Summoned into the body of the infamous murderer, Gilles de Rais, Caster of the Fourth Holy Grail War, destined to bring devastation and suffering to the city of Fuyuki, our protagonist attempts to chart a way back home, away from the dangerous and unpredictable world of Fate. But each Servant must have a Master, and so, our unfortunate SI must ally with an ambitious young mage, whose goals only apparently align with his own.
Theodicy (Fate/Zero, SI!Caster)
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Chapter 1: In Which There's a Bombastic Entrance
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 1: In Which There's a Bombastic Entrance
Tiffany was not fond of churches. This was not unusual, in her profession, as the Church had an annoying habit of interfering with the perfectly legitimate business of her and her peers, an interference she privately attributed to a fear of overly competent competition on the part of the faithful. She was therefore dismayed that she'd be shackled to the Church's goodwill for the next few weeks or so. Under ordinary circumstances- but then, when were her circumstances ever ordinary? -she would never consent to be 'arbitrated' by someone so fundamentally biased against progress. As she made her way over the gravel path between the iron gate and the small stone building, however, this dismay was replaced, or diluted, by curiosity. Who was this unbound Servant? And why?
It was a strange situation she found herself in. Yesterday, Tiffany had received a breathless call from her father, discussing an unprecedented, but time-limited opportunity, which had sent her on a breathless car ride across Japan, which had sent a breathless driver home with a small fortune for his trouble. And yet, her father would consider that a rounding error- no, in reality, neither Tiffany nor her father would consider that any price at all, if only she could seize what she had come to collect.
The von Hohenheim family had come to the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki. She had come unprepared, unrested, uncertain, knowing only hearsay and what little her father had communicated. As she knocked on the door to the church, in the wispy light of early morning, she reflected that she had only done one thing right: she had come first.
An older man, bone-white hair down to his shoulders, opened the door. That hair was the oldest thing about him; the man himself might have been eighty or fifty, were it not for that venerable mane of his, with his rank back and clear, brown eyes. He made no expression as he took stock of Tiffany for a moment, then asked; "I am Father Kotomine. Blessings on this day, my child, young as it is. What brings you to this house of the Lord?"
"I'm here to see a priest about a spirit, but I imagine you could have guessed that," she said sarcastically, cocking her head to the side. She'd pay lip service to this old man's need for secrecy, but there was no way he didn't know who she was, why she was here; this building would obviously be warded against the attention of ordinary people, so this whole charade was faintly ridiculous.
Father Kotomine exhaled roughly through his nose, before beckoning her inside. The church, or at least the room she entered into, was simple, and, for lack of a better word, classic. Stone walls, wooden pews, waxy candles. It was not without beauty, in the white stone and plentiful light, but compared to the grandeur of European architecture, it couldn't help but fall short. The only oddity would be the extravagant figure leafing through a large tome in the first row of pews, closest to the pulpit.
As she approached, she saw the figure was a man, or at least a parody of one- greying matted hair was slicked back to expose a wrinkled forehead and a remarkably ugly face. She was most captivated, or perhaps repulsed, by his bulging, twitching eyes, and large, thin mouth. He did not look like a man who lived in sunlight, he looked like a thing that lived in the muck beneath bridges, or at the bottom of a well. The sort of thing fairy tales were written about, dragged out of his hole, and dressed in a colorful, coated cape. His attire, hunched posture, and large, hooked nose made him look like a frightened vulture.
As she continued to stare, rather than address the man, Kotomine cleared his throat. "Caster. The first mage to hear your request has arrived. The young miss-" he said, with an expectant look at Tiffany.
She shook herself slightly. "Tiffany Eustacia von Hohenheim, heir apparent to the von Hohenheim family line, servant of the Clocktower, master of alchemy, healer and spiritualist. And your new Master, of course."
Caster closed his book, which vanished in a shimmering haze. He beheld her with a sideways look, and his eyes alternately pierced through her soul and slid over the pews behind her. "Oh. Good. Very fast, I'm glad. All the better to get started, I suppose," he said, in his reedy, wheedling voice. "I would ask what you know of the Holy Grail War, as you have not- were not here from the jump, so to speak," he said, tilting his head slightly. If his voice was a badly tuned violin, then his tone was thick, clammy oil.
Tiffany barely restrained herself from frowning. He hadn't given her his name. "As you please: The Holy Grail War is a competition between seven mages, called Masters, each with one Servant familiar. These Servants are spirits, souls summoned from the corpus of human history and myth, to once more do battle as they did in their time. Once a winning team is determined, through violence, cunning, or negotiation, they may claim any wish they so desire from the Holy Grail," she said, as though reciting a lecture. She paused briefly, before continuing. "Which, given that the War is by and for mages, I take to mean that it will let one reach the Root, despite the regulations of the Clocktower."
She looked expectantly at Caster, who only motioned for her to continue. Her back tensed. "The War was established by the Einzbern, Makiri and… Tohsaka lineages, but over time, more mages have been accumulating around it, and the periodic conflict eventually drew the attention of the Holy Church, who interfered- intervened to act as a neutral arbiter, lest the conflict spill over into the mundane world," she nodded at Kotomine, standing at a distance behind her. "The seven Servants are Saber, Lancer, Archer, Caster of course, Assassin…" she trailed off. Dammit. She'd wracked her brain on the drive over, but she'd never studied the War, never expected to be in one- It was dumb luck she'd been in Japan on other business already when the call went out.
"Rider and Berserker, well done," he said, and chuckled, "although 'War' is a grand title for such few would-be warriors."
Tiffany cocked her chin forward a little, musing. "I don't think so. War is the continuation of politics through other means; politics being economic or diplomatic pressure applied between actors. Since these have failed, though between mages, not nations, it is War. War to the knife," she said tersely. Then she winced- she really shouldn't be so flippant with this Servant, but something about his attitude didn't agree with her.
Caster hummed, and looked ahead, away from Tiffany for a moment, before coming to a decision. "I do believe that's everything I needed, so if it's not too much trouble; Kotomine, if you would?" Caster said, rising from his pew, cracking his back to reach his full, towering height, his roving gaze moving onto the priest. Why was he in such a hurry? There was a nervous energy about Caster, Tiffany noticed, his gnarled hands always in motion, if only slightly, tapping nonsense beats or rubbing thumb against forefinger.
Surely, she thought, he'd have time to wait for another Master? She was expecting an advantage, in being the first to give her plea to the unaffiliated Servant, but to be so easily accepted? Had something in her explanation of the War convinced him? Something else? It was one thing to be chosen among many, but this was suspiciously fortunate.
Kotomine emerged from his place in the background with infinite dignity. "Of course, Caster, Master Hohenheim. If you would follow, then you shall soon have no more need of me," he said. They each fell in behind him, as he walked to a back room, without windows, and quite dimly lit. In some suspicious corner of her mind, Tiffany had been wondering how it could be that Caster was looking for a new Master. Or rather, how it could be that he still existed while he searched.
Though her knowledge of the Holy Grail War was spotty in places, she knew a thing or two about familiars and spirits and knew that Caster would be relying on a connection to a mage for the mana he needed to remain in this world. It was why he needed her, after all, why all the Servants needed their Masters. She still had little clue why Caster had been dissatisfied with his summoner, but as her eyes fell upon the young, redheaded man propped up against the wall, she learned the answer to her first question: Caster's Master yet lived, and the mana yet flowed. She filed this fact away in the chisel-work of her mind.
Taking her curious stare as reticence, Kotomine spoke soothingly. "There is no need to fear; he is quite sedated. Though normally, I would be hesitant to do so to a man who has so recently suffered a concussion, I fear the pain of the procedure might wake him, and I do not believe he will cooperate with us."
The man wasn't much to look at, a scrawny twenty-something with a roguish cast. "Who is he?" she asked.
Kotomine sighed. "A murderer. It is my and this city's fortune that Caster has apprehended him, much as it is yours that he rejected him as his Master. But let us speak of him no further, that his evil ways might earn him nothing, not even the luxury of infamy," the priest said. "We need him only for the Command Seals on his hand- or, not quite, in truth. Your hand, miss?" he said, and held out both of his.
Tiffany had an idea of where this was going and held out her right hand for Kotomine. As he grasped it in his, she asked, "How will it work, then? I take it I will be receiving his familiar bond somehow?"
"You'd need a very special knife to sever that bond in that way, I'm afraid," said Caster, with a wry smile that ill-suited his face. "But Kotomine is the expert- apologies for my interjection."
Kotomine chuckled. "Nothing quite like that, I'm afraid, it is simply my authority as the War's arbiter that will let us see this through. It is my purview to distribute additional Command Seals as I see fit, you understand, and so I will distribute to you three of your own, miss," he said, and blood-red light spilled from his palms and unto her hand. It burned for a moment, but it was nothing. She was no stranger to scalding heat. "Afterwards," the priest went on, turning to Caster's soon-to-be prior Master, "I will break our young killer's connection, by removing his Command Seals through brute force. This may take some time, but as soon as I do, Caster will begin to fade, so it is imperative that you two immediately forge a new contract, lest all this be for naught. Then, it will be as God intended," he finished, kneeling by the young man's side.
"Can you do that to any Master? Break their connection to their Servant?" Tiffany asked, trying to appear only mildly curious.
"Oh Lord, that I were so- No, miss, I cannot. The only reason is that this young man is neither a mage, nor is he able to resist my doing so, either subconsciously or consciously, as he has no idea how great the treasure on his hand is. And I imagine the Mage's Association would have my head if I did this to one of their own. Caster is lucky- or perhaps the young man is, given the, ahem, most reliable means of breaking the bond, and Caster's determination to be free of him," and at this last utterance, a dangerous gleam played in the old priest's eyes, and Tiffany understood that he knew a killer for a killer because he was one.
Caster had returned to his tome, judging by the rasping of pages, and made no comment.
Tiffany was half tempted to find a place to sit down as Kotomine went about his long work but suppressed the instinct with the same ruthless willpower she'd cultivated to command mystical energy to break the laws of physics. Well, not really break, as her mother would insist: We must never fool ourselves into believing we can overpower the laws of the world, Tiffany. Our magecraft, all magecraft, is a part of the world, and part of its laws, though they are not the ones the sunlit world knows. All physics are one set of rules, we do not enjoy any exemption from this. It was a good lesson, but one she'd had trouble internalizing, given how nobody knew all the rules of magecraft, by definition.
For an unknown length of time, for Tiffany did not disdain to look at her watch, the old priest worked in silence, broken only by the light sounds of Caster's reading. Kotomine did not seem to be doing anything at all, besides kneeling by the young man's side. Then, there was the sound of a dull snap and the smell of copper in the air, and before Kotomine had turned to warn them, Tiffany felt an iron grip seize her wrist. It was impossible not to start away from Caster; she hadn't even heard him move, such was the speed of even a Caster-class Servant. "Would you pledge to be my Master," he said, faintly panicked, "my star, my king, to let me share in your burdens, and carry you into Heaven's Feel? That our destinies be entwined, till all blood's been shed?"
She tamped down a disgusted urge to rip her wrist from his grasp. "I pledge to be your Master, to-to share my burdens, as you share yours, my Servant, my… sword, my shield. For you to be my guardian, and I your lord, until the gods are sated with tragedy. This I pledge; our destinies are one," she fumbled.
Blue light and a faint hum emerged from their impromptu handshake, and Tiffany felt something writhing on her skin- the lines of her Command Seals reshaping themselves. They'd been faint and malformed, but as she raised her hand above her head to look, she found what she already knew was true. It was a very abstract shape, three curling lines forming something like an eye, or a lightbulb, or a bottle filled with vapors. Her heart soared in satisfaction.
She'd done it. She was a Master. She had a Servant. And there was a chance, however infinitesimal, that she would reach glory in only a week. The goal which had eluded her family for generations, now inscribed on the back of her right hand.
Kotomine rose from his position on the ground. "Now, unfortunately, we reach the limit of my knowledge, as well as the end of your sanctuary here. I cannot say how your bond will develop, as you have not forged it in the usual way, which was explained to me, nor can I permit a pair of Master and Servant, actively engaged in the War, to remain on what is to be neutral ground," Kotomine said, with a look of genuine regret. "I must ask you to leave."
Caster, seeming to compose himself after his outburst, nodded, brushing off his robes. "Good enough. Thank you for your assistance, Kotomine, it was more than I could have hoped for," he said, and added almost as an afterthought, "and more than I deserve, poor sinner that I am."
Kotomine just nodded with a faint hint of a smile. To Tiffany, the next few minutes were filled with perfunctory remarks, delivered hazily and mechanically. It did not matter overmuch what had been said: the priest wanted rid of them, Tiffany wanted out of the church, and Caster was still in a hurry. These were the relevant facts to her, for her mind had already turned towards speculating on their next move.
After a bit of aimless walking, Tiffany finally steered towards a café for breakfast; something light, for now. Caster had been following her in his invisible spirit form, a silent if unnerving- no, she had to quell these thoughts. Her Servant was her Servant, regardless of his unsettling appearance. It was irrational, and unbecoming of a mage, to be this put off. So she sat down with a croissant and a coffee (two sugars, no milk) and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. 'I was wondering, who are you supposed to be, exactly? You never got around to telling me, and if we're going to win this, I need to know,' she thought at him.
'So you believe. I think I'd like for us to get to know each other a little better, before I go ahead and tell you. It might get in the way of, how do you say, smooth cooperation,' Caster returned. 'But since I'm not telling you that just yet, how about another deal? Another secret: I won't tell you who Caster is, but you're free to ask about any of the others. I can tell you anything you'd like to know. Their Noble Phantasms, their skills… their True Names.' His tone was almost playful, coy even.
Tiffany Eustacia von Hohenheim was a dignified lady, and dignified ladies did not spit out their coffee in shock. Instead, she very genteelly set it down on its saucer, blinked slowly, and thought, 'I beg your pardon?'
'Not for nothing, of course, for a simple favor. A quid pro quo, between Master and Servant.'
She frowned at the air in front of her, where she imagined Caster to be. 'What manner of favor?'
He was still invisible in his spirit form, but Tiffany could hear how he smirked. 'Quite simple, really. No issue, it'll even be to your benefit in the end, if I'm right. We'll simply be staying in a warehouse on the docks until… a certain event occurs. Every day we do, I will tell you everything I know about one of the Servants, and their Master. If nothing occurs within those six days, consider the favor complete anyway.'
'What's the catch?' She took an angry bite out of her croissant. Although, going into hiding mightn't be so bad… even if she'd prefer somewhere more comfortable.
'No 'catch' as such. It's sheer manipulation: I have information you need, and if you want me to give it to you, you'll do as I say.' He paused briefly. 'That, and I hope to ingratiate myself to you as a Servant. I'm not really much good, you see. You've been saddled with a lousy Caster, sorry to say.' His tone was off, somehow, but Tiffany couldn't pinpoint how. Like he wasn't entirely serious, or like saying so didn't affect him at all.
She wasn't really certain how to start digging into that, so she focused on the first part. 'What can you tell me about the other Servants, exactly?' She thought privately for a moment, wondering whether to even humor this proposal, before deciding that she lost nothing by simply hearing him out. 'Saber. Tell me about Saber, and we have a deal.' The Saber Servant, as she recalled it, was the greatest threat to a Caster. She had a firmer grasp of the Knight Classes, Saber, Archer, and Lancer, than the other Classes, and she recalled that the Saber class was resistant to magic, for whatever reason.
'An excellent choice, Master. The Saber Servant for this fourth Holy Grail War is none other than Artoria Pendragon, King of Knights, Britons, and England.'
Shit. Wait, Artoria? 'King Arthur was a woman?'
'It befuddled her Master some as well, but it appears so. Not especially important, really, her story is not meaningfully different to the popular attestation. In any case, Artoria is perhaps the quintessential Saber Servant: Her stats are high, especially Strength and Agility, though her Endurance and Mana are quite something as well. Her Luck, however, is lower than it ought to be, though still high, which I believe owes to her incompatibility with her Master, the Magus Killer, Kiritsugu Emiya.'
Double shit. 'How!? Why is he in this War at all? Who invited him?'
'Ah, so you've heard of him. He is here on behalf of the Einzbern family, though it will not appear so. Although he is Saber's Master, he and his wife, Irisviel von Einzbern, are carrying on a ruse to make it appear that she is Saber's true Master. Mostly by keeping the Magus Killer out of sight and Irisviel standing behind Saber, admittedly, but it leaves him free to target Masters at his leisure. It puts his wife in danger, but Irisviel will be dead before the end of the War in any case, so it matters little to her.'
If the Magus Killer was in Fuyuki, that changed things. She'd have to lay low; the day was no longer safe, since Emiya wouldn't be restricted to magical means of destroying her, as most mages would, either out of foolish pride or necessity. She'd have to spend as little money as possible so as not to draw attention, stay out of the way; maybe staying in that warehouse Caster mentioned would help with that- Wait, what did he say? 'Why would the Einzbern die 'anyway'?' She brushed past her surprise at the idea that the Magus Killer was married, and to a mage no less.
'Because she is a homunculus, the vessel for the Grail, and as Servants are killed, it will fill, and supersede her existence, killing her. To counteract this, Emiya has implanted Avalon, the immortal sheath of Excalibur, and living Noble Phantasm, within her body. Or her spirit, it is not clear to me. In any case, though it cannot confer immortality onto her as it did Saber in its day, it will heal all but the greatest wounds, so long as Saber is by her side. So, in a way, they are still bonded together.'
Tiffany was reeling. With a light tremble, she finished her croissant and sat dumbfounded with her hands in her lap. She was, however, caught up on one detail. 'This doesn't really pertain to Saber, does it? It's about a woman who, as you tell it, isn't even her Master.'
'Ah, true enough. Consider it a signing bonus, then.'
That was more important than Caster probably realized. It meant that, rather than having special insight into the Servants, and possibly by extension their Masters, he instead had a more general insight into the Holy Grail War, or beyond it. Which was not what he'd implied earlier. Tiffany didn't know exactly what it meant, but if Caster was determined to be cagy about his identity, she needed to squirrel away these nuggets. As a mage, she was slow to trust, and Caster was only making that seem more justified.
'Besides all that, Saber's most notable skills are Mana Burst, and Magic Resistance. Mana Burst allows her to briefly exert great force or speed, at the cost of, well, mana, and Magic Resistance requires no explanation, as it simply means you can't hurt her. She also has Riding, which is less relevant. Even more notable, of course, is her Noble Phantasm, Excalibur. In its resting state, Excalibur is wreathed in a spell of invisibility, to conceal the truth of the king's presence, which makes it difficult to defend against. To activate it, Saber must first shed this cloak, whereafter she may call out Excalibur's name; it will then function as an Anti-Fortress level Noble Phantasm, causing a pillar of light to stream forth, destroying everything in its path.'
Tiffany began half-heartedly to gather her things, failing to pay attention to her surroundings. 'Does she- are there any weaknesses? How do you compare to her? How are we meant to beat her?'
'Well, I said she was the quintessential Saber Servant, and that is her weakness: despite their name, Sabers are very much blunt instruments. Additionally, she is unable to enter spirit form, owing to an extremely dense mana signature, caused by her Dragon Core, which combined with her honorable disposition means she is unable and unwilling to face us in anything but a straight fight. And her Master, while not so limited, is only a man, one whom she hates, so we may not need to fight her at all, if we can convince them to quarrel. Besides that, we may find an ally who can defeat her, and whom we can betray. Sadly, she is far superior to me in all regards, save one, where we are equals.'
'Which regard?' Tiffany grabbed onto this fact, not like a lifeline, but like an exposed loop in a gordian knot.
'My Prelati's Spellbook is, by the metrics of the Servant system, the equal of her Excalibur. In practice, I cannot defeat her alone, Master.' He paused. 'Please do not send me to face her by myself, for I dearly wish to live.' His tone wasn't as flippant as it had been through the rest of his recounting, as though he was, for the first time, genuinely worried.
Was it her? Did Caster truly fear that she would do something as foolish as throwing away her chance at glory? She got up from her seat and left the café in something of a rush, her mind still ill at ease with the thought of the Magus Killer. He was an unwelcome complication, and a dishonorable cur. The other Masters would likely spare her for reasons of Clocktower politics, but the Magus Killer wouldn't care about such things. 'Don't worry overmuch on that count, Caster. I do need you to win this War, after all. Now, show me where this warehouse is, and explain your 'Prelati's Spellbook'. If it is the equal of Excalibur, it may be our only hope.'
'If it is, then that hope will do little more than flavor our inevitable despair. But very well, Master.'
Hello one and all, and welcome to my new story, Theodicy!
A while back, I came across an SI story in something Fate-related, and it got me thinking: most people, when writing an SI, write themselves in as a powerful or important character; in particular, in cases of superpowered characters, one whose powers they'd like to imagine messing around with. It's a perfectly natural impulse.
But what if you did the opposite of that? Who's the worst character I could be incarnated as? This story is the answer to that question, and all the consequences thereof.
Also, it is being cross-posted on AO3! Please enjoy.
Tiffany was not fond of churches. This was not unusual, in her profession, as the Church had an annoying habit of interfering with the perfectly legitimate business of her and her peers, an interference she privately attributed to a fear of overly competent competition on the part of the faithful. She was therefore dismayed that she'd be shackled to the Church's goodwill for the next few weeks or so. Under ordinary circumstances- but then, when were her circumstances ever ordinary? -she would never consent to be 'arbitrated' by someone so fundamentally biased against progress. As she made her way over the gravel path between the iron gate and the small stone building, however, this dismay was replaced, or diluted, by curiosity. Who was this unbound Servant? And why?
It was a strange situation she found herself in. Yesterday, Tiffany had received a breathless call from her father, discussing an unprecedented, but time-limited opportunity, which had sent her on a breathless car ride across Japan, which had sent a breathless driver home with a small fortune for his trouble. And yet, her father would consider that a rounding error- no, in reality, neither Tiffany nor her father would consider that any price at all, if only she could seize what she had come to collect.
The von Hohenheim family had come to the Holy Grail War in Fuyuki. She had come unprepared, unrested, uncertain, knowing only hearsay and what little her father had communicated. As she knocked on the door to the church, in the wispy light of early morning, she reflected that she had only done one thing right: she had come first.
An older man, bone-white hair down to his shoulders, opened the door. That hair was the oldest thing about him; the man himself might have been eighty or fifty, were it not for that venerable mane of his, with his rank back and clear, brown eyes. He made no expression as he took stock of Tiffany for a moment, then asked; "I am Father Kotomine. Blessings on this day, my child, young as it is. What brings you to this house of the Lord?"
