friends words. "This is true, and I've no personal feelings about Ruler beyond bland disinterest—"

"Then why did you call her a dumb bitch, Trent?" Johan interrupted, a vein pulsing on his forehead in a most unhealthy manner.

The blond shrugged, "The opportunity presented itself, and she also can't do basic high school math, so…"

"I'm pretty sure she was a bit busy fighting a war and then getting betrayed by her country for useless shit like algebra," Johan shot back with a long-suffering sigh, before resting his chin on his arms and turning dead eyes to Jeanne.

Trent chuckled at his friend's antics. "Oh, my dear friend, you know that I'm exactly the sort of person to take any opportunity to insult someone. What do you expect me to do with a literally uneducated peasant?"

"Maybe...not immediately and brutally antagonize the person who has admin controls on this Grail War and may well prove to be a key factor in making sure humanity doesn't undergo a mass lobotomy of the soul?" Johan replied immediately. "Or at least not open fire with the full Death Star arsenal on the initial greeting. I know and accept this part of you, who casts Vicious Mockery as easily as he breathes, but there's this little thing called a 'filter' that you're choosing not to engage…"

"Johan, this is a woman who took Gilles de Rais at his base while understanding just what sort of shit he'd get up to without anyone there to anchor him. My genuine words are nothing in comparison to that," Blackmore laughed, his expression twisting in wry amusement as Jeanne gave a small shrug at the remark.

Johan blanched at the reminder of the bug-eyed, Shoggoth-conjuring paedophile. "...I can't argue that dealing with that loon must've been a trial and a half. But if I'm gonna have to be the one to diplomatize, let me know now."

"I figured that'd be the case from the get-go, my dude," Trent retorted, his smile undiminished. "Hell, you volunteered to be the one to lure the Forvedges over to us."

"Oh, sure. Make the introvert who's made maybe ten real friends in his life handle interpersonal interaction." Johan threw up his hands. "I'm sure that's not going to end in fire and tears."

The blond nodded resolutely at his friend, "Johan, you do remember that I tend to start my relationships with Vicious Mockery, and then keep the survivors around? Why would you leave the diplomancing to me?"

Johan raised a finger, considered, then lowered the finger. "I can't find fault in your reasoning, and that makes me angry."

"You see, my good albino, I can make every word hurt. It doesn't need to just be mockery. I'd be unstoppable if there was some rhetoric based super power." Trent chortled gleefully, having torn the rug out from beneath Johan's feet.

"Right up until someone cuts your tongue out," Johan snarked, rolling his eyes. "Anyways, maybe we ought to properly explain the situation to Miss D'Arc, rather than spew implication and innuendo back and forth?"

"Well of course we should," Trent said as he looked to the saint who was trying to get the whole situation together in her head. "But then I started having fun, and you know how I am."

"Do I ever," Johan sighed.

Looking between the two, Jeanne couldn't help but sigh. "While I'm sure that you'd eventually get your message across to me, is there anyone of actual sense that I can talk to?"

Johan made a face. "I'd protest that assertion, but we haven't exactly left the best first impression, now have we?"

"It was better than that of Gilles's friend, Francois, but it certainly wasn't the best," the saint agreed candidly.

Trent blinked and then snapped his fingers. "That's what we should do, go and kill Prelati."

"He's still alive?" Jeanne asked curiously, absolutely baffled by the fact that Prelati was somehow still around.

The blond shrugged. "Prelati's been bodyhopping into relatives for years, somehow dodging the soul rot too. I'd be impressed if I didn't think that they kind of deserve to die. No matter how cute they are as Francesca."

"And then there's the whole risk of them bringing forth the Outer Gods that Raum managed to retcon into existence through the combined power of good ol' Howard Phillips' Self Insert and the Salem witch trials," Johan mentioned dryly. "But again, we're getting off track.

"If you want to talk to the most sensical member of our group, Miss D'Arc," Johan said, "You'll be wanting to talk to Berserker of Red."

"A Berserker, the most sensical? Surely you jest…" Jeanne said, blinking in confusion at his assertion.