"I'm here to see a priest about a spirit, but I imagine you could have guessed that," she said sarcastically, cocking her head to the side. She'd pay lip service to this old man's need for secrecy, but there was no way he didn't know who she was, why she was here; this building would obviously be warded against the attention of ordinary people, so this whole charade was faintly ridiculous.
Father Kotomine exhaled roughly through his nose, before beckoning her inside. The church, or at least the room she entered into, was simple, and, for lack of a better word, classic. Stone walls, wooden pews, waxy candles. It was not without beauty, in the white stone and plentiful light, but compared to the grandeur of European architecture, it couldn't help but fall short. The only oddity would be the extravagant figure leafing through a large tome in the first row of pews, closest to the pulpit.
As she approached, she saw the figure was a man, or at least a parody of one- greying matted hair was slicked back to expose a wrinkled forehead and a remarkably ugly face. She was most captivated, or perhaps repulsed, by his bulging, twitching eyes, and large, thin mouth. He did not look like a man who lived in sunlight, he looked like a thing that lived in the muck beneath bridges, or at the bottom of a well. The sort of thing fairy tales were written about, dragged out of his hole, and dressed in a colorful, coated cape. His attire, hunched posture, and large, hooked nose made him look like a frightened vulture.
As she continued to stare, rather than address the man, Kotomine cleared his throat. "Caster. The first mage to hear your request has arrived. The young miss-" he said, with an expectant look at Tiffany.
She shook herself slightly. "Tiffany Eustacia von Hohenheim, heir apparent to the von Hohenheim family line, servant of the Clocktower, master of alchemy, healer and spiritualist. And your new Master, of course."
Caster closed his book, which vanished in a shimmering haze. He beheld her with a sideways look, and his eyes alternately pierced through her soul and slid over the pews behind her. "Oh. Good. Very fast, I'm glad. All the better to get started, I suppose," he said, in his reedy, wheedling voice. "I would ask what you know of the Holy Grail War, as you have not- were not here from the jump, so to speak," he said, tilting his head slightly. If his voice was a badly tuned violin, then his tone was thick, clammy oil.
Tiffany barely restrained herself from frowning. He hadn't given her his name. "As you please: The Holy Grail War is a competition between seven mages, called Masters, each with one Servant familiar. These Servants are spirits, souls summoned from the corpus of human history and myth, to once more do battle as they did in their time. Once a winning team is determined, through violence, cunning, or negotiation, they may claim any wish they so desire from the Holy Grail," she said, as though reciting a lecture. She paused briefly, before continuing. "Which, given that the War is by and for mages, I take to mean that it will let one reach the Root, despite the regulations of the Clocktower."
She looked expectantly at Caster, who only motioned for her to continue. Her back tensed. "The War was established by the Einzbern, Makiri and… Tohsaka lineages, but over time, more mages have been accumulating around it, and the periodic conflict eventually drew the attention of the Holy Church, who interfered- intervened to act as a neutral arbiter, lest the conflict spill over into the mundane world," she nodded at Kotomine, standing at a distance behind her. "The seven Servants are Saber, Lancer, Archer, Caster of course, Assassin…" she trailed off. Dammit. She'd wracked her brain on the drive over, but she'd never studied the War, never expected to be in one- It was dumb luck she'd been in Japan on other business already when the call went out.
"Rider and Berserker, well done," he said, and chuckled, "although 'War' is a grand title for such few would-be warriors."
Tiffany cocked her chin forward a little, musing. "I don't think so. War is the continuation of politics through other means; politics being economic or diplomatic pressure applied between actors. Since these have failed, though between mages, not nations, it is War. War to the knife," she said tersely. Then she winced- she really shouldn't be so flippant with this Servant, but something about his attitude didn't agree with her.
Caster hummed, and looked ahead, away from Tiffany for a moment, before coming to a decision. "I do believe that's everything I needed, so if it's not too much trouble; Kotomine, if you would?" Caster said, rising from his pew, cracking his back to reach his full, towering height, his roving gaze moving onto the priest. Why was he in such a hurry? There was a nervous energy about Caster, Tiffany noticed, his gnarled hands always in motion, if only slightly, tapping nonsense beats or rubbing thumb against forefinger.
Surely, she thought, he'd have time to wait for another Master? She was expecting an advantage, in being the first to give her plea to the unaffiliated Servant, but to be so easily accepted? Had something in her explanation of the War convinced him? Something else? It was one thing to be chosen among many, but this was suspiciously fortunate.
Kotomine emerged from his place in the background with infinite dignity. "Of course, Caster, Master Hohenheim. If you would follow, then you shall soon have no more need of me," he said. They each fell in behind him, as he walked to a back room, without windows, and quite dimly lit. In some suspicious corner of her mind, Tiffany had been wondering how it could be that Caster was looking for a new Master. Or rather, how it could be that he still existed while he searched.
Though her knowledge of the Holy Grail War was spotty in places, she knew a thing or two about familiars and spirits and knew that Caster would be relying on a connection to a mage for the mana he needed to remain in this world. It was why he needed her, after all, why all the Servants needed their Masters. She still had little clue why Caster had been dissatisfied with his summoner, but as her eyes fell upon the young, redheaded man propped up against the wall, she learned the answer to her first question: Caster's Master yet lived, and the mana yet flowed. She filed this fact away in the chisel-work of her mind.
Taking her curious stare as reticence, Kotomine spoke soothingly. "There is no need to fear; he is quite sedated. Though normally, I would be hesitant to do so to a man who has so recently suffered a concussion, I fear the pain of the procedure might wake him, and I do not believe he will cooperate with us."
The man wasn't much to look at, a scrawny twenty-something with a roguish cast. "Who is he?" she asked.
Kotomine sighed. "A murderer. It is my and this city's fortune that Caster has apprehended him, much as it is yours that he rejected him as his Master. But let us speak of him no further, that his evil ways might earn him nothing, not even the luxury of infamy," the priest said. "We need him only for the Command Seals on his hand- or, not quite, in truth. Your hand, miss?" he said, and held out both of his.
Tiffany had an idea of where this was going and held out her right hand for Kotomine. As he grasped it in his, she asked, "How will it work, then? I take it I will be receiving his familiar bond somehow?"
"You'd need a very special knife to sever that bond in that way, I'm afraid," said Caster, with a wry smile that ill-suited his face. "But Kotomine is the expert- apologies for my interjection."
Kotomine chuckled. "Nothing quite like that, I'm afraid, it is simply my authority as the War's arbiter that will let us see this through. It is my purview to distribute additional Command Seals as I see fit, you understand, and so I will distribute to you three of your own, miss," he said, and blood-red light spilled from his palms and unto her hand. It burned for a moment, but it was nothing. She was no stranger to scalding heat. "Afterwards," the priest went on, turning to Caster's soon-to-be prior Master, "I will break our young killer's connection, by removing his Command Seals through brute force. This may take some time, but as soon as I do, Caster will begin to fade, so it is imperative that you two immediately forge a new contract, lest all this be for naught. Then, it will be as God intended," he finished, kneeling by the young man's side.
"Can you do that to any Master? Break their connection to their Servant?" Tiffany asked, trying to appear only mildly curious.
"Oh Lord, that I were so- No, miss, I cannot. The only reason is that this young man is neither a mage, nor is he able to resist my doing so, either subconsciously or consciously, as he has no idea how great the treasure on his hand is. And I imagine the Mage's Association would have my head if I did this to one of their own. Caster is lucky- or perhaps the young man is, given the, ahem, most reliable means of breaking the bond, and Caster's determination to be free of him," and at this last utterance, a dangerous gleam played in the old priest's eyes, and Tiffany understood that he knew a killer for a killer because he was one.
Caster had returned to his tome, judging by the rasping of pages, and made no comment.
Tiffany was half tempted to find a place to sit down as Kotomine went about his long work but suppressed the instinct with the same ruthless willpower she'd cultivated to command mystical energy to break the laws of physics. Well, not really break, as her mother would insist: We must never fool ourselves into believing we can overpower the laws of the world, Tiffany. Our magecraft, all magecraft, is a part of the world, and part of its laws, though they are not the ones the sunlit world knows. All physics are one set of rules, we do not enjoy any exemption from this. It was a good lesson, but one she'd had trouble internalizing, given how nobody knew all the rules of magecraft, by definition.
For an unknown length of time, for Tiffany did not disdain to look at her watch, the old priest worked in silence, broken only by the light sounds of Caster's reading. Kotomine did not seem to be doing anything at all, besides kneeling by the young man's side. Then, there was the sound of a dull snap and the smell of copper in the air, and before Kotomine had turned to warn them, Tiffany felt an iron grip seize her wrist. It was impossible not to start away from Caster; she hadn't even heard him move, such was the speed of even a Caster-class Servant. "Would you pledge to be my Master," he said, faintly panicked, "my star, my king, to let me share in your burdens, and carry you into Heaven's Feel? That our destinies be entwined, till all blood's been shed?"
She tamped down a disgusted urge to rip her wrist from his grasp. "I pledge to be your Master, to-to share my burdens, as you share yours, my Servant, my… sword, my shield. For you to be my guardian, and I your lord, until the gods are sated with tragedy. This I pledge; our destinies are one," she fumbled.
Blue light and a faint hum emerged from their impromptu handshake, and Tiffany felt something writhing on her skin- the lines of her Command Seals reshaping themselves. They'd been faint and malformed, but as she raised her hand above her head to look, she found what she already knew was true. It was a very abstract shape, three curling lines forming something like an eye, or a lightbulb, or a bottle filled with vapors. Her heart soared in satisfaction.
She'd done it. She was a Master. She had a Servant. And there was a chance, however infinitesimal, that she would reach glory in only a week. The goal which had eluded her family for generations, now inscribed on the back of her right hand.
Kotomine rose from his position on the ground. "Now, unfortunately, we reach the limit of my knowledge, as well as the end of your sanctuary here. I cannot say how your bond will develop, as you have not forged it in the usual way, which was explained to me, nor can I permit a pair of Master and Servant, actively engaged in the War, to remain on what is to be neutral ground," Kotomine said, with a look of genuine regret. "I must ask you to leave."
Caster, seeming to compose himself after his outburst, nodded, brushing off his robes. "Good enough. Thank you for your assistance, Kotomine, it was more than I could have hoped for," he said, and added almost as an afterthought, "and more than I deserve, poor sinner that I am."
Kotomine just nodded with a faint hint of a smile. To Tiffany, the next few minutes were filled with perfunctory remarks, delivered hazily and mechanically. It did not matter overmuch what had been said: the priest wanted rid of them, Tiffany wanted out of the church, and Caster was still in a hurry. These were the relevant facts to her, for her mind had already turned towards speculating on their next move.
After a bit of aimless walking, Tiffany finally steered towards a café for breakfast; something light, for now. Caster had been following her in his invisible spirit form, a silent if unnerving- no, she had to quell these thoughts. Her Servant was her Servant, regardless of his unsettling appearance. It was irrational, and unbecoming of a mage, to be this put off. So she sat down with a croissant and a coffee (two sugars, no milk) and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. 'I was wondering, who are you supposed to be, exactly? You never got around to telling me, and if we're going to win this, I need to know,' she thought at him.
'So you believe. I think I'd like for us to get to know each other a little better, before I go ahead and tell you. It might get in the way of, how do you say, smooth cooperation,' Caster returned. 'But since I'm not telling you that just yet, how about another deal? Another secret: I won't tell you who Caster is, but you're free to ask about any of the others. I can tell you anything you'd like to know. Their Noble Phantasms, their skills… their True Names.' His tone was almost playful, coy even.
Tiffany Eustacia von Hohenheim was a dignified lady, and dignified ladies did not spit out their coffee in shock. Instead, she very genteelly set it down on its saucer, blinked slowly, and thought, 'I beg your pardon?'
'Not for nothing, of course, for a simple favor. A quid pro quo, between Master and Servant.'
She frowned at the air in front of her, where she imagined Caster to be. 'What manner of favor?'
He was still invisible in his spirit form, but Tiffany could hear how he smirked. 'Quite simple, really. No issue, it'll even be to your benefit in the end, if I'm right. We'll simply be staying in a warehouse on the docks until… a certain event occurs. Every day we do, I will tell you everything I know about one of the Servants, and their Master. If nothing occurs within those six days, consider the favor complete anyway.'
'What's the catch?' She took an angry bite out of her croissant. Although, going into hiding mightn't be so bad… even if she'd prefer somewhere more comfortable.
'No 'catch' as such. It's sheer manipulation: I have information you need, and if you want me to give it to you, you'll do as I say.' He paused briefly. 'That, and I hope to ingratiate myself to you as a Servant. I'm not really much good, you see. You've been saddled with a lousy Caster, sorry to say.' His tone was off, somehow, but Tiffany couldn't pinpoint how. Like he wasn't entirely serious, or like saying so didn't affect him at all.
She wasn't really certain how to start digging into that, so she focused on the first part. 'What can you tell me about the other Servants, exactly?' She thought privately for a moment, wondering whether to even humor this proposal, before deciding that she lost nothing by simply hearing him out. 'Saber. Tell me about Saber, and we have a deal.' The Saber Servant, as she recalled it, was the greatest threat to a Caster. She had a firmer grasp of the Knight Classes, Saber, Archer, and Lancer, than the other Classes, and she recalled that the Saber class was resistant to magic, for whatever reason.
'An excellent choice, Master. The Saber Servant for this fourth Holy Grail War is none other than Artoria Pendragon, King of Knights, Britons, and England.'
Shit. Wait, Artoria? 'King Arthur was a woman?'
'It befuddled her Master some as well, but it appears so. Not especially important, really, her story is not meaningfully different to the popular attestation. In any case, Artoria is perhaps the quintessential Saber Servant: Her stats are high, especially Strength and Agility, though her Endurance and Mana are quite something as well. Her Luck, however, is lower than it ought to be, though still high, which I believe owes to her incompatibility with her Master, the Magus Killer, Kiritsugu Emiya.'
Double shit. 'How!? Why is he in this War at all? Who invited him?'
'Ah, so you've heard of him. He is here on behalf of the Einzbern family, though it will not appear so. Although he is Saber's Master, he and his wife, Irisviel von Einzbern, are carrying on a ruse to make it appear that she is Saber's true Master. Mostly by keeping the Magus Killer out of sight and Irisviel standing behind Saber, admittedly, but it leaves him free to target Masters at his leisure. It puts his wife in danger, but Irisviel will be dead before the end of the War in any case, so it matters little to her.'
If the Magus Killer was in Fuyuki, that changed things. She'd have to lay low; the day was no longer safe, since Emiya wouldn't be restricted to magical means of destroying her, as most mages would, either out of foolish pride or necessity. She'd have to spend as little money as possible so as not to draw attention, stay out of the way; maybe staying in that warehouse Caster mentioned would help with that- Wait, what did he say? 'Why would the Einzbern die 'anyway'?' She brushed past her surprise at the idea that the Magus Killer was married, and to a mage no less.
'Because she is a homunculus, the vessel for the Grail, and as Servants are killed, it will fill, and supersede her existence, killing her. To counteract this, Emiya has implanted Avalon, the immortal sheath of Excalibur, and living Noble Phantasm, within her body. Or her spirit, it is not clear to me. In any case, though it cannot confer immortality onto her as it did Saber in its day, it will heal all but the greatest wounds, so long as Saber is by her side. So, in a way, they are still bonded together.'
Tiffany was reeling. With a light tremble, she finished her croissant and sat dumbfounded with her hands in her lap. She was, however, caught up on one detail. 'This doesn't really pertain to Saber, does it? It's about a woman who, as you tell it, isn't even her Master.'
'Ah, true enough. Consider it a signing bonus, then.'
That was more important than Caster probably realized. It meant that, rather than having special insight into the Servants, and possibly by extension their Masters, he instead had a more general insight into the Holy Grail War, or beyond it. Which was not what he'd implied earlier. Tiffany didn't know exactly what it meant, but if Caster was determined to be cagy about his identity, she needed to squirrel away these nuggets. As a mage, she was slow to trust, and Caster was only making that seem more justified.
'Besides all that, Saber's most notable skills are Mana Burst, and Magic Resistance. Mana Burst allows her to briefly exert great force or speed, at the cost of, well, mana, and Magic Resistance requires no explanation, as it simply means you can't hurt her. She also has Riding, which is less relevant. Even more notable, of course, is her Noble Phantasm, Excalibur. In its resting state, Excalibur is wreathed in a spell of invisibility, to conceal the truth of the king's presence, which makes it difficult to defend against. To activate it, Saber must first shed this cloak, whereafter she may call out Excalibur's name; it will then function as an Anti-Fortress level Noble Phantasm, causing a pillar of light to stream forth, destroying everything in its path.'
Tiffany began half-heartedly to gather her things, failing to pay attention to her surroundings. 'Does she- are there any weaknesses? How do you compare to her? How are we meant to beat her?'
'Well, I said she was the quintessential Saber Servant, and that is her weakness: despite their name, Sabers are very much blunt instruments. Additionally, she is unable to enter spirit form, owing to an extremely dense mana signature, caused by her Dragon Core, which combined with her honorable disposition means she is unable and unwilling to face us in anything but a straight fight. And her Master, while not so limited, is only a man, one whom she hates, so we may not need to fight her at all, if we can convince them to quarrel. Besides that, we may find an ally who can defeat her, and whom we can betray. Sadly, she is far superior to me in all regards, save one, where we are equals.'
'Which regard?' Tiffany grabbed onto this fact, not like a lifeline, but like an exposed loop in a gordian knot.
'My Prelati's Spellbook is, by the metrics of the Servant system, the equal of her Excalibur. In practice, I cannot defeat her alone, Master.' He paused. 'Please do not send me to face her by myself, for I dearly wish to live.' His tone wasn't as flippant as it had been through the rest of his recounting, as though he was, for the first time, genuinely worried.
Was it her? Did Caster truly fear that she would do something as foolish as throwing away her chance at glory? She got up from her seat and left the café in something of a rush, her mind still ill at ease with the thought of the Magus Killer. He was an unwelcome complication, and a dishonorable cur. The other Masters would likely spare her for reasons of Clocktower politics, but the Magus Killer wouldn't care about such things. 'Don't worry overmuch on that count, Caster. I do need you to win this War, after all. Now, show me where this warehouse is, and explain your 'Prelati's Spellbook'. If it is the equal of Excalibur, it may be our only hope.'
'If it is, then that hope will do little more than flavor our inevitable despair. But very well, Master.'
Hello one and all, and welcome to my new story, Theodicy!
A while back, I came across an SI story in something Fate-related, and it got me thinking: most people, when writing an SI, write themselves in as a powerful or important character; in particular, in cases of superpowered characters, one whose powers they'd like to imagine messing around with. It's a perfectly natural impulse.
But what if you did the opposite of that? Who's the worst character I could be incarnated as? This story is the answer to that question, and all the consequences thereof.
Also, it is being cross-posted on AO3! Please enjoy.
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- Location
- United States
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- Whatever/Works
Looks very interesting so far, honestly the best way to describe who he is to her, would be to claim himself as a Demi-Servant, or maybe just normal Giles but BEFORE he did all the awful stuff. Those might be easier to get away with. The dreams might give it away though. Maybe use the fact that the Grail pulls from the future to explain why he is a 'Demi-servant' I am sure you already have something in mind or that our Caster has something in mind in universe for this already, but its clear that he is building some level of trust first, or maybe he is buying time to think of something.
i don't remember much about the Gilles someone can explain beter what they do
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Whatever/Works
They are a crazy caster who basically summons eldritch horrors and turns children into horrific monsters and suicide bombers. They also summoned a giant tentacle monster towards the end. They thought that Artoria was Jeanne d'arc and were goin' a bit coocoo crazy
- Location
- Probably at sea
That and, you know, not being dead yet. I understand why SI!Gilles doesn't want to get into that right now, though, as it's not really relevant and is a whole other can of worms that would only confuse the situation.
Interesting! I'm interested to find out more about Tiffany and what exactly she does (that's one heck of an alchemic pedigree she's got), as well as seeing inside our SI's head. I do like that our SI isn't shy about dropping meta-knowledge straight off the bat, and also like that they're freaking out about having been dropped into the Fourth War. I assume their thoughts are something along the lines of 'shit shit Gilgamesh shit shit', and are frantically trying to think up a way to deal with him.
I look forward to seeing what you've got planned next!
- Location
- America
Giles is a piss poor caster, because he's "technically" not a caster at all. As the inspiration for the tale blue beard, Gilles is recorded as being the patron for sorcery done by his good friend Francois Prelati who in fate translated a text that comes from the great old ones described in the works of H.P Lovecraft-- this is the book Gilles uses for magic, and with it he can "summon" horrors from r'lyeh where cthulu sleeps.
In essence Caster Gilles is "Gilles de Rais, who has fallen into depravity after so gallantly standing beside Jeanne De Arc as a war hero. He has fallen into despair at seeing the cruelty of man, and has made it his mission to blaspheme against god--leading him to death from greedy noblemen.".
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- He/Him
Hey, that's true! One thing I took care to remember while writing SI!Caster is that he doesn't have the ability to open the wiki like I can; hence, whatever I think I remember is what he'll say, then I'll check if he's wrong only after. So if SI!Caster makes a mistake, he's supposed to, but if another character ought to know better, please help me correct the error.
In essence, he doesn't know or remember everything, his mistakes are genuine, and this won't be the last one he makes.
Chapter 2: In Which Dinner Is Served
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- He/Him
Chapter 2: In Which Dinner Is Served
Explaining that goddamn book took a little while, and she was pretty clearly unhappy with me when I finished. I didn't exactly blame her, but that didn't make me happier about this situation. The book wasn't really mine, and I'd never actually sacrificed anyone to it, but I had inherited the legacy, not to mention the appearance of the man who did. It was my own personal hell: being blamed for something terrible that I didn't do and having no way to prove my innocence without sounding crazy. Part of me wanted to yell the truth at her, to desperately plead my case, but I held off. It wouldn't help.
What I needed to do was construct a convincing narrative for Bluebeard being a worthy partner. And didn't that rankle? The man was… a monster. There was no justification for what he did, whatever excuses he'd conjured up for himself. I remembered, and the knowledge I'd inherited from him confirmed, that at least in this world, he'd wanted to prove that no benevolent God oversaw humanity. I didn't give a shit.
He'd tortured and raped over two hundred children to death. Burn in hell, you toad-looking mongrel piece of filthy fucking toilet rag.
That's not hyperbole, by the way. I feel that assumption would be a reasonable reaction to being told that, but it's all just true. And he did it because he liked doing it. I know the anime skimmed over it; as I remembered, it was mostly downplayed to 'child murder,' but really, he was just actually a top contender for 'Worst Person Ever.' Yes. The godforsaken humanoid wretch in Fate/Zero was Bluebeard as presented in the best possible light. So, imagine my delight to be saddled with his reputation. Which was awful. And his skills. Which were worse. And his Noble Phantasm, which only ran on all cylinders if I completely abandoned all attempts at morality and just started murdering people. It was perfect for that goddamn psychopath and literally nobody else.
'…Well, that's certainly disquieting, but I refuse to believe that's all there is to it,' my Master opined. As I said, I'd explained Prelati's Spellbook to her, up to the point where it was calling for human sacrifices.
I sighed across our psychic link. 'I concur. As far as I can discern, the summoning merely calls for a sacrifice of blood, flesh, and mana, the latter of which is the cause of our difficulty.' Mana in the concentration the book was demanding was only really found in humans, at least to my knowledge. I'd spent all the time since my summoning I hadn't spent getting rid of that serial killer combing through the Spellbook. I knew its history, just like I now knew Bluebeard's, but I had no real clue of its contents, nor what language it was written in, besides the fact that it clearly wasn't meant for human tongues. Also, it mentioned Cthulhu a lot, which was definitely reassuring. It'd be the work of several sleepless night to take it all in as fast as possible, to prepare for what was to come. The demigod I'd have to slay.
Tiffany gnawed at one of her nails, her eyes distant. 'And that's assuming that summoning demons isn't going to blow up in our faces somehow. I've dealt with my share of spirits, but demons, as this book defines them, may be a step too far… not that we have a choice, if we want to win.' She continued walking, speeding up slightly. 'And I still can't get over the fact that the Einzberns hired the Magus Killer. That's beyond the pale. That's-'
'Cheating?' I scoffed. 'Master, everyone in this War is cheating, or will go on to cheat.' I began listing them, according to memory. 'Emiya's not even the worst of it: Lancer's Master is splitting the contract, Rider's Master stole his catalyst, Assassin's Master is about to fake his Servant's death and Archer's Master is working with the Church! The only one who isn't is Berserker's Master, and that's because he's meant to be a cover for someone else's attempt to cheat the whole War!'
'Archer's Master is doing WHAT!?'
'This one's for all the marbles, Master! If you're not cheating, you aren't trying. That's what mages do best, after all; why would they play fair when cheating will let them win? I thought you'd know all about it.'
My Master did not growl, but her tone made it clear that growling was an option if I kept pushing. 'Watch your tongue, Caster. And tell me where I'm going. This town is a nightmare.'
I dutifully guided my Master towards the docks. She was pissed with me, and I couldn't really blame her. I'd not exactly been putting my best foot forward in this relationship. It was hard to give it my all when I knew she'd 'learn' who I was before long, which would undo any efforts to establish a rapport with her anyway.
Mental Pollution. That was what it came down to. 'My' alignment was whatever, I could explain that away as a quirk of legend, but that skill meant that any attempt to explain that 'hey actually I'm the ghost of some rando from outside the Kaleidoscope and also the future' would be dismissed as sheer madness. So instead, I needed a story. A redemption story for Bluebeard, of all people, and to do that, I needed to act like a guy who has a redemption story. Which meant I felt I couldn't be as forthcoming as I wanted to be, which, believe me, I know is a bad look.
That, and I was one quiet moment away from a nervous breakdown. As long as I was fretting over my relationship with my Master, I wasn't worrying about everything else in this goddamn nightmare of a universe. At least back home (I'm never coming back, I'll never see my family again, I'll never get to say goodbye, not unless I win) I didn't have to worry about the Moon deciding to delete my soul or whatever the fuck went on in Fate. It's not until you're deep in it that you realize that what makes a universe thrilling to read about is also what would make it terrifying to live in. I just thanked whatever cruel god put me here that I didn't end up in Worm, or worse, Kirby.
So, yeah, trying not to worry about the constant, low level of nausea that I knew, deep in my spectral guts, was my soul's way of calling attention to the planet trying to erase my existence as an impossibility, had me a bit on edge. Sorry, Tiff.
Speaking of whom, Tiffany had pulled a goddamn actual Nokia brick cellphone out of her pockets and was talking to someone on the other side. Well, 'talking' might be a strong word. She was saying things, and there was the occasional response, but was clearly one-sided. She interrupted herself, held a hand over the receiver, looked over her shoulder, creased her brow, then removed her hand again. 'Caster.' Oh, that was why. Easy mistake to make, if you're not used to telepathy, he said, being as he was a goddamn master of telepathic communication.
'Yes, Master?'
'Do you need living… subjects, or no?'
'It is immaterial, I believe.' As far as I recalled, in the anime Bluebeard summoned that first water demon from the corpses of the poor kid's parents, who were dead before he even was summoned, and the book had implied it was possible. Or at least, it hadn't stated otherwise. The real problem was the small bit of mana needed to start the ritual reaction that I couldn't provide. Wait, what was she doing?
She sighed in relief. 'Good. That makes this a lot easier.' I was tempted to just ask her but held my tongue until she finished her conversation. Tiffany wasn't what I expected from a mage, but when, which mage in this universe was? The only one I could recall looking the part was Zouken, and that guy could go die in a fire.
She was of average height, which meant she was quite a bit shorter than me, with stocky limbs and slightly rough features, like an unpolished sculpture. Her hair was either a light brown or a dirty blonde, I wasn't sure, and went down to just above her shoulders, swept backwards, away from her face. If I were a more poetic man, I might have gone on about her eyes for some time, but really, they were just pale blue, almost grey. She dressed sensibly, even soberly, to my eyes, with a pair of well-fitted and well-worn brown walking boots, her most notable feature being the big, high-collared, black coat she was wearing, lined with internal pockets judging by its bulk, which went down past her knees. If I'd passed her on the street, I wouldn't have known her from Jane Doe.
As I said, she didn't look like a mage, and not just because she was comfortable using a phone. I was actually surprised they had personal cellphones in 'current year', but then, I couldn't remember what 'current year' actually was. I didn't need to know, so I wasn't going to ask. Tiffany was disappointed enough in me already. It wasn't long before she wrapped up her conversation and sped her walk back up. We were at the docks soon enough, even with my less than stellar directions. I had no real tricks in this regard, nor was I very familiar with the city. And I wasn't about to leave her side, however little help I'd be against, say, Berserker.
Fuck me, the only Servant I could fight right now was Assassin, wasn't it? Here's to hoping we could change that sharpish.
Finally, we'd made it. The docks stretched out before us, the familiar smell of seawater, rust and wet concrete, scored by the call of seagulls and lapping waves. It wasn't a place of misery, but it was a functional place, full of warehouses, shipping containers and little else. Tiffany looked around with one eyebrow raised, gave a hearty sigh, and thought, 'This is it? What, then, is the plan? Where are we to wait, if I cannot leave, that is?'
'I know the event we are awaiting will happen close to night, but I cannot say exactly when, Master. I am sorry. But you may wait anywhere on these docks; we are in no danger of missing the event, as long as we are this close.' Bit of an understatement there.
'Fine.' She grimaced, but quickly schooled her expression. 'It might be for the best to go underground for a bit anyway. Find an empty warehouse, then report it to me. Then, we need to work on a more detailed plan. I'd heard something about a bounded field skill that Caster Servants share, is that accurate?'
I brushed of my momentary surprise, and gave a quick affirmation to my Master, who reaffirmed her desire to know more, then looked around for a place to sit while she waited. Meanwhile, I combed through the warehouses at the docks, pretending I knew what an abandoned warehouse looked like from the outside. It took me maybe thirty minutes to float through all the walls of the buildings, at which point I pointed my Master at the most promising one. We didn't really need it to be abandoned, just not in use for the next few days.
My plan at this point was rudimentary, even a little impulsive. It was based on four facts. First, Sakura (would it be Tohsaka or Matou at this point?) had to be saved. Second, I couldn't save her alone, owing to what I'd heard of the immense difficulty in doing so, and a lack of intel on Matou's mansion. Third, Kariya hadn't immediately turned Berserker on Zouken, which had to be for a reason, since his raison d'être at this point was getting her out of the bug pit to satisfy his misplaced paternal feelings for her. (And I couldn't blame it on bad writing anymore because I was living in that world now.) Fourth, I needed blood, flesh and mana, all at once, ideally from a human.
Zouken was pretty far from human at this point, but it would be the same to the water demons. Obviously, I needed to prepare first, but it seemed that my Master might be on that.
The only place in the near future I knew Berserker would be was the fight at the docks, which was convenient, because it also meant I could also do Saber a solid and keep her from Lancer's, err, what was it called again? The short golden spear, the one that leaves wounds that can't heal. That one. Gae Buidhe, that was it. Help her out. Artoria was a decent sort, no matter what the author of Fate/Zero thought of her. Actually, I didn't have to wonder what!
He thinks she's a stupid little girl who doesn't know what she's talking about, and all her ideals are stupid, and she should just give up, because who cares about making a better world, right?! Much better to look like a cool guy, and talk about how awesome being a sociopath is, and shit all over one of the only decent people in this fucking nihilistic nightmare of a show you sexist prig! Jesus, Urobuchi, you really can't help yourself, can you? Sakura and Aoi and Maiya and Irisviel and every other woman in this show weren't enough for you? Bad enough you write this crap, then you had to make Iskandar say it? He's so good, aside from this one scene where he's the fucking worst!
At least I expected no better from Gilgamesh.
'Master. I would like to inquire as to what you were discussing on the- device.' Nice save. Bluebeard didn't know what a cellphone was, idiot.
'…I was placing an order. A truck should come by here with a few fresh… pig carcasses in a while. I plan to infuse them with mana, so as to sacrifice them to your Noble Phantasm and allow it to work its magic,' and here she smirked at her own joke, but it didn't reach her eyes. I'd been hoping something like that was possible, so it was heartening to hear her thoughts had gone along similar lines.
I was a little curious how she'd gotten all that together on such short notice but held my tongue. For now. 'A valiant effort, Master. My only plans in that regard involved capturing rats.'
'Rats? Oh. Well, I guess… it's not like it wouldn't… but that would be…' she shook her head. 'We're getting off track. You said you had the skill I asked about? Territory Creation, you called it?'
'Indeed. Should I begin to construct one within the warehouse?'
'I'd say you read my mind, but that much is obvious. Are you able to continue the conversation while you work?'
I chuckled. 'If I am not, I will simply not respond.'
'Only fair.' She leaned back on the bench she'd found, and then I lost sight of her as I began Creating my Territory, which involved a lot of hand waving. I even had to physically materialize for the first time in a little while. I didn't really understand how it worked, but I could still feel something taking shape, so it was probably happening.
'While we have a moment, are there any other skills of which I should know? Anything that might be useful?' she thought.
Well, since the lady asked so nicely… 'I have my Appreciation of the Arts, although it's fairly low-ranked, but it might allow me to discern the nature of certain Noble Phantasms. As well, I have a skill that protects me against mental influences, even if I don't believe any of our enemies are using those. But that's all, Master. As I said, I'm a lousy Caster.'
Tiffany had been a study in contrasts in the brief time I'd known her; she'd been sharp, ready, when we'd met at the church. Then, after, as I explained what I knew about the War to her, the reality of the climb she'd have to make to get what she came here for made her blanch, took her aback, left her up the creek without a paddle. Right now, though, I couldn't read her tone as she conveyed, 'It'll have to do'. However, I had no trouble reading the frustration in, 'Since you won't tell me who you are.'
'I really do not understand why that bothers you so much, Master, it is largely… no, I suppose you're right,' I acquiesced with pretended reluctance, having planned for exactly this, 'it is not going to help us in the long term.'
'So, you'll tell me?'
I hummed. 'I will… explain my reticence. As you may have figured, in life I was not a good man. I would even say that I was an evil one. I was trying to prove… do you know what a theodicy is?'
'No?' she said, with more curiosity than confusion.
'A theodicy is an attempt to explain why god, who is omni-potent, omni-scient and omni-benevolent, allows the presence of all the world's evils, rather than snuffing them out. My… terrible work amounted to a counter-theodicy, an evil so great, it would prove to any who learned of it that no such god can or does exist. Because if he did, he would have struck me down for my sins. So either he had not the power, or he did not know, or he did not care.'
And Tiffany said 'Oh' because what was she meant to say? 'Why?'
'Would any justification be enough to cover for my sins? …But I suppose at that time I had deluded myself into believing there was a reason. A good reason. A just reason.' I paused for effect. 'There had been… someone dear to me. The light of the world, in my eyes, the most just, the most righteous, the best of us all, even as the world drowned in wickedness and greed. Killed by the very church I'd followed all my life. I could see no goodness in a world, or in a lord, who had allowed that to happen. And so, I set out on my quest to rid the world of that illusion.' I let it hang, to fester in her imagination while the wind blew, and my territory began to spring forth. 'But this was all before the Throne.'
'What 'Throne'? It sounds familiar.'
'The Throne of Heroes, wherefrom the Servants of the Holy Grail War are called, and whereto we all flew after our deaths.' Which did raise the question of where I'd come from, but never mind. 'Perhaps it is heaven, but it seems more an Elysium, where the honored dead can rest in eternal glory. And there, I had time. Though I learned a great deal, it was time, time away from my grief and, I suppose I must name it, my madness, that allowed me to see that I had made an error.
'You see, evil is a human thing. Often, I had heard in the sermons that man was a sinful beast, but in truth that is not the whole of it. All the many ills of the world; the truth, the core of it, is that while they certainly engender suffering, they are not in a cosmic sense evil. They exist because a universe where they could not, would be a universe of unimaginable anguish, as man's nature rebelled against the world he inhabited. Not a universe where they do not exist, you understand, only one which bears not even the possibility.
'The truth, Master, is that evil, true evil, does not exist. That is the only way to solve the theodicy: it is not a trap, a way of making us doubt the power, wisdom and goodness of the lord, it is a riddle, and this is the answer: If god is omni-potent, omni-scient and omni-benevolent, then this is the best of all possible worlds.' There was more to the explanation I could trot out if needed, but hopefully she'd accept it.
'…I don't,' she faltered, 'I don't even really know where to begin with that. I'm not even certain it makes sense.'
'It needn't make sense to you, Master, only insofar as it lets you understand why I am here. Understand that I have caused great and terrible suffering and that I am here to set it right.'
'…I mean… alright. Alright. I suppose you'll have your chance to prove it.' And then we didn't speak for a while afterwards. Eventually, I finished creating the bounded field of my territory. Standing in it felt like breathing clear air for the first time in my life, like moving from the smog-choked city to, uh, where I'd lived, I suppose. I didn't really know what to do with myself afterwards, so I just returned to the Spellbook, trying to see if it had any more secrets for me.
Finally, my Master called for me, and I found her standing by several Styrofoam boxes, which I helped haul into the warehouse, because apparently just telling the deliveryman which abandoned warehouse we were hiding in was an unacceptable risk. Following a belated visit to a camping supply store for sundries because Tiffany had nothing but the clothes on her back and a great deal of money, we settled in to work on the summoning.
The first carcass was laid on the floor, ice-melt flowing slowly off it. I won't pretend I understood what Tiffany was doing with it in order to infuse it with mana somehow. To me, it was a lot of mumbling, glowing light, and her occasionally nibbling on something she dug out of a jacket pocket. Eventually, she stepped back, shook off her stiffness, and waved her arms in the direction of the unprocessed carcass.
Eager to be finished with a task we clearly both found uncomfortable, I stepped forward and leafed through Prelati's Spellbook until it landed, as though by magic, on the correct incantation. I cleared my throat. I squared my chest. I spoke the blasphemous words: "Yuln Cthulhunyth."
The flesh tore open, and through the cracks, like blood from a wound at a hundred times the speed, flowed a thing made of dark water. Its sinuous tentacles slapped onto the bare floor, as its blind face, fit only to rip and tear, reached toward the sky. The noise was like nothing I'd ever heard, like someone taking a pestle to a clump of cartilage. Eventually, dreadfully, it stood up. My first water demon. It wobbled like an image in a restless pond, but I felt the Spellbook humming in my hands, like the flickering of an eyelid beneath my fingertips. It was awake. It was hungry. I had paid the price, and now, this being would serve me.
It looked like it shouldn't be alive. A bulging knot of tentacles, beset with barbs and mouths, ringed with teeth. Nothing worldly could look like this. Nothing wholesome could make those noises.
I'd been thoroughly shaken, but Tiffany was made of sterner stuff, because she spoke first, without so much as a waver in her voice. "Good. It worked," she said, and turned from it towards me. "How strong is it? How many can you make? How much mana does it require? Any weaknesses, conditions, special attributes?"
We'd just summoned a literal demon, and already she was back on winning this fucking War. It struck me in that moment that I was only in it because I had no choice but to be, but my Master had sought it out. Hell, she'd sought it out faster than anyone else. I suppose I shouldn't complain that I got someone so eager to win. I'd resolved in the first place to choose the first mage who came, so it'd be foremost in their mind that I could have chosen anyone, which would make them more willing to compromise if my new Master worried I'd just up and leave. It might be that I had not sufficiently considered the potential difficulties with having this, and the word was hungry, of a Master. After all, even if 'we' won the War, she'd never see the Root.
Seven Servants had to die to reach Heaven's Feel, and as I'd told her, I dearly wished to live. To continue my life, my original life. And in order to fulfill that wish, I had to win, and claim the single wish the Grail contained. Not her. Not anyone else. I had a feeling she'd be unsympathetic.
Translation: 'I call/summon a servant of Cthulhu.'
I'm well aware that, in the show, Caster just says 'Cthulhu ftaghn' when summoning a water demon, but I decided to try my hand at doing some R'lyehian myself, which turned out to be fun, so I'll be using some of that work throughout.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed this look into the mind of our leading man! We'll be swapping back between Master and Servant like this every chapter from now on, so look forward to Tiffany having a few probing questions about what the hell SI!Caster's plan is.
As usual, this story is being cross-posted on AO3
Explaining that goddamn book took a little while, and she was pretty clearly unhappy with me when I finished. I didn't exactly blame her, but that didn't make me happier about this situation. The book wasn't really mine, and I'd never actually sacrificed anyone to it, but I had inherited the legacy, not to mention the appearance of the man who did. It was my own personal hell: being blamed for something terrible that I didn't do and having no way to prove my innocence without sounding crazy. Part of me wanted to yell the truth at her, to desperately plead my case, but I held off. It wouldn't help.
What I needed to do was construct a convincing narrative for Bluebeard being a worthy partner. And didn't that rankle? The man was… a monster. There was no justification for what he did, whatever excuses he'd conjured up for himself. I remembered, and the knowledge I'd inherited from him confirmed, that at least in this world, he'd wanted to prove that no benevolent God oversaw humanity. I didn't give a shit.
He'd tortured and raped over two hundred children to death. Burn in hell, you toad-looking mongrel piece of filthy fucking toilet rag.
That's not hyperbole, by the way. I feel that assumption would be a reasonable reaction to being told that, but it's all just true. And he did it because he liked doing it. I know the anime skimmed over it; as I remembered, it was mostly downplayed to 'child murder,' but really, he was just actually a top contender for 'Worst Person Ever.' Yes. The godforsaken humanoid wretch in Fate/Zero was Bluebeard as presented in the best possible light. So, imagine my delight to be saddled with his reputation. Which was awful. And his skills. Which were worse. And his Noble Phantasm, which only ran on all cylinders if I completely abandoned all attempts at morality and just started murdering people. It was perfect for that goddamn psychopath and literally nobody else.
'…Well, that's certainly disquieting, but I refuse to believe that's all there is to it,' my Master opined. As I said, I'd explained Prelati's Spellbook to her, up to the point where it was calling for human sacrifices.
I sighed across our psychic link. 'I concur. As far as I can discern, the summoning merely calls for a sacrifice of blood, flesh, and mana, the latter of which is the cause of our difficulty.' Mana in the concentration the book was demanding was only really found in humans, at least to my knowledge. I'd spent all the time since my summoning I hadn't spent getting rid of that serial killer combing through the Spellbook. I knew its history, just like I now knew Bluebeard's, but I had no real clue of its contents, nor what language it was written in, besides the fact that it clearly wasn't meant for human tongues. Also, it mentioned Cthulhu a lot, which was definitely reassuring. It'd be the work of several sleepless night to take it all in as fast as possible, to prepare for what was to come. The demigod I'd have to slay.
Tiffany gnawed at one of her nails, her eyes distant. 'And that's assuming that summoning demons isn't going to blow up in our faces somehow. I've dealt with my share of spirits, but demons, as this book defines them, may be a step too far… not that we have a choice, if we want to win.' She continued walking, speeding up slightly. 'And I still can't get over the fact that the Einzberns hired the Magus Killer. That's beyond the pale. That's-'
'Cheating?' I scoffed. 'Master, everyone in this War is cheating, or will go on to cheat.' I began listing them, according to memory. 'Emiya's not even the worst of it: Lancer's Master is splitting the contract, Rider's Master stole his catalyst, Assassin's Master is about to fake his Servant's death and Archer's Master is working with the Church! The only one who isn't is Berserker's Master, and that's because he's meant to be a cover for someone else's attempt to cheat the whole War!'
'Archer's Master is doing WHAT!?'
'This one's for all the marbles, Master! If you're not cheating, you aren't trying. That's what mages do best, after all; why would they play fair when cheating will let them win? I thought you'd know all about it.'
My Master did not growl, but her tone made it clear that growling was an option if I kept pushing. 'Watch your tongue, Caster. And tell me where I'm going. This town is a nightmare.'
I dutifully guided my Master towards the docks. She was pissed with me, and I couldn't really blame her. I'd not exactly been putting my best foot forward in this relationship. It was hard to give it my all when I knew she'd 'learn' who I was before long, which would undo any efforts to establish a rapport with her anyway.