Then, a feminine voice came from within the crypt, "Believe me, the two of them definitely make a good case for Berserker being the sanest one amongst us, given how they drive myself, Saber of Red, and Saber's Master up the wall." Strolling out of the gloom was Carmilla, clad in a new outfit of a pair of tight black jeans and a cream turtleneck sweater, looking at Trent and Johan like a pair of asylum escapees.

Johan shrugged. "She's not wrong. And for the record, Dr. Henry Jekyll isn't exactly a standard Berserker class Servant by any stretch of the imagination." At that very moment, the good Doctor himself emerged from the crypt as well, having been examining a sample of Semiramis' acid in the alchemical lab he'd established after being summoned.

Unlike Carmilla, Jekyll was content to remain in the clothing he'd been summoned in, though he'd removed his suit-jacket and gloves, as well as rolled up the sleeves of his button-up. He glanced at Ruler, then over to Johan.

'So, I suppose that the task of diplomacy falls to me once more, then?' At Johan's nod, Jekyll turned back towards Jeanne and offered a bow. "You are the Ruler of this war, Jeanne D'Arc, no? I am the Berserker of Red, Dr. Henry Jekyll. I do hope that my Master and his associate have shown you appropriate hospitality."

"I've hardly been here long enough for one of them to show anything short of mild disdain, but I'm sure if I'm here for longer, the Master of Assassin of Black will try to insult me more," the blonde returned with a small bow of her own, Command Seals flashing in the afternoon light as they were highlighted on her shoulders.

Berserker shot Trent a look, disappointment clear in his eyes. Trent returned it with raised eyebrows, and remarked, "You know how I am. This is how I make friends; they either weather the storm or get sunk by my vicious mockery."

Jekyll simply shook his head and returned his attention to Ruler. "I would offer my apologies for Mr. Blackmore's attitudes, but it is not my place to do so. Instead, I will simply request that you not allow your opinion of the rest of us to be coloured by his actions."

"Were I to be honest, this isn't enough to really colour my opinion of you, or even him. I was acquainted with some rather colourful characters during my time," Jeanne replied, her expression wry and speaking of long suffering. "I'll admit, it's almost cute in comparison to some of the things I dealt with."

A look of concerned bemusement crossed the good Doctor's face. "I suppose that shall have to suffice for now." He folded his arms. "Now, shall we move on to more serious matters? I presume that both my and Assassin's Masters have mentioned certain...issues with the current Grail War?"

"They have, and I fully intend to do my own inspections of the War to ascertain as to whether or not they've told me the truth. After doing that, I'll have to judge just what I'll do about any irregularities I find, but I'm sure that it won't be too much trouble to deal with in the long run," the Ruler answered with a firm nod, her expression set in determination.

Jekyll looked at her for a long moment, cupping his chin in consideration. After a moment, he nodded. "Your confidence is heartening."

At that moment, Johan interjected, "And of course, should you require assistance dealing with any anomalies, don't hesitate to ask us; the whole reason we formed this group was because we don't trust either side, after all."

"We'll have to see just whether or not that turns out to be necessary, but if it truly becomes necessary, then I shall do so. Thank you for your offer," Jeanne declared with a warm smile.

Before she could turn away, Kairi and Mordred walked out of the crypt, the Servant in her armour and the Master with a grim expression on his face. While his glasses hid his eyes, his gaze clearly lingered on Jeanne, before grumbling, "We've got action in the forests between Trifas and Castle Yggdmillenia. Nothing concrete beyond Rider of Black rushing for the woods, with the forces of Black following behind him. Red seems to be responding in kind, if the arrows raining down on the main body of Black's forces is any indication."

Johan sighed, and rose to his feet. "Well," he said, dusting bonemeal off of his pants and pulling his Grimoire out of his jacket, "I guess the White Faction ought to put in an appearance as well."

Trent nodded and rolled his shoulders, picking up the Mystic Code that had been passed down through the Blackmore line. "Caw caw, motherfuckers."