Mental Pollution. That was what it came down to. 'My' alignment was whatever, I could explain that away as a quirk of legend, but that skill meant that any attempt to explain that 'hey actually I'm the ghost of some rando from outside the Kaleidoscope and also the future' would be dismissed as sheer madness. So instead, I needed a story. A redemption story for Bluebeard, of all people, and to do that, I needed to act like a guy who has a redemption story. Which meant I felt I couldn't be as forthcoming as I wanted to be, which, believe me, I know is a bad look.
That, and I was one quiet moment away from a nervous breakdown. As long as I was fretting over my relationship with my Master, I wasn't worrying about everything else in this goddamn nightmare of a universe. At least back home (I'm never coming back, I'll never see my family again, I'll never get to say goodbye, not unless I win) I didn't have to worry about the Moon deciding to delete my soul or whatever the fuck went on in Fate. It's not until you're deep in it that you realize that what makes a universe thrilling to read about is also what would make it terrifying to live in. I just thanked whatever cruel god put me here that I didn't end up in Worm, or worse, Kirby.
So, yeah, trying not to worry about the constant, low level of nausea that I knew, deep in my spectral guts, was my soul's way of calling attention to the planet trying to erase my existence as an impossibility, had me a bit on edge. Sorry, Tiff.
Speaking of whom, Tiffany had pulled a goddamn actual Nokia brick cellphone out of her pockets and was talking to someone on the other side. Well, 'talking' might be a strong word. She was saying things, and there was the occasional response, but was clearly one-sided. She interrupted herself, held a hand over the receiver, looked over her shoulder, creased her brow, then removed her hand again. 'Caster.' Oh, that was why. Easy mistake to make, if you're not used to telepathy, he said, being as he was a goddamn master of telepathic communication.
'Yes, Master?'
'Do you need living… subjects, or no?'
'It is immaterial, I believe.' As far as I recalled, in the anime Bluebeard summoned that first water demon from the corpses of the poor kid's parents, who were dead before he even was summoned, and the book had implied it was possible. Or at least, it hadn't stated otherwise. The real problem was the small bit of mana needed to start the ritual reaction that I couldn't provide. Wait, what was she doing?
She sighed in relief. 'Good. That makes this a lot easier.' I was tempted to just ask her but held my tongue until she finished her conversation. Tiffany wasn't what I expected from a mage, but when, which mage in this universe was? The only one I could recall looking the part was Zouken, and that guy could go die in a fire.
She was of average height, which meant she was quite a bit shorter than me, with stocky limbs and slightly rough features, like an unpolished sculpture. Her hair was either a light brown or a dirty blonde, I wasn't sure, and went down to just above her shoulders, swept backwards, away from her face. If I were a more poetic man, I might have gone on about her eyes for some time, but really, they were just pale blue, almost grey. She dressed sensibly, even soberly, to my eyes, with a pair of well-fitted and well-worn brown walking boots, her most notable feature being the big, high-collared, black coat she was wearing, lined with internal pockets judging by its bulk, which went down past her knees. If I'd passed her on the street, I wouldn't have known her from Jane Doe.
As I said, she didn't look like a mage, and not just because she was comfortable using a phone. I was actually surprised they had personal cellphones in 'current year', but then, I couldn't remember what 'current year' actually was. I didn't need to know, so I wasn't going to ask. Tiffany was disappointed enough in me already. It wasn't long before she wrapped up her conversation and sped her walk back up. We were at the docks soon enough, even with my less than stellar directions. I had no real tricks in this regard, nor was I very familiar with the city. And I wasn't about to leave her side, however little help I'd be against, say, Berserker.
Fuck me, the only Servant I could fight right now was Assassin, wasn't it? Here's to hoping we could change that sharpish.
Finally, we'd made it. The docks stretched out before us, the familiar smell of seawater, rust and wet concrete, scored by the call of seagulls and lapping waves. It wasn't a place of misery, but it was a functional place, full of warehouses, shipping containers and little else. Tiffany looked around with one eyebrow raised, gave a hearty sigh, and thought, 'This is it? What, then, is the plan? Where are we to wait, if I cannot leave, that is?'
'I know the event we are awaiting will happen close to night, but I cannot say exactly when, Master. I am sorry. But you may wait anywhere on these docks; we are in no danger of missing the event, as long as we are this close.' Bit of an understatement there.
'Fine.' She grimaced, but quickly schooled her expression. 'It might be for the best to go underground for a bit anyway. Find an empty warehouse, then report it to me. Then, we need to work on a more detailed plan. I'd heard something about a bounded field skill that Caster Servants share, is that accurate?'
I brushed of my momentary surprise, and gave a quick affirmation to my Master, who reaffirmed her desire to know more, then looked around for a place to sit while she waited. Meanwhile, I combed through the warehouses at the docks, pretending I knew what an abandoned warehouse looked like from the outside. It took me maybe thirty minutes to float through all the walls of the buildings, at which point I pointed my Master at the most promising one. We didn't really need it to be abandoned, just not in use for the next few days.
My plan at this point was rudimentary, even a little impulsive. It was based on four facts. First, Sakura (would it be Tohsaka or Matou at this point?) had to be saved. Second, I couldn't save her alone, owing to what I'd heard of the immense difficulty in doing so, and a lack of intel on Matou's mansion. Third, Kariya hadn't immediately turned Berserker on Zouken, which had to be for a reason, since his raison d'être at this point was getting her out of the bug pit to satisfy his misplaced paternal feelings for her. (And I couldn't blame it on bad writing anymore because I was living in that world now.) Fourth, I needed blood, flesh and mana, all at once, ideally from a human.
Zouken was pretty far from human at this point, but it would be the same to the water demons. Obviously, I needed to prepare first, but it seemed that my Master might be on that.
The only place in the near future I knew Berserker would be was the fight at the docks, which was convenient, because it also meant I could also do Saber a solid and keep her from Lancer's, err, what was it called again? The short golden spear, the one that leaves wounds that can't heal. That one. Gae Buidhe, that was it. Help her out. Artoria was a decent sort, no matter what the author of Fate/Zero thought of her. Actually, I didn't have to wonder what!
He thinks she's a stupid little girl who doesn't know what she's talking about, and all her ideals are stupid, and she should just give up, because who cares about making a better world, right?! Much better to look like a cool guy, and talk about how awesome being a sociopath is, and shit all over one of the only decent people in this fucking nihilistic nightmare of a show you sexist prig! Jesus, Urobuchi, you really can't help yourself, can you? Sakura and Aoi and Maiya and Irisviel and every other woman in this show weren't enough for you? Bad enough you write this crap, then you had to make Iskandar say it? He's so good, aside from this one scene where he's the fucking worst!
At least I expected no better from Gilgamesh.
'Master. I would like to inquire as to what you were discussing on the- device.' Nice save. Bluebeard didn't know what a cellphone was, idiot.
'…I was placing an order. A truck should come by here with a few fresh… pig carcasses in a while. I plan to infuse them with mana, so as to sacrifice them to your Noble Phantasm and allow it to work its magic,' and here she smirked at her own joke, but it didn't reach her eyes. I'd been hoping something like that was possible, so it was heartening to hear her thoughts had gone along similar lines.
I was a little curious how she'd gotten all that together on such short notice but held my tongue. For now. 'A valiant effort, Master. My only plans in that regard involved capturing rats.'
'Rats? Oh. Well, I guess… it's not like it wouldn't… but that would be…' she shook her head. 'We're getting off track. You said you had the skill I asked about? Territory Creation, you called it?'
'Indeed. Should I begin to construct one within the warehouse?'
'I'd say you read my mind, but that much is obvious. Are you able to continue the conversation while you work?'
I chuckled. 'If I am not, I will simply not respond.'
'Only fair.' She leaned back on the bench she'd found, and then I lost sight of her as I began Creating my Territory, which involved a lot of hand waving. I even had to physically materialize for the first time in a little while. I didn't really understand how it worked, but I could still feel something taking shape, so it was probably happening.
'While we have a moment, are there any other skills of which I should know? Anything that might be useful?' she thought.
Well, since the lady asked so nicely… 'I have my Appreciation of the Arts, although it's fairly low-ranked, but it might allow me to discern the nature of certain Noble Phantasms. As well, I have a skill that protects me against mental influences, even if I don't believe any of our enemies are using those. But that's all, Master. As I said, I'm a lousy Caster.'
Tiffany had been a study in contrasts in the brief time I'd known her; she'd been sharp, ready, when we'd met at the church. Then, after, as I explained what I knew about the War to her, the reality of the climb she'd have to make to get what she came here for made her blanch, took her aback, left her up the creek without a paddle. Right now, though, I couldn't read her tone as she conveyed, 'It'll have to do'. However, I had no trouble reading the frustration in, 'Since you won't tell me who you are.'
'I really do not understand why that bothers you so much, Master, it is largely… no, I suppose you're right,' I acquiesced with pretended reluctance, having planned for exactly this, 'it is not going to help us in the long term.'
'So, you'll tell me?'
I hummed. 'I will… explain my reticence. As you may have figured, in life I was not a good man. I would even say that I was an evil one. I was trying to prove… do you know what a theodicy is?'
'No?' she said, with more curiosity than confusion.
'A theodicy is an attempt to explain why god, who is omni-potent, omni-scient and omni-benevolent, allows the presence of all the world's evils, rather than snuffing them out. My… terrible work amounted to a counter-theodicy, an evil so great, it would prove to any who learned of it that no such god can or does exist. Because if he did, he would have struck me down for my sins. So either he had not the power, or he did not know, or he did not care.'
And Tiffany said 'Oh' because what was she meant to say? 'Why?'
'Would any justification be enough to cover for my sins? …But I suppose at that time I had deluded myself into believing there was a reason. A good reason. A just reason.' I paused for effect. 'There had been… someone dear to me. The light of the world, in my eyes, the most just, the most righteous, the best of us all, even as the world drowned in wickedness and greed. Killed by the very church I'd followed all my life. I could see no goodness in a world, or in a lord, who had allowed that to happen. And so, I set out on my quest to rid the world of that illusion.' I let it hang, to fester in her imagination while the wind blew, and my territory began to spring forth. 'But this was all before the Throne.'
'What 'Throne'? It sounds familiar.'
'The Throne of Heroes, wherefrom the Servants of the Holy Grail War are called, and whereto we all flew after our deaths.' Which did raise the question of where I'd come from, but never mind. 'Perhaps it is heaven, but it seems more an Elysium, where the honored dead can rest in eternal glory. And there, I had time. Though I learned a great deal, it was time, time away from my grief and, I suppose I must name it, my madness, that allowed me to see that I had made an error.
'You see, evil is a human thing. Often, I had heard in the sermons that man was a sinful beast, but in truth that is not the whole of it. All the many ills of the world; the truth, the core of it, is that while they certainly engender suffering, they are not in a cosmic sense evil. They exist because a universe where they could not, would be a universe of unimaginable anguish, as man's nature rebelled against the world he inhabited. Not a universe where they do not exist, you understand, only one which bears not even the possibility.
'The truth, Master, is that evil, true evil, does not exist. That is the only way to solve the theodicy: it is not a trap, a way of making us doubt the power, wisdom and goodness of the lord, it is a riddle, and this is the answer: If god is omni-potent, omni-scient and omni-benevolent, then this is the best of all possible worlds.' There was more to the explanation I could trot out if needed, but hopefully she'd accept it.
'…I don't,' she faltered, 'I don't even really know where to begin with that. I'm not even certain it makes sense.'
'It needn't make sense to you, Master, only insofar as it lets you understand why I am here. Understand that I have caused great and terrible suffering and that I am here to set it right.'
'…I mean… alright. Alright. I suppose you'll have your chance to prove it.' And then we didn't speak for a while afterwards. Eventually, I finished creating the bounded field of my territory. Standing in it felt like breathing clear air for the first time in my life, like moving from the smog-choked city to, uh, where I'd lived, I suppose. I didn't really know what to do with myself afterwards, so I just returned to the Spellbook, trying to see if it had any more secrets for me.
Finally, my Master called for me, and I found her standing by several Styrofoam boxes, which I helped haul into the warehouse, because apparently just telling the deliveryman which abandoned warehouse we were hiding in was an unacceptable risk. Following a belated visit to a camping supply store for sundries because Tiffany had nothing but the clothes on her back and a great deal of money, we settled in to work on the summoning.
The first carcass was laid on the floor, ice-melt flowing slowly off it. I won't pretend I understood what Tiffany was doing with it in order to infuse it with mana somehow. To me, it was a lot of mumbling, glowing light, and her occasionally nibbling on something she dug out of a jacket pocket. Eventually, she stepped back, shook off her stiffness, and waved her arms in the direction of the unprocessed carcass.
Eager to be finished with a task we clearly both found uncomfortable, I stepped forward and leafed through Prelati's Spellbook until it landed, as though by magic, on the correct incantation. I cleared my throat. I squared my chest. I spoke the blasphemous words: "Yuln Cthulhunyth."
The flesh tore open, and through the cracks, like blood from a wound at a hundred times the speed, flowed a thing made of dark water. Its sinuous tentacles slapped onto the bare floor, as its blind face, fit only to rip and tear, reached toward the sky. The noise was like nothing I'd ever heard, like someone taking a pestle to a clump of cartilage. Eventually, dreadfully, it stood up. My first water demon. It wobbled like an image in a restless pond, but I felt the Spellbook humming in my hands, like the flickering of an eyelid beneath my fingertips. It was awake. It was hungry. I had paid the price, and now, this being would serve me.
It looked like it shouldn't be alive. A bulging knot of tentacles, beset with barbs and mouths, ringed with teeth. Nothing worldly could look like this. Nothing wholesome could make those noises.
I'd been thoroughly shaken, but Tiffany was made of sterner stuff, because she spoke first, without so much as a waver in her voice. "Good. It worked," she said, and turned from it towards me. "How strong is it? How many can you make? How much mana does it require? Any weaknesses, conditions, special attributes?"
We'd just summoned a literal demon, and already she was back on winning this fucking War. It struck me in that moment that I was only in it because I had no choice but to be, but my Master had sought it out. Hell, she'd sought it out faster than anyone else. I suppose I shouldn't complain that I got someone so eager to win. I'd resolved in the first place to choose the first mage who came, so it'd be foremost in their mind that I could have chosen anyone, which would make them more willing to compromise if my new Master worried I'd just up and leave. It might be that I had not sufficiently considered the potential difficulties with having this, and the word was hungry, of a Master. After all, even if 'we' won the War, she'd never see the Root.
Seven Servants had to die to reach Heaven's Feel, and as I'd told her, I dearly wished to live. To continue my life, my original life. And in order to fulfill that wish, I had to win, and claim the single wish the Grail contained. Not her. Not anyone else. I had a feeling she'd be unsympathetic.
Translation: 'I call/summon a servant of Cthulhu.'
I'm well aware that, in the show, Caster just says 'Cthulhu ftaghn' when summoning a water demon, but I decided to try my hand at doing some R'lyehian myself, which turned out to be fun, so I'll be using some of that work throughout.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed this look into the mind of our leading man! We'll be swapping back between Master and Servant like this every chapter from now on, so look forward to Tiffany having a few probing questions about what the hell SI!Caster's plan is.
As usual, this story is being cross-posted on AO3
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Is he not aware of how amoral magus's normally are? He's small beans in comparison. There was a guy that was sacrificing children for mana crystals. That guy is the norm.
Also why worry about Sakura when he can't help himself? Or is this the standard fix everything Si's do?
Edit: I wonder how much he doesn't know. If he can't remember something as major as Saber, then does he not remember all the worlds evils in the grail?
Also why worry about Sakura when he can't help himself? Or is this the standard fix everything Si's do?
Edit: I wonder how much he doesn't know. If he can't remember something as major as Saber, then does he not remember all the worlds evils in the grail?
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The Grey Mage
Certified Team Flare Hater
- Location
- Parallel Universe 43-j
So he knows seven Servants have to die, but does he know about Angra Mainyu making the grail Evil? Although maybe his philosophy about evil from this chapter will come up in regards to that.
And how is he planning on getting home anyway? If you need seven Servants to reach the Root, I doubt six will be enough to get him outside of the Type Moon Universe.
Especially since I'm not entirely sure Saber will even be absorbed by the grail if she's killed. She might just get sent back to her time.
Maybe Gil or Assassin count for extra? Or he could see about getting additional Servants summoned. Stay Night had two Assassins summoned, maybe he could kill a Servant and then summon a different one in that Class.
And how is he planning on getting home anyway? If you need seven Servants to reach the Root, I doubt six will be enough to get him outside of the Type Moon Universe.
Especially since I'm not entirely sure Saber will even be absorbed by the grail if she's killed. She might just get sent back to her time.
Maybe Gil or Assassin count for extra? Or he could see about getting additional Servants summoned. Stay Night had two Assassins summoned, maybe he could kill a Servant and then summon a different one in that Class.
- Location
- Probably at sea
Ninja'd, but, um, the SI does remember that the Fuyuki Grail can't actually grant any wishes you don't already know how to accomplish, right? And would probably Microsoft Clippy it into "We can't find 'return to your universe'. Did you mean: 'kill everyone until the universe is technically yours by virtue of your being the only thing left alive'?"
Otherwise, good to finally have a look inside their head, and to have found a workaround in order to get some minions. Looking forward to the inevitable personality clash between our SI and his magus Master.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Nah, that's crazy! If that were true, there'd be no way for him to get home! And that can't be. It can't. It can't.
EDIT: To answer your question, and others', in more concrete terms... well, this'll come up later, but before writing this story, I hadn't read all that much Fate stuff? I was aware of it in general terms, but, for instance, I'd never read Fate Stay/Night. This has been corrected, but anything I had to learn by looking into it, I'm not about to let my SI, who didn't get the chance to consult the wiki before he left, just magically know.
And before I read Fate Stay/Night, I was very much under the impression that Kiritsugu just fucked up, because he was a bad dude who'd led a life of destruction, and that meant that he could think of nothing else. Not that the Grail is irrevocably tainted, and that any wish, no matter how well thought out, will become destruction. He thinks you just have to be clever enough about it to, leave no loopholes for Angra Mainyu. A combination of this, and a need to believe he can get home to keep himself going instead of going off to cry in a corner until he runs out of mana, has caused him to make the same mistake every mage who fights in the Holy Grail War makes.
He thinks he's special.
As for Sakura, she's within reach and he thinks he can save her? That's really all there is to it. She deserves someone trying, and Kariya wasn't cutting it.
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Chapter 3: In Which We Encounter a Challenge
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 3: In Which We Encounter a Challenge
"Archer." Her voice was groggy, this late at night, and she couldn't even have any coffee. They'd agreed that, rather than one continuous sleep, she'd be taking several naps throughout the day and night, to keep ready at any moment. But that was easy to say when you were about to drop to the floor and sleep wherever you fell. Much harder when she'd been prodded awake, awoken from restless slumber filled with images of battlefields, and a woman, or perhaps a girl, wreathed in holy light, to be in possibly the least comfortable position she'd ever been. Cold, practically sleeping on a concrete floor, and overseen by the blank, pitiless un-gaze of literal demons. "You said Archer's Master was working with the Church, so…" she waved her hand vaguely, "elaborate."
Caster stopped his apparent attempt to disassemble the now empty Styrofoam box into a fine particulate to alleviate his boredom and answered her. "I'm glad you asked, Master, seeing as Archer is almost certainly the greatest threat we will face in this War, and, well, you need to know."
If she'd been fully awake, she'd have resisted the urge to groan. "Well, if you'd told me that, I might have asked yesterday. If indeed I need to know."
"That's as may be. But alas: Archer. His True Name is Gilgamesh, King of Uruk-"
Tiffany, still sat on the ground in her sleeping bag, took her wrist between her jaws, clamped down, and screamed, quick and sharp, in frustration. It was not, in the grand scheme of screaming, an exceptionally long scream, but damn if it wasn't cathartic. King Arthur was a legend among legends, and now the Hero with a Thousand Faces was her enemy as well. Joy. Age bred power; such is the law of Mystery.
"…I take it you're familiar. Your reaction, though extreme, is warranted. Indeed, he is one of the most powerful Servants which can be summoned. His Divinity skill, which shields him from magic, is practically unmatched, being as he is two-thirds divine, because the ancient world was a little confused about how parentage works, so he has two fathers.
"His 'Gate of Babylon' Noble Phantasm is a nightmare, being a functionally bottomless repository of weapons, most only falling just short of Noble Phantasms themselves, and many greater; in fact, many are the Noble Phantasms of other heroes, which he may launch from it at will. His stats are appropriately legendary, and as he is an Archer, his Independent Action skill means that taking out his Master, Tokiomi Tohsaka, is not the automatic win you were probably hoping for. Only, as you know, it doesn't end there."
"Because he's also working with the Church. A mage of the Association. Working with the Church. Willingly. Why?!" Tiffany pressed on. After her childish outburst, she saw no recourse aside from simply pretending it had never happened. All this, the fact that she was up against the God-King of Uruk, the fact that his Master was a traitor and a cheat, the fact that her own Servant couldn't just be straightforward with all this intel but insisted on drip-feeding it to her, all of this was just- deep breath. Just another piece of the puzzle. Her hand tensed, and she felt her skin stretch over her Command Seals but held off. He was talking, after all. As long as he kept talking, she didn't need to make him.
"Well, for Tokiomi, it's fairly obvious: the Church is a powerful ally, and allows him to collude with another Master," there was a Master in the Church? "but for the Church, it is less so, even to me. I do know that the Tohsaka family have historically had good relations with them, and it may be as simple as that; the Church wanting a winner who might favor them, throwing their lot in with him so as to render him in their debt, before he comes into this great fortune. But it also may not; it is unclear to me. I do know that his ally in the Church has no wish but is still a Master; since he would have to compete regardless, perhaps they are just making the best of a messy situation."
She perked up. "You know what this person's wish is? Do you know the others' as well?"
Caster blinked, a rippling motion of far too much skin. "Er, yes. I did not deem it tactically relevant, but I do. Do you wish to- I kid, I kid," he said, waving off her annoyed expression. "Of course you wish to know. Very well, from the beginning, since yesterday: Kiritsugu's wish is for world peace, but he knows no way for the Grail to achieve it, so he will fail, even should he win. Saber's wish is to return to the moment she took the sword from the stone, only that time she will refuse it, believing herself unworthy of it and responsible for Camelot's fall. Tokiomi simply seeks the Root, and Gilgamesh disdains all this, and will act according to his whim. He does not, I believe, wish to reincarnate at present, as he sees no worth in the modern world."
Caster's strange gaze bored into her yet again. "And that, Master, is our greatest asset against him. Archer cares naught for the Grail, and even less for his Master; he will fight, if it interests him, and only then, otherwise Tokiomi must force him. And he cannot do so forever. The Church cannot have it be known that they tipped the scales, lest they lose the veneer of neutrality, and so they cannot simply supply him with Command Seals without pretext. Therefore…"
A faint grin spread across two faces. "Therefore, as long as Archer never has reason to get involved, he's only as much of an obstacle as Tohsaka makes him, he won't lift a finger for him on his own," she said, completing the thought. "At least until we have to take Archer himself out," she admitted, but even this thought didn't completely sour her relief. "Are you going to tell me about this Master he's allied with, or no?" she said sarcastically.
Surprisingly, Caster actually did confide that he was referring to Assassin's Master, which made a few things slot into place for Tiffany, namely half an idea as to what the Assassin-Archer alliance was actually planning. With Archer unwilling to earn his keep, they'd need Assassin free to work, which they'd achieve with the 'cheating' Caster had mentioned yesterday. As the flywheels of her mind whirred, Tiffany set about preparing herself, both physically and magically, for the War to come.
This consumed her first full proper day as a Master. Mostly, she infused the few pig carcasses she had had her brother secure on this short notice with mana, watched Caster at work, prepared her emergency concoctions, checked her talismans, slept in a cheap sleeping bag on a concrete floor, ate protein bars and drank bottled water. The only reason she even had this much mana to work with was Caster's workshop, which greatly lessened the drain on her resources he represented. She put the small hot plate she'd purchased to good use making tinctures, despite the indignity of it all. Her brother would be laughing at her if he could see her like this, hunched over such a cheap and flimsy device. Which was at least a marked improvement over last year.
Aside from all that, whatever Caster had been waiting for, it did not happen that day. Or the next. But two things did.
The first thing happened little by little. Every time she slept Tiffany dreamt. These dreams began very quickly, and were unusually vivid, scenes of carnage, metal, and brilliant light. And every time she woke, she knew something new about Caster. Was this the bond that the old priest had mentioned? A source of inexplicable knowledge of Caster, above and beyond what he'd told her himself.
Servant Caster
True Name: ???
Sex: Male
Height: 196 cm
Weight: 70 kg
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
That last part was… disquieting, but her Command Seals would be a bulwark between Caster and any funny business, rd.: betrayals. Besides, while he seemed to enjoy playing the gadfly, he was at least nominally capable of cooperation and compromise.
Parameters
Strength (D)
Endurance (E)
Agility (D)
Mana (C)
Luck (E)
Noble Phantasm (A+)
A lousy Caster indeed.
Skills
Territory Creation (B): The establishment of a Workshop is possible, wherein the effects of this Servant's magecraft are greater and easier to perform. Caster did not possess this ability in life, and its presence is simply a quirk of his Class Container.
Appreciation of the Arts (E-): The ability to evaluate artistry and craftsmanship; at this level, the identification of some artistic Noble Phantasms is possible.
Mental Pollution (A): This skill represents a deranged detachment from reality in the Servant, not unlike Mad Enhancement. Whereas Mad Enhancement is specifically violent, however, there is no discerning or predicting how this derangement manifests in a given Servant. At this level, the Servant is completely detached from normal human thought, and is consequently shielded from attempts at mental influence.
But that wasn't all. That last skill, Mental Pollution, was worrisome. 'Skill that protects me from mental influence,' her ass. Frankly, she didn't know what to make of it. Caster had not seemed 'deranged' as the description put it, and he had been able to speak with her, make rudimentary plans, and so on. He had demonstrated the ability to reason, as well as a frustrating degree of self-interest. He was definitely not incomprehensible to normal human thought and was at least capable of faking understanding of her in turn. But what did that mean?
Was he faking sanity, for some purpose she had no hope of guessing at? If so, the safest option was undoubtedly to order him to commit suicide immediately, before whatever plot he had cooked up went off, and more than likely killed her or worse. Or was his derangement one she could work around, something related to his revelation from the Throne? Or was it something else? Was the description of this skill somehow wrong, even though it had come from the familiar bond this War required?
Noble Phantasm
Prelati's Spellbook (Anti-Army) (A+): The forbidden tome of the mad priest Prelati, this living book of dark magic allows for the summoning, binding and commanding of fell demons from another reality. It is scribed with the language of sunken R'lyeh, dread tongue of the Old Ones, and through the power of terrible, bloody sacrifice, it will let even a rank amateur play at being a first-rate magus.
The description of this 'equal of Excalibur' was more prosaic, and only confirmed what Caster had already told her.
Speaking of confirmation, the second thing that happened was that on the morning of the second day, before she went to nap for the first time that day, she received another phone call from her father. In it, he'd told her that Tokiomi Tohsaka had reported the death of a Servant to the Church, and they to the Clocktower, during the night. Thereafter, the report went on, the Servant's Master, Kirei Kotomine, retired into the safety of the church. It wasn't much of a puzzle, and a quick question for Caster confirmed the truth; this was the Tohsaka faction's gamble to fake one of their Servants' death. And now, she was likely the only Master outside the conspiracy who knew that Assassin would still be active.
But that just begged the question, which had been stuck in her mind like a splinter, of how Caster knew these things. Caster was obviously expecting something to happen at the docks, and the information he'd provided on the other Servants and their Masters was detailed enough, and believable enough, that Tiffany had been tenuously willing to accept it at face value, in lieu of any other options. But this was… future knowledge. Intel no one was supposed to have. Plans even her enemies might not have made yet.
Was it worth it to spend a Command Seal on uncovering everything he might know?
It took longer than Tiffany was satisfied with to reach a conclusion; she preferred to be more decisive, had been trained to be more decisive. In the end, she decided that, at present, the situation was stable, and that forcing Caster to spill would damage their relationship to a dangerous degree, which could prove fatal. Both because of how early they were in the War, but also considering her new revelations about Caster.
It was with an unquiet mind that she asked Caster about Assassin. "Something spark your curiosity, Master? Your informant told you something?" he said, smiling. It was a hard smile to parse. On another face, it might have seemed kind, but on his, it looked like the opening lip of a carnivorous plant. She didn't know which image to trust.
"He told me the same thing you did, only you told me before it happened. I want to know how they did it," she said. And how you did, she didn't say.
Caster adjusted his posture, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, seeming perfectly comfortable. Tiffany's spine ached in envy. "No harm, I suppose, although Assassin is not much of a threat to us. No more than could be expected, anyway, obviously any Servant is some threat. Assassin is, as is proper, a true Hashashin, this one called Hassan of the Hundred Faces." He thought for a moment. "I suppose it is easiest to start with their most notable feature: their Noble Phantasm. Assassin, in life, had a mind fractured into a mosaic of identities, and this allowed them to blend in seamlessly in any situation, by adopting one which fit. As a Servant, this ability, this legend, is made manifest, as every identity in Hassan's psyche can split from the whole and act independently.
"This is how Kotomine- yes, I see the suspicion on your face, and you are correct, he is the old man's son- faked Assassin's death: he ordered a single facet of the Servant to infiltrate the Tohsaka manor, where Tokiomi waited, prewarned. Midway through the infiltration, Archer intercepted and killed the intruder, taking his presence as an insult. But, of course, the rest of Assassin was unharmed by this, with no one the wiser." He took a pause to think of what to say before continuing. "Every facet of Assassin has different skills, although they are mostly situational and not all that high in rank. Finally, they all share the Assassin Class Skill Presence Concealment, which shields them from attempts of Masters and Servants to detect them. They could be anywhere, watching anyone, and their victim would never know."
Troubling, no doubt, but "I noticed there were no portents of doom in your summary. Is that a mistake?"
Caster frowned slightly. "Not really. In regards of stats, I am Assassin's equal in some regards, although not Agility. We are fairly evenly matched, and the Spellbook makes any forthright engagement a breeze for me. Which is to say, it will. Assassin cannot beat me in that case, and my knowledge, shared with you, eliminates the lion's share of the element of surprise. They're not much threat, really, even with all this deception, as they must discard Presence Concealment to engage." He grew quiet, before perking up. "Ah, I should mention again that Kotomine does not know what he would wish for if he won. And that, if he should indicate to you that he does, you must stop at nothing to kill him."
The sudden turn gave her whiplash. "Why?" Was this it? Caster's façade melting away to reveal the madman his skill made of him?
His breath whistled between his teeth. "Kotomine is… strange. His mind is broken in some way I cannot define. He wants to be a normal man, to love his daughter, his god, humanity, to have loved his wife, to… to have felt something other than an inexplicable joy when she killed herself in front of him. He is an empty vessel, and in this War, there are many evil things that might fill him up and command him. His sole motivation is duty towards his father, and an interest in Kiritsugu Emiya. He believes they are kindred spirits; men who take joy in the ending of lives." His voice was distant, as though he was hearing these words for the first time.
What kind of psychopath… No, focus on what matters, focus on the tactics, on the solutions. "Well, I don't love that he's interested in the Magus Killer-"
"You seem quite fixated on him as well, Master."
"-but he hardly matters outside his importance to the alliance between Tohsaka and the Church," she finished testily. Why couldn't he understand her fear? The Magus Killer was above nothing; she dared not even request more pig carcasses, for fear that he would somehow trace them to her and, who knew, bomb the warehouse?
For a few minutes, she simply listened to the wet slaps of patrolling water demons pacing the perimeter. She drew up her knees to her chest, preparing herself. Caster was at a distance from her: if he reacted negatively, she'd have long enough to speak a Command. Clearing her throat, she asked "Caster, why are we waiting here? What do you think is going to happen? You've demonstrated the ability to predict the course of events, so what is this?"
His eyes, which had drifted to the ceiling, flicked suddenly towards her. He swallowed and nodded to himself. "We are waiting on a fight. In… some amount of time, a group of Servants will be meeting to quarrel on these docks. We will be intercepting one of their Masters, but not to kill him. If all goes to plan, we will have removed a Servant from the War without having to fight … him and saved an innocent girl."
"Are you going to tell me who any of those people are, or do I have to keep waiting?" she asked.
Caster was obviously conflicted but nodded and pressed on. "The Servant is Berserker, his Master is Kariya- do you know, I never noticed that so many people in this War have a name starting with K? Kariya, Kotomine, Kiritsugu, Kayneth- anyway. Kariya Matou is Berserker's Master. His goal is to rescue a girl named Sakura from his 'Grandfather.' She was the younger daughter of Tokiomi Tohsaka, and the loser of the implicit competition to inherit the family's Magic Crest, and was… I suppose the polite term would be exchanged, but I have no interest in being polite to Tokiomi.
"She was sold to the Matou family since it lacked an heir after Kariya's departure from the Moonlit World and she'd make a fine replacement. For… complicated reasons, Kariya found out, returned, and struck a deal with Zouken Matou, the family's patriarch, for him to release Sakura if Kariya won the War for Zouken and granted him the Grail. We will be helping Kariya free Sakura without that being necessary. It's the most straightforward way for us to defeat Berserker; making Kariya give up his Servant to achieve his wish. I believe I know exactly the way to convince him to go along with it."
Something itched at the back of Tiffany's mind. "You said yesterday that Berserker's Master was meant to be a distraction. So… he's not meant to win, I mean, if he ran away, he must be completely untrained in magecraft. He'd be struggling to even just maintain his Servant, so the chances of him pulling through are less than good, if not non-existent. What's Matou's angle, then? What's Berserker's Master a distraction from?"
His jaw worked for moment, seeming uncertain, before he changed course rather than give an answer. "There's one more thing. The girl, Sakura- rather, the Matou patriarch, Zouken," something in the back of Tiffany's mind squirmed whenever he said that name, "has an unusual magecraft." He sighed deeply and then slowly, reluctantly, relayed a tapestry of horrors. Parasitic immortality. Little girls thrown into deep, black pits. Crest Worms. What in the goddamn… "Saving Sakura from captivity," he finished, "will be no use if she dies from Zouken's spite. I need you to prepare something that can save her from possible internal injuries."
"Right. I'll see what I can do. But you said this scheme was to remove Berserker, so why would it matter…" she paused. Why do you care about this girl, Caster? "No, even then, we should help. Who knows what a man so desperate would try… I'll cook something up. But you didn't answer my question," she pressed. "What is Zouken planning? Why is he willing to throw this opportunity out the window?"
Caster clicked his tongue, a distant look passing over his eyes. "That's not relevant quite yet. Once this is all over, I'll explain everything, Master, but for now, I trust you to accept that an ancient, amoral magus would have a reason to enact a scheme of this level."
He said earlier that Zouken was using Matou the Younger to 'cheat the whole War.' If he's that long-lived, I guess even sixty years is nothing to him. Is that all there is to it? "You mean you'll tell me when it stops being relevant."
Caster stood up and straightened out his cloak. "If that is how you wish to interpret it. Have a pleasant rest, Master." Then he stalked off, joining his water demons in their circuit.
The warehouse had been chilly all the while they'd hidden there but now the temperature had dropped into outright frigidity. In the cold, Tiffany slept, and ate, and prepared a tincture. It was all she could do on such short notice. This time at least, they did not have to wait long. A while into the afternoon, she felt a heatless fire wash over her, and quickly pinpointed its source.
And so did Caster. "Ah, good. All proceeds as it shall." He nodded to himself while facing the wall in the direction of what could only be an enemy Servant, making every effort towards obviousness. "That will be Lancer, here to issue his challenge. We should go and prepare."
Tiffany grit her teeth but nodded. She'd win this damn War, whether her Servant was willing to cooperate or not. It was just another complication.
We move ever closer to the inevitable. Before dawn, blood will be spilled.
This story is being cross-posted on AO3
"Archer." Her voice was groggy, this late at night, and she couldn't even have any coffee. They'd agreed that, rather than one continuous sleep, she'd be taking several naps throughout the day and night, to keep ready at any moment. But that was easy to say when you were about to drop to the floor and sleep wherever you fell. Much harder when she'd been prodded awake, awoken from restless slumber filled with images of battlefields, and a woman, or perhaps a girl, wreathed in holy light, to be in possibly the least comfortable position she'd ever been. Cold, practically sleeping on a concrete floor, and overseen by the blank, pitiless un-gaze of literal demons. "You said Archer's Master was working with the Church, so…" she waved her hand vaguely, "elaborate."
Caster stopped his apparent attempt to disassemble the now empty Styrofoam box into a fine particulate to alleviate his boredom and answered her. "I'm glad you asked, Master, seeing as Archer is almost certainly the greatest threat we will face in this War, and, well, you need to know."
If she'd been fully awake, she'd have resisted the urge to groan. "Well, if you'd told me that, I might have asked yesterday. If indeed I need to know."
"That's as may be. But alas: Archer. His True Name is Gilgamesh, King of Uruk-"
Tiffany, still sat on the ground in her sleeping bag, took her wrist between her jaws, clamped down, and screamed, quick and sharp, in frustration. It was not, in the grand scheme of screaming, an exceptionally long scream, but damn if it wasn't cathartic. King Arthur was a legend among legends, and now the Hero with a Thousand Faces was her enemy as well. Joy. Age bred power; such is the law of Mystery.
"…I take it you're familiar. Your reaction, though extreme, is warranted. Indeed, he is one of the most powerful Servants which can be summoned. His Divinity skill, which shields him from magic, is practically unmatched, being as he is two-thirds divine, because the ancient world was a little confused about how parentage works, so he has two fathers.
"His 'Gate of Babylon' Noble Phantasm is a nightmare, being a functionally bottomless repository of weapons, most only falling just short of Noble Phantasms themselves, and many greater; in fact, many are the Noble Phantasms of other heroes, which he may launch from it at will. His stats are appropriately legendary, and as he is an Archer, his Independent Action skill means that taking out his Master, Tokiomi Tohsaka, is not the automatic win you were probably hoping for. Only, as you know, it doesn't end there."
"Because he's also working with the Church. A mage of the Association. Working with the Church. Willingly. Why?!" Tiffany pressed on. After her childish outburst, she saw no recourse aside from simply pretending it had never happened. All this, the fact that she was up against the God-King of Uruk, the fact that his Master was a traitor and a cheat, the fact that her own Servant couldn't just be straightforward with all this intel but insisted on drip-feeding it to her, all of this was just- deep breath. Just another piece of the puzzle. Her hand tensed, and she felt her skin stretch over her Command Seals but held off. He was talking, after all. As long as he kept talking, she didn't need to make him.
"Well, for Tokiomi, it's fairly obvious: the Church is a powerful ally, and allows him to collude with another Master," there was a Master in the Church? "but for the Church, it is less so, even to me. I do know that the Tohsaka family have historically had good relations with them, and it may be as simple as that; the Church wanting a winner who might favor them, throwing their lot in with him so as to render him in their debt, before he comes into this great fortune. But it also may not; it is unclear to me. I do know that his ally in the Church has no wish but is still a Master; since he would have to compete regardless, perhaps they are just making the best of a messy situation."
She perked up. "You know what this person's wish is? Do you know the others' as well?"
Caster blinked, a rippling motion of far too much skin. "Er, yes. I did not deem it tactically relevant, but I do. Do you wish to- I kid, I kid," he said, waving off her annoyed expression. "Of course you wish to know. Very well, from the beginning, since yesterday: Kiritsugu's wish is for world peace, but he knows no way for the Grail to achieve it, so he will fail, even should he win. Saber's wish is to return to the moment she took the sword from the stone, only that time she will refuse it, believing herself unworthy of it and responsible for Camelot's fall. Tokiomi simply seeks the Root, and Gilgamesh disdains all this, and will act according to his whim. He does not, I believe, wish to reincarnate at present, as he sees no worth in the modern world."
Caster's strange gaze bored into her yet again. "And that, Master, is our greatest asset against him. Archer cares naught for the Grail, and even less for his Master; he will fight, if it interests him, and only then, otherwise Tokiomi must force him. And he cannot do so forever. The Church cannot have it be known that they tipped the scales, lest they lose the veneer of neutrality, and so they cannot simply supply him with Command Seals without pretext. Therefore…"
A faint grin spread across two faces. "Therefore, as long as Archer never has reason to get involved, he's only as much of an obstacle as Tohsaka makes him, he won't lift a finger for him on his own," she said, completing the thought. "At least until we have to take Archer himself out," she admitted, but even this thought didn't completely sour her relief. "Are you going to tell me about this Master he's allied with, or no?" she said sarcastically.
Surprisingly, Caster actually did confide that he was referring to Assassin's Master, which made a few things slot into place for Tiffany, namely half an idea as to what the Assassin-Archer alliance was actually planning. With Archer unwilling to earn his keep, they'd need Assassin free to work, which they'd achieve with the 'cheating' Caster had mentioned yesterday. As the flywheels of her mind whirred, Tiffany set about preparing herself, both physically and magically, for the War to come.
This consumed her first full proper day as a Master. Mostly, she infused the few pig carcasses she had had her brother secure on this short notice with mana, watched Caster at work, prepared her emergency concoctions, checked her talismans, slept in a cheap sleeping bag on a concrete floor, ate protein bars and drank bottled water. The only reason she even had this much mana to work with was Caster's workshop, which greatly lessened the drain on her resources he represented. She put the small hot plate she'd purchased to good use making tinctures, despite the indignity of it all. Her brother would be laughing at her if he could see her like this, hunched over such a cheap and flimsy device. Which was at least a marked improvement over last year.
Aside from all that, whatever Caster had been waiting for, it did not happen that day. Or the next. But two things did.
The first thing happened little by little. Every time she slept Tiffany dreamt. These dreams began very quickly, and were unusually vivid, scenes of carnage, metal, and brilliant light. And every time she woke, she knew something new about Caster. Was this the bond that the old priest had mentioned? A source of inexplicable knowledge of Caster, above and beyond what he'd told her himself.
Servant Caster
True Name: ???
Sex: Male
Height: 196 cm
Weight: 70 kg
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
That last part was… disquieting, but her Command Seals would be a bulwark between Caster and any funny business, rd.: betrayals. Besides, while he seemed to enjoy playing the gadfly, he was at least nominally capable of cooperation and compromise.
Parameters
Strength (D)
Endurance (E)
Agility (D)
Mana (C)
Luck (E)
Noble Phantasm (A+)
A lousy Caster indeed.
Skills
Territory Creation (B): The establishment of a Workshop is possible, wherein the effects of this Servant's magecraft are greater and easier to perform. Caster did not possess this ability in life, and its presence is simply a quirk of his Class Container.
Appreciation of the Arts (E-): The ability to evaluate artistry and craftsmanship; at this level, the identification of some artistic Noble Phantasms is possible.
Mental Pollution (A): This skill represents a deranged detachment from reality in the Servant, not unlike Mad Enhancement. Whereas Mad Enhancement is specifically violent, however, there is no discerning or predicting how this derangement manifests in a given Servant. At this level, the Servant is completely detached from normal human thought, and is consequently shielded from attempts at mental influence.
But that wasn't all. That last skill, Mental Pollution, was worrisome. 'Skill that protects me from mental influence,' her ass. Frankly, she didn't know what to make of it. Caster had not seemed 'deranged' as the description put it, and he had been able to speak with her, make rudimentary plans, and so on. He had demonstrated the ability to reason, as well as a frustrating degree of self-interest. He was definitely not incomprehensible to normal human thought and was at least capable of faking understanding of her in turn. But what did that mean?
Was he faking sanity, for some purpose she had no hope of guessing at? If so, the safest option was undoubtedly to order him to commit suicide immediately, before whatever plot he had cooked up went off, and more than likely killed her or worse. Or was his derangement one she could work around, something related to his revelation from the Throne? Or was it something else? Was the description of this skill somehow wrong, even though it had come from the familiar bond this War required?
Noble Phantasm
Prelati's Spellbook (Anti-Army) (A+): The forbidden tome of the mad priest Prelati, this living book of dark magic allows for the summoning, binding and commanding of fell demons from another reality. It is scribed with the language of sunken R'lyeh, dread tongue of the Old Ones, and through the power of terrible, bloody sacrifice, it will let even a rank amateur play at being a first-rate magus.
The description of this 'equal of Excalibur' was more prosaic, and only confirmed what Caster had already told her.
Speaking of confirmation, the second thing that happened was that on the morning of the second day, before she went to nap for the first time that day, she received another phone call from her father. In it, he'd told her that Tokiomi Tohsaka had reported the death of a Servant to the Church, and they to the Clocktower, during the night. Thereafter, the report went on, the Servant's Master, Kirei Kotomine, retired into the safety of the church. It wasn't much of a puzzle, and a quick question for Caster confirmed the truth; this was the Tohsaka faction's gamble to fake one of their Servants' death. And now, she was likely the only Master outside the conspiracy who knew that Assassin would still be active.
But that just begged the question, which had been stuck in her mind like a splinter, of how Caster knew these things. Caster was obviously expecting something to happen at the docks, and the information he'd provided on the other Servants and their Masters was detailed enough, and believable enough, that Tiffany had been tenuously willing to accept it at face value, in lieu of any other options. But this was… future knowledge. Intel no one was supposed to have. Plans even her enemies might not have made yet.
Was it worth it to spend a Command Seal on uncovering everything he might know?
It took longer than Tiffany was satisfied with to reach a conclusion; she preferred to be more decisive, had been trained to be more decisive. In the end, she decided that, at present, the situation was stable, and that forcing Caster to spill would damage their relationship to a dangerous degree, which could prove fatal. Both because of how early they were in the War, but also considering her new revelations about Caster.
It was with an unquiet mind that she asked Caster about Assassin. "Something spark your curiosity, Master? Your informant told you something?" he said, smiling. It was a hard smile to parse. On another face, it might have seemed kind, but on his, it looked like the opening lip of a carnivorous plant. She didn't know which image to trust.
"He told me the same thing you did, only you told me before it happened. I want to know how they did it," she said. And how you did, she didn't say.
Caster adjusted his posture, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, seeming perfectly comfortable. Tiffany's spine ached in envy. "No harm, I suppose, although Assassin is not much of a threat to us. No more than could be expected, anyway, obviously any Servant is some threat. Assassin is, as is proper, a true Hashashin, this one called Hassan of the Hundred Faces." He thought for a moment. "I suppose it is easiest to start with their most notable feature: their Noble Phantasm. Assassin, in life, had a mind fractured into a mosaic of identities, and this allowed them to blend in seamlessly in any situation, by adopting one which fit. As a Servant, this ability, this legend, is made manifest, as every identity in Hassan's psyche can split from the whole and act independently.
"This is how Kotomine- yes, I see the suspicion on your face, and you are correct, he is the old man's son- faked Assassin's death: he ordered a single facet of the Servant to infiltrate the Tohsaka manor, where Tokiomi waited, prewarned. Midway through the infiltration, Archer intercepted and killed the intruder, taking his presence as an insult. But, of course, the rest of Assassin was unharmed by this, with no one the wiser." He took a pause to think of what to say before continuing. "Every facet of Assassin has different skills, although they are mostly situational and not all that high in rank. Finally, they all share the Assassin Class Skill Presence Concealment, which shields them from attempts of Masters and Servants to detect them. They could be anywhere, watching anyone, and their victim would never know."
Troubling, no doubt, but "I noticed there were no portents of doom in your summary. Is that a mistake?"
Caster frowned slightly. "Not really. In regards of stats, I am Assassin's equal in some regards, although not Agility. We are fairly evenly matched, and the Spellbook makes any forthright engagement a breeze for me. Which is to say, it will. Assassin cannot beat me in that case, and my knowledge, shared with you, eliminates the lion's share of the element of surprise. They're not much threat, really, even with all this deception, as they must discard Presence Concealment to engage." He grew quiet, before perking up. "Ah, I should mention again that Kotomine does not know what he would wish for if he won. And that, if he should indicate to you that he does, you must stop at nothing to kill him."
The sudden turn gave her whiplash. "Why?" Was this it? Caster's façade melting away to reveal the madman his skill made of him?
His breath whistled between his teeth. "Kotomine is… strange. His mind is broken in some way I cannot define. He wants to be a normal man, to love his daughter, his god, humanity, to have loved his wife, to… to have felt something other than an inexplicable joy when she killed herself in front of him. He is an empty vessel, and in this War, there are many evil things that might fill him up and command him. His sole motivation is duty towards his father, and an interest in Kiritsugu Emiya. He believes they are kindred spirits; men who take joy in the ending of lives." His voice was distant, as though he was hearing these words for the first time.
What kind of psychopath… No, focus on what matters, focus on the tactics, on the solutions. "Well, I don't love that he's interested in the Magus Killer-"
"You seem quite fixated on him as well, Master."
"-but he hardly matters outside his importance to the alliance between Tohsaka and the Church," she finished testily. Why couldn't he understand her fear? The Magus Killer was above nothing; she dared not even request more pig carcasses, for fear that he would somehow trace them to her and, who knew, bomb the warehouse?
For a few minutes, she simply listened to the wet slaps of patrolling water demons pacing the perimeter. She drew up her knees to her chest, preparing herself. Caster was at a distance from her: if he reacted negatively, she'd have long enough to speak a Command. Clearing her throat, she asked "Caster, why are we waiting here? What do you think is going to happen? You've demonstrated the ability to predict the course of events, so what is this?"
His eyes, which had drifted to the ceiling, flicked suddenly towards her. He swallowed and nodded to himself. "We are waiting on a fight. In… some amount of time, a group of Servants will be meeting to quarrel on these docks. We will be intercepting one of their Masters, but not to kill him. If all goes to plan, we will have removed a Servant from the War without having to fight … him and saved an innocent girl."
"Are you going to tell me who any of those people are, or do I have to keep waiting?" she asked.
Caster was obviously conflicted but nodded and pressed on. "The Servant is Berserker, his Master is Kariya- do you know, I never noticed that so many people in this War have a name starting with K? Kariya, Kotomine, Kiritsugu, Kayneth- anyway. Kariya Matou is Berserker's Master. His goal is to rescue a girl named Sakura from his 'Grandfather.' She was the younger daughter of Tokiomi Tohsaka, and the loser of the implicit competition to inherit the family's Magic Crest, and was… I suppose the polite term would be exchanged, but I have no interest in being polite to Tokiomi.
"She was sold to the Matou family since it lacked an heir after Kariya's departure from the Moonlit World and she'd make a fine replacement. For… complicated reasons, Kariya found out, returned, and struck a deal with Zouken Matou, the family's patriarch, for him to release Sakura if Kariya won the War for Zouken and granted him the Grail. We will be helping Kariya free Sakura without that being necessary. It's the most straightforward way for us to defeat Berserker; making Kariya give up his Servant to achieve his wish. I believe I know exactly the way to convince him to go along with it."
Something itched at the back of Tiffany's mind. "You said yesterday that Berserker's Master was meant to be a distraction. So… he's not meant to win, I mean, if he ran away, he must be completely untrained in magecraft. He'd be struggling to even just maintain his Servant, so the chances of him pulling through are less than good, if not non-existent. What's Matou's angle, then? What's Berserker's Master a distraction from?"
His jaw worked for moment, seeming uncertain, before he changed course rather than give an answer. "There's one more thing. The girl, Sakura- rather, the Matou patriarch, Zouken," something in the back of Tiffany's mind squirmed whenever he said that name, "has an unusual magecraft." He sighed deeply and then slowly, reluctantly, relayed a tapestry of horrors. Parasitic immortality. Little girls thrown into deep, black pits. Crest Worms. What in the goddamn… "Saving Sakura from captivity," he finished, "will be no use if she dies from Zouken's spite. I need you to prepare something that can save her from possible internal injuries."
"Right. I'll see what I can do. But you said this scheme was to remove Berserker, so why would it matter…" she paused. Why do you care about this girl, Caster? "No, even then, we should help. Who knows what a man so desperate would try… I'll cook something up. But you didn't answer my question," she pressed. "What is Zouken planning? Why is he willing to throw this opportunity out the window?"
Caster clicked his tongue, a distant look passing over his eyes. "That's not relevant quite yet. Once this is all over, I'll explain everything, Master, but for now, I trust you to accept that an ancient, amoral magus would have a reason to enact a scheme of this level."
He said earlier that Zouken was using Matou the Younger to 'cheat the whole War.' If he's that long-lived, I guess even sixty years is nothing to him. Is that all there is to it? "You mean you'll tell me when it stops being relevant."
Caster stood up and straightened out his cloak. "If that is how you wish to interpret it. Have a pleasant rest, Master." Then he stalked off, joining his water demons in their circuit.
The warehouse had been chilly all the while they'd hidden there but now the temperature had dropped into outright frigidity. In the cold, Tiffany slept, and ate, and prepared a tincture. It was all she could do on such short notice. This time at least, they did not have to wait long. A while into the afternoon, she felt a heatless fire wash over her, and quickly pinpointed its source.
And so did Caster. "Ah, good. All proceeds as it shall." He nodded to himself while facing the wall in the direction of what could only be an enemy Servant, making every effort towards obviousness. "That will be Lancer, here to issue his challenge. We should go and prepare."
Tiffany grit her teeth but nodded. She'd win this damn War, whether her Servant was willing to cooperate or not. It was just another complication.
We move ever closer to the inevitable. Before dawn, blood will be spilled.
This story is being cross-posted on AO3
Not_Interesting
The Munchkin of Megastructures
- Location
- In your walls(the walls between realities)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Tiffany should be couting her lucky stars honestly...girl lucked out since Caster might be lousy stat-wise...but is a fair monster NP and knowledge-wise. I mean she could have gotten absolutely dogshit tier servants without a proper catalyst and Bluebeard isn´t that bad for a no-catalyst summon. His NP is outstanding with preptime even more so...Hell, if she was a powerful alchemist with a lot of resources and Homonculi prepped for the war, Caster would be ideal.
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- Location
- Probably at sea
Jack Rakan!?
Oh. OK, just Gil then.
I don't think I've heard him referred to as that before… although come to think of it it does sound like the name of an incredible Noble Phantasm for Heroic Spirit Joseph Campbell. Like, a 100% effective method for turning normal people into heroes worthy of the Throne, or something?
Um. That's technically true, but I feel it obscures the way more relevant fact that Gilgamesh still considers the Grail his and absolutely will not tolerate anyone seeking to claim it.
Otherwise, nice to see Tiffany is freaking out appropriately!
The Grey Mage
Certified Team Flare Hater
- Location
- Parallel Universe 43-j
I wonder if sacrificing a Servant, one of the Assassins or Berserker most likely, would let Caster summon Cthulhu without sacrificing himself?
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Chapter 4: In Which We Plan a Murder
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Chapter 4: In Which We Plan a Murder
Hours after Lancer had issued his challenge, we were still waiting. Whatever preparations my Master was making were beyond me, as the lousiest Caster in the Fate franchise, who lacked one of the Class's two core skills because he was just that shit of a mage. But my Territory Creation had lessened the load on my Master sufficiently that she'd been able to Construct some Items of her own these last few days: a scalding hot egg the color of lava, three vials, two red and one blue, and a bundle of what I would have sworn were incense sticks, were all that I saw, but I had no doubt she'd countless things, old and newly-crafted, squirrelled away in that big jacket.
Again, couldn't tell you what any of it did. Hopefully, some of it could save Sakura.
I had been making my own preparations, of course, and by the time my Master left the warehouse was empty of anything but myself and a few discarded food wrappers and plastic bottles. The sun had well and truly set by the time I sensed another Servant approaching. A dense, white-hot soul, whose presence could not be concealed or disregarded. From a crack in the warehouse doors, I beheld the Once and Future King, Artoria Pendragon, transforming into her knight's regalia. Blue and silver armored dress, golden hair and stalwart green eyes. What splendor, what majesty! What a legend!
It was something of a surprise, although it oughtn't have been, for Excalibur to be truly invisible: so much of her was as I remembered it, that I was momentarily puzzled by seeing Saber grasp nothing, since my memories obviously included the visual distortion of Invisible Air, which, would you believe, the real thing didn't have. I was yet too far to see Lancer or hear Saber speak with him, but when the violence began, I'd have to be deaf or dead to miss the sounds of metal against metal, as Excalibur clashed with that spear which name I forgot. Hopefully, that'd keep them occupied until I could make my entrance. As I recalled it, they'd be occupied for a few moments before Saber made her tactical blunder, and I would need to step in.
'Master, do things proceed as planned?' I asked, as I snuck out of the warehouse.
'I haven't found him yet, but they do. There's still time. He's fairly distinctive, by your description.'
'And Kariya must be close, trying to stay near Berserker in case he needs to pull him out. Berserker's in no state to manage himself,' I replied while scaling one of the containers next to their fight.
'This is the same Servant, you want us to ally with, right?' she shot back.
'Oh Master,' I responded wryly, 'you say that as though we have a choice.'
The sound of clashing weapons abated for a moment, having been suddenly cut off by wet, tearing sound, and I knew what that meant. I dropped from the container like a bat from its perch and landed in a shapeless mass of cloth, supernatural resilience preventing my knees from buckling. At once, all eyes turned to the interloper, although I imagined the two warriors kept half their attention on each other. Saber was clutching a wound at her side, the two of them standing apart, Lancer's honor staying his spear for a moment as they tried to assess whatever danger I might pose.
This close, they would know I was a Servant, just as I did for them. I rose ponderously to my full height, leaning backward slightly, with one hand holding the Spellbook open against the dark, star-lit sky. Showtime.
"Yes, YES! The portents are right! I have seen the paths of fate and chance, and I have come! Servant Caster, to the aid of the lady knight!" I lowered my hand to point it at Lancer, hunched into my robes, and spoke in a doleful voice. "He deceives!"
"What?" I received sleek, handsome Lancer's full attention, red spearpoint aimed directly at my heart, while Irisviel, white furs, red eyes and delicate features, standing behind Saber, looked intently at him, and Saber herself only adjusted her grip, grim-faced as ever. "Who are you supposed to be? This is a duel between knights, you've no right to interrupt!"
I trembled wildly in place, like an oak in a thunderstorm, trying to milk this appearance of madness for all it was worth. I didn't have the temperament of a Heroic Spirit, and I imagined that 'hey Saber he's got another spear watch out' would be taken with a heaping load of salt. But a fell omen from a mad prophet Heroic Spirit? That, she might listen to. The issue was that I wasn't a hero, or even much of an actor when it came to it. My only hope was that I could be a bloody weirdo.
"Oh, honor, he speaks of honor, always, always, but the spearman lies!" I cried, shrill voice rasping in my throat. I leafed through the Spellbook with the energy of a man possessed, stopping at a random page and crying out in false triumph. "For his weapon has a brother! And though it has not its elder's ruinous prowess against the arts of starlight, it is a fell thing too. Its edge leaves wounds that ne'er shall mend, so long as it lives and thirsts and cuts! Oh, what a terrible thing to conceal in chivalrous combat! That he would use one spear to let you think your armor useless, so that its brother shall wound you terribly!" Slamming the book shut, I dropped to my knees and begged and scraped towards Saber. "Pray, forgive this mad fool his impudence in speaking to you, your Majesty! But I had to warn you, else this cur would have cut you unfairly!"
Excalibur once more pointed at Lancer, but the eyes of the King of Knights still rested on me. And what eyes they were, what a sight was the Once and Future. So young, but it was an illusion, and those eyes betrayed it: here was a woman who had seen the world burn and carried the guilt for the conflagration on her shoulders still. A lesser hero would have doffed that heavy cloak already, but she was no lesser hero. She was Artoria Pendragon, bearer of the Ever-Distant Utopia.
In the corner of my vision, Irisviel glowed with blue light, as did Saber's wound, from when the red spear had slipped through her conjured armor; her stance steadied noticeably while her armor rematerialized. Cold green eyes took my measure in seconds, and I quailed beneath her gaze. "You are forgiven, Caster, however… I must inquire," she said, eyes addressing Lancer now, "whether you speak the truth. This other spear, is it another Noble Phantasm as he said?"
The cocky spearman flicked Saber's blood of his weapon, scowling at me. "Tis true enough, though the deception wasn't my decision, but my Master's- oh, he did not like that- and, as I am ever faithful to my liege, I perpetrated his scheme. Your loyalty is to your credit, Saber, and your prowess is-"
"These are pleasantries, and quite beside the point, Lancer. You have invited me to a duel of honor, intending to betray me, betray the tenets of chivalry. Whatever the cause, you have dishonored yourself," she cut him off.
Lancer tilted his head. "What a sharp tongue for such a pretty face." He tsked. "If it is what my Master commands, so it will be. That said- in a way, I'm glad to have been thwarted in this. I had been looking forward to this duel, and now," he leaned forward, brandishing the red spear I'd forgotten the name of, an angelic smile on his lips, "it can happen properly."
Here's the thing about Servants: there was probably a great deal of very clever footwork, strikes and counter-strikes that happened within the next thirty seconds, but they were moving so quickly that I honestly couldn't follow any of it. I picked up on the fact that Lancer's spear was gradually dispelling the invisibility on Excalibur, which, uh… yeah, that made perfect sense, but it had definitely also slipped my mind. Lost track of it by focusing too much on Gae Buidhe, ironically. Speaking of his spear, I yelped and had to throw myself out of the way of an errant strike from Lancer, as the combat moved towards my side of the road, and he grinned savagely at me. "C'mon Caster, afraid to fight a real warrior?"
I backed away rapidly, while Saber intercepted him and I prayed she could keep him occupied because the truth was fuck you, of course I am, are you insane, I'm Caster I'm not supposed to be fighting on the front lines at all and you're flipping around doing some fucking superhuman ren faire bullshit. But what I said was: "You would dishonor yourself further to fight a man without a weapon? For shame, Lancer."
He shrugged, which was no mean feat while dancing with Excalibur. "I know better than to think a mage unarmed, but very well." And they assayed away from me again.
My options were limited: I'd misremembered where the fight took place and had in my cocksure way placed all my water demons strategically along the edge of the harbor, down in the seawater, where they were practically invisible, as they took on the nature of the water that they'd been formed from but could rapidly intercede when I called on them. In theory. But that theory had been developed while I thought the fight would be taking place close to the waterfront, and not several rows of containers in, and as it were they were no use to me. I debated rapidly with myself whether to call some of them to my position, giving up the advantage of surprise but letting them make a difference in this one battle, or whether to use them to prepare for my future gambit with Kariya.
It was at that point lightning struck, and Rider arrived with poor Waver in tow.
That was another thing that I did remember would happen, even if I was a little shaky on 'when', but whether I was prepared or not, the King of Conquerors had already touched down in his massive chariot, and I doubled over, cringing at the deafening noise. Lightning earthed itself on the containers hemming the battle in; well, 'hemming in', I'd no doubt both these knights could make short work of mortal metal, but still.
He was also much as I remembered him; a tall, broad man, with a thick, mid-length mane of red hair, beard and sideburns, sun-kissed skin, clad in the furs and leathers of a warrior of old. His voice was loud, just on the edge of grating, as he called out: "Yes! A marvelous gathering of warriors this night! I am Iskandar, King of Conquerors," and I guess I suck at this, because I did not remember he said that "and I am of the Rider Class in this Holy Grail War!"
"Rider, what the hell are you doing!?" a small voice cried out in protest.
"I ask of you, brave warriors, that you kneel before me, and recognize me as sole claimant to the Holy Grail, and join my retinue, as honored champions! Together, we shall surely conquer the world entire!" he yelled, thrusting his sword to the heavens.
Silence, but for crackling sparks. The absurd offer had shattered the atmosphere of battle, and both Saber and Lancer were standing back, at least for a moment.
"You said you had a plan!" Waver hissed.
Before Rider could defend himself, Lancer chuckled and said, "I have to agree with the whelp. As far as job offers go, I've had better. Then again, I've had worse too," he mused, apparently relaxing while leaning on his spear, although it rang false to me. "Still, no. I serve a Master already, and his will is opposed to your own, which makes us enemies."
"You must comprehend, surely, that this is a fool's errand?" Saber added. "The Grail calls only those who have a desire for it to fulfill. To ask us to give that up is…" she said, "it is hubris. It is folly."
"I would be willing to offer concessions…" Rider said, scratching his chin a little sheepishly. "What about you, er, Caster, I assume? How would you like to bend the knee?"
"I am Caster yes," I said, choking down my discomfort at saying that "but I must also decline you, conquering horse-king of Greece. Your wish is like my own, but the cup holds but wine for one king, and I will drink, I will have life, I refuse and if you refuse the will of the stars, it shall be your undoing. It is written, it is foretold!"
"You're some kind of prophet, then?" he asked, smiling broadly. I tried not to tremble beneath the attention of a man who could snap my scrawny ass like a toothpick. "Tell us then, seer:" he threw out his arms, eyes shining with glee and no small intelligence, "who wins the Holy Grail War!?" And now all three Servants were staring at me with calculation. Even Waver poked his head up from Rider's chariot to glare at me, looking like a sullen cabbage.
Swallowing meekly, I tried to come up with something: the truth is not enough, you must also be convincing, I'd learned. "I read things in the stars, as you've gleaned, first called 'the Great', but I know not all their infinite majesties. An end is foretold, it is written, it is finished, but I have foretold wrong ends before, and I will not have the one I see now, I will have my own. The path of the stars," I took a deep breath, prepared to tell them the truth, when a frenzied light turned on in my mind, a mad, half-formed plan, and I spoke before I could second-guess myself, "is for him to claim it!"
I pointed up at the top of a lamppost. All eyes followed. Nothing happened.
"Archer, reveal yourself!" I spat, braver than I felt. Out of the corner of my eye, something flickered, from a different lamppost than I'd pointed at, and I threw myself away, guided by alien instincts honed by battle I'd never seen. Either too late or too slow: a line of fire blazed across my cheek, and the ground behind me cracked beneath an ornate, golden spear, punching through with the strength of a man two-thirds divine.
"A yapping dog dares accost its betters? Tis the purview of kings to teach mongrels how to act, and slay them, should their baying prove too bothersome." The God-King of Uruk lazily inspected his immaculate, golden gauntlet. "Let this be the final lesson you will ever need: only your prophecy of my inevitable victory bought your pathetic life. Speak again, and I will end you."
"Hah!" Rider guffawed. "So, you are the one I must defeat to conquer this world anew? A worthy match indeed!"
Archer was a blazing sun of power: pitiless, unconquerable, beyond Humanity, beyond any thing of the Earth, beyond even the limits of his flesh. Oh, but I had not lied when I told Tiffany that he'd be our greatest obstacle, for he had just now almost slain me with an errant gesture, a mere flex of the power in his Gate. To make killing him a prerequisite for winning, to turn the Servants here gathered against him at once? It was a mad hope, and the only one I had.
I'd never seen Gilgamesh defeated in a canonical work: not because it had never happened, I assumed, just because I had, somewhat to my embarrassment, especially recently, never actually read or watched Fate Stay/Night. So it could be done, obviously, but I had no metaknowledge that told me how.
"You are the Archer Servant, then. Which Master do you serve?" Saber asked, her stance tense. I couldn't blame her: Lancer was the weakest Servant here, a thought that failed to account for myself, unused to the status as I was, but without revealing Excalibur or exposing Irisviel to harm, she was at a temporary disadvantage, even without the Gae Buidhe gambit working out, and now she was potentially facing two complete unknowns as well as Lancer. And, as I recalled it, Archers were the natural counter for Sabers in the Knight Class Trifecta, which had to make my announcement even more disheartening.
"Tch. I serve no Master, little girl." He scowled, blood-red eyes somehow ice cold. "To even besmirch my armor with the base metals of this fallen age," I imagined Archer petulantly kicking the lamppost he stood on and very nearly giggled, half in terror, "is an immeasurable indignity, one I shall not forgive my fool summoner for inflicting upon me. He serves my ends."
I was tempted to interject, somehow, sow discord between Archer and, I don't know, literally anyone, it wouldn't be hard, but I'd tested my luck against Archer once already, and I wasn't keen on having a spear shoved through my stomach if I made him lose what little patience he had. Also, I was only an E-rank, and he had like, A-rank Luck, right?
'Caster, I think I've spotted our man. Sickly young fellow skulking around an alleyway, sweating like a monsoon rolled in, looks about ready to keel over.' She relayed a destination to me, and I smiled for a moment, before I remembered something.
'That'll be because Berserker is about to-'
'Shit! Caster, look out!'
A dark flame erupted at the end of a corridor of shipping crates, and a thing that walked like a man howled, as I contemplated something. 'Huh. I believe this means that literally all Servants in the War are gathered here. How novel.'
'What!? I thought it was just Lancer, Saber, and you!?'
'Well, it was, but Assassin was observing them before I even joined, Rider crashed in a little while ago, and then Archer showed his face, which, with the Black Knight over here rolling into town, makes seven Servants. I hadn't even realized that. And, I believe, several Masters as well: Rider's, Lancer's, Saber's fake Master... even Kiritsugu.'
'The Magus Killer is here?'
'The Magus Killer is here, Master, nowhere near you and Kariya. He's,' I paused, wracking my brain for what Kiritsugu was, in fact, doing at this time, before giving up, 'keeping an eye on Irisviel.' I resisted the urge to crack my knuckles. 'I'll attempt an exfiltration as soon as possible, you keep tailing Kariya.'
'Hmph. If you're just going to leave, why did you even need to involve yourself?' she asked pointedly.
'I'll tell you when we've handled Kariya: my plan didn't quite work out like I imagined, but for the better, I assure you.'
I squared my shoulders, and briefly contemplated bringing my water demons into the scuffle- by now, they'd emerged from the waterfront onto the concrete harbor. But it would be a precious few seconds before they could join the fight that I'd be embroiling myself in, so instead I began backing away from the escalating brawl. Berserker, single-minded and mad, charged at Saber, but Archer took offense to being left out and chucked a sword at him, which caused- well, you know. Servant shit. I took another step.
Before I got further, Lancer nailed me to the ground with a glance, my spine stiffening in a jerk as I met his eyes. God, what had I been thinking? Who was I to walk amongst these demigods? What hope did I have of defeating all these legends, who could freeze me with a simple look? I choked down a breath, and tried to suppress my trembling, as I brought a finger to my lips in the sign for silence and winked at Lancer, before disappearing into my spirit form.
He didn't give chase.
I found Kariya in the alleys behind the harbor. His eyes were flickering, tracking things I couldn't see- keeping a close eye on Berserker, no doubt. My Master greeted me as I appeared on the roof by her side, looking down at Kariya's sorry state. His hair was grey, his face a death-mask, and one arm hung limply by his side.
At my mental command, a cadre of water demons slithered in from one end of the dirty alleyway, and with a nod at my Master, which she returned, casting a glance at the red line on my cheek, I went to join them, once more dropping to the ground like an ill-coordinated bat. Our grim but awe-inspiring procession approached Kariya without subtlety, but we were within spitting distance before he took any notice. Once he did, he did not start or run, he simply stiffened and watched us.
I bowed my head at him. "Kariya Matou. Heir to the withering Matou bloodline. Half-magus. Worm food." He scowled at me, tense as a violin string, and I went on. "But perhaps, before dawn, a hero. There is someone you're trying to save, isn't there?"
The Command Seals on his hand burned as he held them up, panic in his eyes.
"At ease, Matou. We will need all three of those to save the poor, innocent Sakura."
"How do-" he said, stopping to cough, "how do you know about her? What do you want? You're a Servant, right? Didn't I just see you?" The Seals were alight, ready to call Berserker, but he hadn't used one yet.
"I know many impossible things, Kariya Matou. I know how you loved Aoi. How you wish her daughter were your own. How you ran from your responsibilities. And I know the deal you struck with the cancer in your house. A life for a life." I paused, tilting my head. "And I know your 'Grandfather' never expected you to succeed. But what I do not know is this- why did Berserker not strike that insect down at once? Why, when he gave you the weapon, did you not thrust it into Zouken's back, Kariya Matou?"
"You think I didn't want to?!" he yelled and took a step forward, proving himself either braver or more foolish than I in the face of a Servant and his demons. "Grandfather is immortal! Nothing I can do- nothing anyone can do- nothing you can do would kill him!" He was angry, but more than that, he was hopeless. Desperate. And, for the moment, he'd forgotten about summoning Berserker.
"So you know, I take it, all the secrets of his magecraft? The bond, the worms, the core?" It was a shot in the dark, a momentary detail from a fanfic about a heart-worm, but I had to try, even if I was on shaky ground here. As for specifics I could trust, I had read once on TVTropes that there were three ways to dispose of Zouken. Now however, many months since then, I had but fragments of that full accounting. Something to do with a core, or just burning the house down and destroying every worm, and something else I'd fully forgot.
But the point was this. "Zouken Matou, whatever he is, whatever he has become, is not immortal. And I intend to help you prove it. I know something of his secret ways, his hidden weakness, the corruption of his blood. A theory of his death."
"What?" He stood transfixed. "You're insane. You don't know the first thing about that monster. You don't know what he's capable of!"
I smirked. "In your total ignorance, you think that I am the fool. Prithee tell me, are you a magus true?" I didn't need to wait for his dejected grimace. "Indeed not. You see your 'Grandfather' do ten impossible things before breakfast, and so you think him a god. But I know what he did."
I went on, half addressing my Master as well. "The process of creating a Magic Crest, or Family Crest, is one of incorporating the Other into Humanity, much like magecraft is the art of manipulating the very edge of the Native Sphere, which is the Grand Order. One takes a piece, a sliver, of a Mystical Beast into oneself, and, over the course of generations of being passed down, it is refined, becoming of and within the Grand Order. This is a Magic Crest, not merely a bundling of Magic Circuits, but a far more significant violation of human limits- for such limits, too, are of and within the Grand Order.
"You know, certainly you have become most intimately acquainted with, how your Grandfather has violated this principle in his 'familiars', how they have been made to serve much the same purpose as this Family Crest I describe, and indeed, that is half the story.
"But what of moving the other way?" I asked rhetorically. "If the art of the Magic Crest is to violate human limitations by moving the Other into the Native Sphere, what if one could move a Human into transverse space? Commit the ultimate sin of transhumanism? Indeed, what if one wert inspired by the Crest itself?" I scrutinized Kariya's face, but his trembling exhaustion made him hard to read. "You must have heard your 'Grandfather's' term for his 'familiars'?"
"Crest Worms," he breathed. He was beginning to believe. At least, I hoped.
'I think I understand,' my Master chimed in. 'This is a disturbing possibility, one I'd never considered. I doubt many would. Something we take so much for granted, the Family Crests- to have exploited such a crucial Foundation of modern-day magecraft… as long as there are mages left to believe it, he'd be something close to immortal.'
'Indeed. I suspect, Master, that he must have come up with it to observe the Holy Grail War over its many iterations,' I returned to her.
'Amazing. To have invented such a system of perfect consumption. Hideous, yet efficient… and strangely familiar,' she relayed, her tone breathless.
"Then you no doubt see the truth already. The interlocking of his immortality and the false empowerment he offers. The Matou line has been withering because it is being fed upon by the corruption-"
"I know! I know he's lived forever! His name keeps showing up in the records- I don't care how, just tell me how to kill him!" Kariya screamed, bloodshot eyes twitching in fury.
He's already accepted my basic premise, I thought to myself, namely that it's possible. "If we can find the heart-worm, he will be dead in a moment. A more tensing of one's grip could end it. I believe it to be buried deep within the Matou house. But you are more familiar with it than I and would better know where he hid something like that. He'd need it close, but safe, Kariya; does that give you an idea?"
He nodded, slowly, expression freezing with the effort of recall.
'Furthermore, if it's that central to his magecraft, we would be able to sense it- he could hide it, but stone is only so good at insulating magical energy," my Master commented to me, and I relayed it to Kariya, who became even more thoughtful.
"And even if it should elude us, should we be able to kill every one of his 'familiars' which are in truth all that remain of his flesh, we shall claim victory too."
"But, Sakura- She's-"
"They can be removed. My Master is a healer," I felt her frown, which meant she wanted me to know she was unhappy, "but if that is insufficient, either materially or for your comfort's sake, I know of others who can assist." Only two, and there were no guarantees for either but then again… there were no guarantees for any of this. Sakura's rescue was a shot in the dark in many ways. But we had to try. For her. I would be a monster in truth otherwise.
How odd, to find myself the ally of a man who so rankled me. He'd killed the woman he loved out of jealousy and hate, and every other sentence I said, I had to remind myself that he hadn't even if he would. Just one of those things they don't tell you about future knowledge: it's really hard not to judge people for things you know for a fact they'd do if not for you. "Rejoice! Though I am no Grail, I am here to grant your wish, Kariya Matou." I bowed. "By dawn, if all goes well, Sakura will be free, and," I added this next part to reassure his mind, trained for selfishness, "I will be one step closer to winning the Holy Grail War, once Berserker is gone."
Time stretched out. It all hung on this one moment, this one decision. If Kariya summoned Berserker, even if I could disengage, which wasn't guaranteed, I'd be in deep shit. No plan, nothing to show for wasting days of my Master's time and several golden nuggets of the intel that was the only thing keeping me ahead in the War. It came down to this: did Kariya, beaten, tamed, starving, still have enough hope to ask me-
"How are we doing this?" A single tear, or perhaps a drop of blood, fell from his eye.
And I smiled. Oh, I smiled so broadly.
"Well first- oof!" My Master, having tried to drop down from the roof to the alley as I'd done, nearly crumpled at the impact but held on. "Well, first, we should figure out what Berserker's going to do before he gets himself into more trouble," she said, pointing her thumb back at the escalating brawl while panting for breath.
After casting her an inscrutable look, Kariya nodded, and we got to it.
The plan, like all good plans, was simple. Since I only had D-rank Agility, the Masters and I would take a while to arrive at the Matou stronghold halfway across the city. Therefore, I was already sending my small cadre of water demons ahead through the river to create a disturbance, causing Zouken to secure Sakura in the pit o' bugs out of an abundance of caution. We needed to know for certain where she was so that Berserker, who wasn't the best at following any plan right now, could find and extract her with the guidance of only a single Command Seal, as we needed to conserve them as much as possible for other things that we needed Berserker for.
So, while we were making our way toward Matou's place as fast as possible, but slower than either Berserker or my water demons, they would be wreaking havoc in the upper floors and Berserker would be entering the pit. Once we arrived, I would begin searching the rest of the mansion aside from the pit, in case Zouken didn't do what we expected, with my Master standing by for when it came time to heal Sakura. If Berserker found Sakura, he'd seek me out and hand her over and once that happened, or once I found her on my own, I'd exfiltrate to hand Sakura over to my Master for treatment while Berserker kept Zouken busy and then re-enter the residence to assist him in taking Zouken down, which was the second half.
God, I was really going to have to kill someone, wasn't I?
As for accomplishing all that, regarding the heart-worm, Kariya had told us that the Crest Worms did, occasionally, need to eat something other than mana, which meant that Zouken couldn't just do the normal lich thing and entomb his phylactery as I'd been halfway dreading; it'd be somewhere far more accessible, and we'd workshopped the command for Berserker to find it, relying on his peerless and undiminished skill.
There was no time to dwell. Kariya quickly mumbled the three commands we'd decided on for Berserker under his breath, and we all heard the animalistic roar of frustration as they pulled him away from his pursuit of Saber. "Did it. He's unharmed. Mostly. Now, how are we supposed to get there in time?" he asked, sweating a little more from the pain of using all his Command Seals at once.
Just then, a taxi pulled up at the mouth of the alley and flashed its lights three times. "One step ahead of you, Matou-"
"Just Kariya," he growled.
"One step ahead of you, Kariya: our ride is here," Tiffany said, quickly correcting herself.
We walked up to him, Tiffany rummaging through her jacket, and the driver pulled down his window as we approached. "Hey, what's-"
That was as far as he got before my Master drew her closed fist out of a pocket, opened it in front of her mouth and blew a red powder into his face. Then she snapped her fingers, and the powder ignited, the short-lived flames shining in alien colors and geometries that took me a while to blink out of my eyes. The poor taxi driver sat there, stunned, as Tiffany spoke firmly to him.
"There's nothing suspicious about these passengers," she said.
"There's nothing suspicious about you," he agreed placidly.
"You're going to get us to our destination as fast as possible, even if it means breaking traffic laws."
"I'm going to break traffic laws."
"You're taking us to," she looked over at Kariya, who gave her the address which she relayed to the driver. Then, without waiting for him to say it back, she pulled open the back door, shoved Kariya inside, said to me "Spirit form. Lighter. Hang on to my coat," and then got in.
I obliged the lady, who quickly fastened her and Kariya's seatbelts.
"Drive!"
And oh boy, did he ever.
Outside the car, the streetlights shone a sickly yellow, casting my Master's face into sharp and twisting shadows. 'And you're sure this is the only way?'
I scowled, in spirit form, so my Master couldn't see. 'If you're so hesitant to save an innocent girl, Master, you're more than welcome to use a Command Seal and call me off. Kariya has spent all of his- he's officially not a Master anymore.' We hit a pothole and the Masters hit the roof of the car, which nearly knocked the strange object my Master was constructing out of her hands: an icosahedron made of incense sticks, with that odd, red egg I'd seen, suspended by wire in the middle of it.
She tsked. 'That's not what I meant. What you've described, the things that are happening in that house are horrific. Bringing down a magus like that… everything I know tells me it's the right thing to do. I only worry about the practicalities.' She began to rustle through her jacket, biting a length off a ball of twine once she found it. 'I've no doubts that two Servants working in tandem, one empowered by three Command Seals, can destroy this monster. I'm less confident you can actually save the girl like this. Couldn't we wait?'
'No,' I told her. 'Even if Berserker didn't injure himself fighting every other Servant in the War but me, Zouken's familiars are everywhere. He'd cotton on to us immediately. I'm not convinced he hasn't already. And besides, getting her out is up to us. Saving her us up to you,' I shot back. It was up to me, rather, to be the mastermind of this operation; these two would never enter the mansion, and Berserker would be following Kariya's Command Seals, meaning that 'empowered' was a little rich, and it meant I'd be the only one responsible for what happened in there. It would all be my fault.
'With a week, hell, with a full day's work, I could have. You gave me three hours.' One corner of the object came undone, and she cursed under her breath. 'You should have told me earlier.'
Should I have? Maybe she was right. My stomach curdled at the idea that Sakura would die, not because I failed to save her, but because I'd failed to trust my Master. The reality of the situation was becoming overwhelming. I could smell the stuffy car, see the twinkling stars, feel the oppressive roar of the motor. I was stuck, trapped by the air, feeling the coolness in my lungs like they were full of rigid steel. It was all well and good to plan a death, and know it was the right thing to do. It was another to know I'd be wading through hell, through the guts and slime of the thing-that-had-been-human, Zouken Matou. I could already smell the blood. A little girl might die for my negligence, my mistrust. My spectral heart thundered in this alien chest of mine as we raced through the city.
When we arrived, Kariya was the first to leave, and I manifested soon after, eager to run in and begin to convert the dying Crest Worms into water demons, but my Master held me back, the incense-twine-thing under her arm as she tightened some of the knots with her free hand. The mansion itself was an old, luxurious building, bordering on opulent, like a lilliput castle with squat, round towers topped by cones, all blue stone and glass, lurking in the coolness of night.
We stood outside the gate, looking in through the bars; from here, one would never guess that anything, but a wealthy eccentric resided there. There were hints at something amiss- the planters were empty of anything but shriveled weeds, and the little bit of lawn allotted to the grounds was mostly moss and dandelions, and even the ivy on the walls was yellowing, but these were evidence of a withering fortune, rather than the true, far more insidious corruption.
Beneath the earth, evil dwelt.
I could feel a twanging in the air, and the smell of ozone, and when I held out my hand, I felt something try- and fail- to hold me back. Some kind of bounded field Berserker had shattered on his way in? There was, on inspection, a hole in the side of the manor, from which poured dark smoke.
And suddenly, I smelled sulfur.
My Master, finished with her incense-whatever-it-was, snapped her fingers over it. Sparks flew from her hand, setting it ablaze, the egg rocking back and forth in its cradle. Then, without any explanation, Tiffany took a stance like a pétanque player and chucked the entire burning contraption as far as she could onto the roof of the mansion. It landed with a splat and a hundred twigs snapping. A wet, red, lizard face shortly after poked over the edge of the roof almost coquettishly, a yellow-hot tongue of flame licking at the air.
"Salamander," Tiffany yelled over the great distance, the small, glowing reptilian fixing its newborn gaze on her. "I bid you, let consuming flame have this manse! Let no crawling thing of the earth escape! Let its dark wood fall into the yawning abyss of fire! Thus your master commands!" The elemental trilled happily, and leapt ahead, into what would soon, very soon indeed, be a charnel house to match the worst Bluebeard had ever seen. And I was already running into it.
Next time, something a little different. Look forward to it.
Like always, this story is being cross-posted on AO3
Hours after Lancer had issued his challenge, we were still waiting. Whatever preparations my Master was making were beyond me, as the lousiest Caster in the Fate franchise, who lacked one of the Class's two core skills because he was just that shit of a mage. But my Territory Creation had lessened the load on my Master sufficiently that she'd been able to Construct some Items of her own these last few days: a scalding hot egg the color of lava, three vials, two red and one blue, and a bundle of what I would have sworn were incense sticks, were all that I saw, but I had no doubt she'd countless things, old and newly-crafted, squirrelled away in that big jacket.
Again, couldn't tell you what any of it did. Hopefully, some of it could save Sakura.
I had been making my own preparations, of course, and by the time my Master left the warehouse was empty of anything but myself and a few discarded food wrappers and plastic bottles. The sun had well and truly set by the time I sensed another Servant approaching. A dense, white-hot soul, whose presence could not be concealed or disregarded. From a crack in the warehouse doors, I beheld the Once and Future King, Artoria Pendragon, transforming into her knight's regalia. Blue and silver armored dress, golden hair and stalwart green eyes. What splendor, what majesty! What a legend!
It was something of a surprise, although it oughtn't have been, for Excalibur to be truly invisible: so much of her was as I remembered it, that I was momentarily puzzled by seeing Saber grasp nothing, since my memories obviously included the visual distortion of Invisible Air, which, would you believe, the real thing didn't have. I was yet too far to see Lancer or hear Saber speak with him, but when the violence began, I'd have to be deaf or dead to miss the sounds of metal against metal, as Excalibur clashed with that spear which name I forgot. Hopefully, that'd keep them occupied until I could make my entrance. As I recalled it, they'd be occupied for a few moments before Saber made her tactical blunder, and I would need to step in.
'Master, do things proceed as planned?' I asked, as I snuck out of the warehouse.
'I haven't found him yet, but they do. There's still time. He's fairly distinctive, by your description.'
'And Kariya must be close, trying to stay near Berserker in case he needs to pull him out. Berserker's in no state to manage himself,' I replied while scaling one of the containers next to their fight.
'This is the same Servant, you want us to ally with, right?' she shot back.
'Oh Master,' I responded wryly, 'you say that as though we have a choice.'
The sound of clashing weapons abated for a moment, having been suddenly cut off by wet, tearing sound, and I knew what that meant. I dropped from the container like a bat from its perch and landed in a shapeless mass of cloth, supernatural resilience preventing my knees from buckling. At once, all eyes turned to the interloper, although I imagined the two warriors kept half their attention on each other. Saber was clutching a wound at her side, the two of them standing apart, Lancer's honor staying his spear for a moment as they tried to assess whatever danger I might pose.
This close, they would know I was a Servant, just as I did for them. I rose ponderously to my full height, leaning backward slightly, with one hand holding the Spellbook open against the dark, star-lit sky. Showtime.
"Yes, YES! The portents are right! I have seen the paths of fate and chance, and I have come! Servant Caster, to the aid of the lady knight!" I lowered my hand to point it at Lancer, hunched into my robes, and spoke in a doleful voice. "He deceives!"
"What?" I received sleek, handsome Lancer's full attention, red spearpoint aimed directly at my heart, while Irisviel, white furs, red eyes and delicate features, standing behind Saber, looked intently at him, and Saber herself only adjusted her grip, grim-faced as ever. "Who are you supposed to be? This is a duel between knights, you've no right to interrupt!"
I trembled wildly in place, like an oak in a thunderstorm, trying to milk this appearance of madness for all it was worth. I didn't have the temperament of a Heroic Spirit, and I imagined that 'hey Saber he's got another spear watch out' would be taken with a heaping load of salt. But a fell omen from a mad prophet Heroic Spirit? That, she might listen to. The issue was that I wasn't a hero, or even much of an actor when it came to it. My only hope was that I could be a bloody weirdo.
"Oh, honor, he speaks of honor, always, always, but the spearman lies!" I cried, shrill voice rasping in my throat. I leafed through the Spellbook with the energy of a man possessed, stopping at a random page and crying out in false triumph. "For his weapon has a brother! And though it has not its elder's ruinous prowess against the arts of starlight, it is a fell thing too. Its edge leaves wounds that ne'er shall mend, so long as it lives and thirsts and cuts! Oh, what a terrible thing to conceal in chivalrous combat! That he would use one spear to let you think your armor useless, so that its brother shall wound you terribly!" Slamming the book shut, I dropped to my knees and begged and scraped towards Saber. "Pray, forgive this mad fool his impudence in speaking to you, your Majesty! But I had to warn you, else this cur would have cut you unfairly!"
Excalibur once more pointed at Lancer, but the eyes of the King of Knights still rested on me. And what eyes they were, what a sight was the Once and Future. So young, but it was an illusion, and those eyes betrayed it: here was a woman who had seen the world burn and carried the guilt for the conflagration on her shoulders still. A lesser hero would have doffed that heavy cloak already, but she was no lesser hero. She was Artoria Pendragon, bearer of the Ever-Distant Utopia.
In the corner of my vision, Irisviel glowed with blue light, as did Saber's wound, from when the red spear had slipped through her conjured armor; her stance steadied noticeably while her armor rematerialized. Cold green eyes took my measure in seconds, and I quailed beneath her gaze. "You are forgiven, Caster, however… I must inquire," she said, eyes addressing Lancer now, "whether you speak the truth. This other spear, is it another Noble Phantasm as he said?"
The cocky spearman flicked Saber's blood of his weapon, scowling at me. "Tis true enough, though the deception wasn't my decision, but my Master's- oh, he did not like that- and, as I am ever faithful to my liege, I perpetrated his scheme. Your loyalty is to your credit, Saber, and your prowess is-"
"These are pleasantries, and quite beside the point, Lancer. You have invited me to a duel of honor, intending to betray me, betray the tenets of chivalry. Whatever the cause, you have dishonored yourself," she cut him off.
Lancer tilted his head. "What a sharp tongue for such a pretty face." He tsked. "If it is what my Master commands, so it will be. That said- in a way, I'm glad to have been thwarted in this. I had been looking forward to this duel, and now," he leaned forward, brandishing the red spear I'd forgotten the name of, an angelic smile on his lips, "it can happen properly."
Here's the thing about Servants: there was probably a great deal of very clever footwork, strikes and counter-strikes that happened within the next thirty seconds, but they were moving so quickly that I honestly couldn't follow any of it. I picked up on the fact that Lancer's spear was gradually dispelling the invisibility on Excalibur, which, uh… yeah, that made perfect sense, but it had definitely also slipped my mind. Lost track of it by focusing too much on Gae Buidhe, ironically. Speaking of his spear, I yelped and had to throw myself out of the way of an errant strike from Lancer, as the combat moved towards my side of the road, and he grinned savagely at me. "C'mon Caster, afraid to fight a real warrior?"
I backed away rapidly, while Saber intercepted him and I prayed she could keep him occupied because the truth was fuck you, of course I am, are you insane, I'm Caster I'm not supposed to be fighting on the front lines at all and you're flipping around doing some fucking superhuman ren faire bullshit. But what I said was: "You would dishonor yourself further to fight a man without a weapon? For shame, Lancer."
He shrugged, which was no mean feat while dancing with Excalibur. "I know better than to think a mage unarmed, but very well." And they assayed away from me again.
My options were limited: I'd misremembered where the fight took place and had in my cocksure way placed all my water demons strategically along the edge of the harbor, down in the seawater, where they were practically invisible, as they took on the nature of the water that they'd been formed from but could rapidly intercede when I called on them. In theory. But that theory had been developed while I thought the fight would be taking place close to the waterfront, and not several rows of containers in, and as it were they were no use to me. I debated rapidly with myself whether to call some of them to my position, giving up the advantage of surprise but letting them make a difference in this one battle, or whether to use them to prepare for my future gambit with Kariya.
It was at that point lightning struck, and Rider arrived with poor Waver in tow.
That was another thing that I did remember would happen, even if I was a little shaky on 'when', but whether I was prepared or not, the King of Conquerors had already touched down in his massive chariot, and I doubled over, cringing at the deafening noise. Lightning earthed itself on the containers hemming the battle in; well, 'hemming in', I'd no doubt both these knights could make short work of mortal metal, but still.
He was also much as I remembered him; a tall, broad man, with a thick, mid-length mane of red hair, beard and sideburns, sun-kissed skin, clad in the furs and leathers of a warrior of old. His voice was loud, just on the edge of grating, as he called out: "Yes! A marvelous gathering of warriors this night! I am Iskandar, King of Conquerors," and I guess I suck at this, because I did not remember he said that "and I am of the Rider Class in this Holy Grail War!"
"Rider, what the hell are you doing!?" a small voice cried out in protest.
"I ask of you, brave warriors, that you kneel before me, and recognize me as sole claimant to the Holy Grail, and join my retinue, as honored champions! Together, we shall surely conquer the world entire!" he yelled, thrusting his sword to the heavens.
Silence, but for crackling sparks. The absurd offer had shattered the atmosphere of battle, and both Saber and Lancer were standing back, at least for a moment.
"You said you had a plan!" Waver hissed.
Before Rider could defend himself, Lancer chuckled and said, "I have to agree with the whelp. As far as job offers go, I've had better. Then again, I've had worse too," he mused, apparently relaxing while leaning on his spear, although it rang false to me. "Still, no. I serve a Master already, and his will is opposed to your own, which makes us enemies."
"You must comprehend, surely, that this is a fool's errand?" Saber added. "The Grail calls only those who have a desire for it to fulfill. To ask us to give that up is…" she said, "it is hubris. It is folly."
"I would be willing to offer concessions…" Rider said, scratching his chin a little sheepishly. "What about you, er, Caster, I assume? How would you like to bend the knee?"
"I am Caster yes," I said, choking down my discomfort at saying that "but I must also decline you, conquering horse-king of Greece. Your wish is like my own, but the cup holds but wine for one king, and I will drink, I will have life, I refuse and if you refuse the will of the stars, it shall be your undoing. It is written, it is foretold!"
"You're some kind of prophet, then?" he asked, smiling broadly. I tried not to tremble beneath the attention of a man who could snap my scrawny ass like a toothpick. "Tell us then, seer:" he threw out his arms, eyes shining with glee and no small intelligence, "who wins the Holy Grail War!?" And now all three Servants were staring at me with calculation. Even Waver poked his head up from Rider's chariot to glare at me, looking like a sullen cabbage.
Swallowing meekly, I tried to come up with something: the truth is not enough, you must also be convincing, I'd learned. "I read things in the stars, as you've gleaned, first called 'the Great', but I know not all their infinite majesties. An end is foretold, it is written, it is finished, but I have foretold wrong ends before, and I will not have the one I see now, I will have my own. The path of the stars," I took a deep breath, prepared to tell them the truth, when a frenzied light turned on in my mind, a mad, half-formed plan, and I spoke before I could second-guess myself, "is for him to claim it!"
I pointed up at the top of a lamppost. All eyes followed. Nothing happened.
"Archer, reveal yourself!" I spat, braver than I felt. Out of the corner of my eye, something flickered, from a different lamppost than I'd pointed at, and I threw myself away, guided by alien instincts honed by battle I'd never seen. Either too late or too slow: a line of fire blazed across my cheek, and the ground behind me cracked beneath an ornate, golden spear, punching through with the strength of a man two-thirds divine.
"A yapping dog dares accost its betters? Tis the purview of kings to teach mongrels how to act, and slay them, should their baying prove too bothersome." The God-King of Uruk lazily inspected his immaculate, golden gauntlet. "Let this be the final lesson you will ever need: only your prophecy of my inevitable victory bought your pathetic life. Speak again, and I will end you."
"Hah!" Rider guffawed. "So, you are the one I must defeat to conquer this world anew? A worthy match indeed!"
Archer was a blazing sun of power: pitiless, unconquerable, beyond Humanity, beyond any thing of the Earth, beyond even the limits of his flesh. Oh, but I had not lied when I told Tiffany that he'd be our greatest obstacle, for he had just now almost slain me with an errant gesture, a mere flex of the power in his Gate. To make killing him a prerequisite for winning, to turn the Servants here gathered against him at once? It was a mad hope, and the only one I had.
I'd never seen Gilgamesh defeated in a canonical work: not because it had never happened, I assumed, just because I had, somewhat to my embarrassment, especially recently, never actually read or watched Fate Stay/Night. So it could be done, obviously, but I had no metaknowledge that told me how.
"You are the Archer Servant, then. Which Master do you serve?" Saber asked, her stance tense. I couldn't blame her: Lancer was the weakest Servant here, a thought that failed to account for myself, unused to the status as I was, but without revealing Excalibur or exposing Irisviel to harm, she was at a temporary disadvantage, even without the Gae Buidhe gambit working out, and now she was potentially facing two complete unknowns as well as Lancer. And, as I recalled it, Archers were the natural counter for Sabers in the Knight Class Trifecta, which had to make my announcement even more disheartening.
"Tch. I serve no Master, little girl." He scowled, blood-red eyes somehow ice cold. "To even besmirch my armor with the base metals of this fallen age," I imagined Archer petulantly kicking the lamppost he stood on and very nearly giggled, half in terror, "is an immeasurable indignity, one I shall not forgive my fool summoner for inflicting upon me. He serves my ends."
I was tempted to interject, somehow, sow discord between Archer and, I don't know, literally anyone, it wouldn't be hard, but I'd tested my luck against Archer once already, and I wasn't keen on having a spear shoved through my stomach if I made him lose what little patience he had. Also, I was only an E-rank, and he had like, A-rank Luck, right?
'Caster, I think I've spotted our man. Sickly young fellow skulking around an alleyway, sweating like a monsoon rolled in, looks about ready to keel over.' She relayed a destination to me, and I smiled for a moment, before I remembered something.
'That'll be because Berserker is about to-'
'Shit! Caster, look out!'
A dark flame erupted at the end of a corridor of shipping crates, and a thing that walked like a man howled, as I contemplated something. 'Huh. I believe this means that literally all Servants in the War are gathered here. How novel.'
'What!? I thought it was just Lancer, Saber, and you!?'
'Well, it was, but Assassin was observing them before I even joined, Rider crashed in a little while ago, and then Archer showed his face, which, with the Black Knight over here rolling into town, makes seven Servants. I hadn't even realized that. And, I believe, several Masters as well: Rider's, Lancer's, Saber's fake Master... even Kiritsugu.'
'The Magus Killer is here?'
'The Magus Killer is here, Master, nowhere near you and Kariya. He's,' I paused, wracking my brain for what Kiritsugu was, in fact, doing at this time, before giving up, 'keeping an eye on Irisviel.' I resisted the urge to crack my knuckles. 'I'll attempt an exfiltration as soon as possible, you keep tailing Kariya.'
'Hmph. If you're just going to leave, why did you even need to involve yourself?' she asked pointedly.
'I'll tell you when we've handled Kariya: my plan didn't quite work out like I imagined, but for the better, I assure you.'
I squared my shoulders, and briefly contemplated bringing my water demons into the scuffle- by now, they'd emerged from the waterfront onto the concrete harbor. But it would be a precious few seconds before they could join the fight that I'd be embroiling myself in, so instead I began backing away from the escalating brawl. Berserker, single-minded and mad, charged at Saber, but Archer took offense to being left out and chucked a sword at him, which caused- well, you know. Servant shit. I took another step.
Before I got further, Lancer nailed me to the ground with a glance, my spine stiffening in a jerk as I met his eyes. God, what had I been thinking? Who was I to walk amongst these demigods? What hope did I have of defeating all these legends, who could freeze me with a simple look? I choked down a breath, and tried to suppress my trembling, as I brought a finger to my lips in the sign for silence and winked at Lancer, before disappearing into my spirit form.
He didn't give chase.
I found Kariya in the alleys behind the harbor. His eyes were flickering, tracking things I couldn't see- keeping a close eye on Berserker, no doubt. My Master greeted me as I appeared on the roof by her side, looking down at Kariya's sorry state. His hair was grey, his face a death-mask, and one arm hung limply by his side.
At my mental command, a cadre of water demons slithered in from one end of the dirty alleyway, and with a nod at my Master, which she returned, casting a glance at the red line on my cheek, I went to join them, once more dropping to the ground like an ill-coordinated bat. Our grim but awe-inspiring procession approached Kariya without subtlety, but we were within spitting distance before he took any notice. Once he did, he did not start or run, he simply stiffened and watched us.
I bowed my head at him. "Kariya Matou. Heir to the withering Matou bloodline. Half-magus. Worm food." He scowled at me, tense as a violin string, and I went on. "But perhaps, before dawn, a hero. There is someone you're trying to save, isn't there?"
The Command Seals on his hand burned as he held them up, panic in his eyes.
"At ease, Matou. We will need all three of those to save the poor, innocent Sakura."
"How do-" he said, stopping to cough, "how do you know about her? What do you want? You're a Servant, right? Didn't I just see you?" The Seals were alight, ready to call Berserker, but he hadn't used one yet.
"I know many impossible things, Kariya Matou. I know how you loved Aoi. How you wish her daughter were your own. How you ran from your responsibilities. And I know the deal you struck with the cancer in your house. A life for a life." I paused, tilting my head. "And I know your 'Grandfather' never expected you to succeed. But what I do not know is this- why did Berserker not strike that insect down at once? Why, when he gave you the weapon, did you not thrust it into Zouken's back, Kariya Matou?"
"You think I didn't want to?!" he yelled and took a step forward, proving himself either braver or more foolish than I in the face of a Servant and his demons. "Grandfather is immortal! Nothing I can do- nothing anyone can do- nothing you can do would kill him!" He was angry, but more than that, he was hopeless. Desperate. And, for the moment, he'd forgotten about summoning Berserker.
"So you know, I take it, all the secrets of his magecraft? The bond, the worms, the core?" It was a shot in the dark, a momentary detail from a fanfic about a heart-worm, but I had to try, even if I was on shaky ground here. As for specifics I could trust, I had read once on TVTropes that there were three ways to dispose of Zouken. Now however, many months since then, I had but fragments of that full accounting. Something to do with a core, or just burning the house down and destroying every worm, and something else I'd fully forgot.
But the point was this. "Zouken Matou, whatever he is, whatever he has become, is not immortal. And I intend to help you prove it. I know something of his secret ways, his hidden weakness, the corruption of his blood. A theory of his death."
"What?" He stood transfixed. "You're insane. You don't know the first thing about that monster. You don't know what he's capable of!"
I smirked. "In your total ignorance, you think that I am the fool. Prithee tell me, are you a magus true?" I didn't need to wait for his dejected grimace. "Indeed not. You see your 'Grandfather' do ten impossible things before breakfast, and so you think him a god. But I know what he did."
I went on, half addressing my Master as well. "The process of creating a Magic Crest, or Family Crest, is one of incorporating the Other into Humanity, much like magecraft is the art of manipulating the very edge of the Native Sphere, which is the Grand Order. One takes a piece, a sliver, of a Mystical Beast into oneself, and, over the course of generations of being passed down, it is refined, becoming of and within the Grand Order. This is a Magic Crest, not merely a bundling of Magic Circuits, but a far more significant violation of human limits- for such limits, too, are of and within the Grand Order.
"You know, certainly you have become most intimately acquainted with, how your Grandfather has violated this principle in his 'familiars', how they have been made to serve much the same purpose as this Family Crest I describe, and indeed, that is half the story.
"But what of moving the other way?" I asked rhetorically. "If the art of the Magic Crest is to violate human limitations by moving the Other into the Native Sphere, what if one could move a Human into transverse space? Commit the ultimate sin of transhumanism? Indeed, what if one wert inspired by the Crest itself?" I scrutinized Kariya's face, but his trembling exhaustion made him hard to read. "You must have heard your 'Grandfather's' term for his 'familiars'?"
"Crest Worms," he breathed. He was beginning to believe. At least, I hoped.
'I think I understand,' my Master chimed in. 'This is a disturbing possibility, one I'd never considered. I doubt many would. Something we take so much for granted, the Family Crests- to have exploited such a crucial Foundation of modern-day magecraft… as long as there are mages left to believe it, he'd be something close to immortal.'
'Indeed. I suspect, Master, that he must have come up with it to observe the Holy Grail War over its many iterations,' I returned to her.
'Amazing. To have invented such a system of perfect consumption. Hideous, yet efficient… and strangely familiar,' she relayed, her tone breathless.
"Then you no doubt see the truth already. The interlocking of his immortality and the false empowerment he offers. The Matou line has been withering because it is being fed upon by the corruption-"
"I know! I know he's lived forever! His name keeps showing up in the records- I don't care how, just tell me how to kill him!" Kariya screamed, bloodshot eyes twitching in fury.
He's already accepted my basic premise, I thought to myself, namely that it's possible. "If we can find the heart-worm, he will be dead in a moment. A more tensing of one's grip could end it. I believe it to be buried deep within the Matou house. But you are more familiar with it than I and would better know where he hid something like that. He'd need it close, but safe, Kariya; does that give you an idea?"
He nodded, slowly, expression freezing with the effort of recall.
'Furthermore, if it's that central to his magecraft, we would be able to sense it- he could hide it, but stone is only so good at insulating magical energy," my Master commented to me, and I relayed it to Kariya, who became even more thoughtful.
"And even if it should elude us, should we be able to kill every one of his 'familiars' which are in truth all that remain of his flesh, we shall claim victory too."
"But, Sakura- She's-"
"They can be removed. My Master is a healer," I felt her frown, which meant she wanted me to know she was unhappy, "but if that is insufficient, either materially or for your comfort's sake, I know of others who can assist." Only two, and there were no guarantees for either but then again… there were no guarantees for any of this. Sakura's rescue was a shot in the dark in many ways. But we had to try. For her. I would be a monster in truth otherwise.
How odd, to find myself the ally of a man who so rankled me. He'd killed the woman he loved out of jealousy and hate, and every other sentence I said, I had to remind myself that he hadn't even if he would. Just one of those things they don't tell you about future knowledge: it's really hard not to judge people for things you know for a fact they'd do if not for you. "Rejoice! Though I am no Grail, I am here to grant your wish, Kariya Matou." I bowed. "By dawn, if all goes well, Sakura will be free, and," I added this next part to reassure his mind, trained for selfishness, "I will be one step closer to winning the Holy Grail War, once Berserker is gone."
Time stretched out. It all hung on this one moment, this one decision. If Kariya summoned Berserker, even if I could disengage, which wasn't guaranteed, I'd be in deep shit. No plan, nothing to show for wasting days of my Master's time and several golden nuggets of the intel that was the only thing keeping me ahead in the War. It came down to this: did Kariya, beaten, tamed, starving, still have enough hope to ask me-
"How are we doing this?" A single tear, or perhaps a drop of blood, fell from his eye.
And I smiled. Oh, I smiled so broadly.
"Well first- oof!" My Master, having tried to drop down from the roof to the alley as I'd done, nearly crumpled at the impact but held on. "Well, first, we should figure out what Berserker's going to do before he gets himself into more trouble," she said, pointing her thumb back at the escalating brawl while panting for breath.
After casting her an inscrutable look, Kariya nodded, and we got to it.
The plan, like all good plans, was simple. Since I only had D-rank Agility, the Masters and I would take a while to arrive at the Matou stronghold halfway across the city. Therefore, I was already sending my small cadre of water demons ahead through the river to create a disturbance, causing Zouken to secure Sakura in the pit o' bugs out of an abundance of caution. We needed to know for certain where she was so that Berserker, who wasn't the best at following any plan right now, could find and extract her with the guidance of only a single Command Seal, as we needed to conserve them as much as possible for other things that we needed Berserker for.
So, while we were making our way toward Matou's place as fast as possible, but slower than either Berserker or my water demons, they would be wreaking havoc in the upper floors and Berserker would be entering the pit. Once we arrived, I would begin searching the rest of the mansion aside from the pit, in case Zouken didn't do what we expected, with my Master standing by for when it came time to heal Sakura. If Berserker found Sakura, he'd seek me out and hand her over and once that happened, or once I found her on my own, I'd exfiltrate to hand Sakura over to my Master for treatment while Berserker kept Zouken busy and then re-enter the residence to assist him in taking Zouken down, which was the second half.
God, I was really going to have to kill someone, wasn't I?
As for accomplishing all that, regarding the heart-worm, Kariya had told us that the Crest Worms did, occasionally, need to eat something other than mana, which meant that Zouken couldn't just do the normal lich thing and entomb his phylactery as I'd been halfway dreading; it'd be somewhere far more accessible, and we'd workshopped the command for Berserker to find it, relying on his peerless and undiminished skill.
There was no time to dwell. Kariya quickly mumbled the three commands we'd decided on for Berserker under his breath, and we all heard the animalistic roar of frustration as they pulled him away from his pursuit of Saber. "Did it. He's unharmed. Mostly. Now, how are we supposed to get there in time?" he asked, sweating a little more from the pain of using all his Command Seals at once.
Just then, a taxi pulled up at the mouth of the alley and flashed its lights three times. "One step ahead of you, Matou-"
"Just Kariya," he growled.
"One step ahead of you, Kariya: our ride is here," Tiffany said, quickly correcting herself.
We walked up to him, Tiffany rummaging through her jacket, and the driver pulled down his window as we approached. "Hey, what's-"
That was as far as he got before my Master drew her closed fist out of a pocket, opened it in front of her mouth and blew a red powder into his face. Then she snapped her fingers, and the powder ignited, the short-lived flames shining in alien colors and geometries that took me a while to blink out of my eyes. The poor taxi driver sat there, stunned, as Tiffany spoke firmly to him.
"There's nothing suspicious about these passengers," she said.
"There's nothing suspicious about you," he agreed placidly.
"You're going to get us to our destination as fast as possible, even if it means breaking traffic laws."
"I'm going to break traffic laws."
"You're taking us to," she looked over at Kariya, who gave her the address which she relayed to the driver. Then, without waiting for him to say it back, she pulled open the back door, shoved Kariya inside, said to me "Spirit form. Lighter. Hang on to my coat," and then got in.
I obliged the lady, who quickly fastened her and Kariya's seatbelts.
"Drive!"
And oh boy, did he ever.
Outside the car, the streetlights shone a sickly yellow, casting my Master's face into sharp and twisting shadows. 'And you're sure this is the only way?'
I scowled, in spirit form, so my Master couldn't see. 'If you're so hesitant to save an innocent girl, Master, you're more than welcome to use a Command Seal and call me off. Kariya has spent all of his- he's officially not a Master anymore.' We hit a pothole and the Masters hit the roof of the car, which nearly knocked the strange object my Master was constructing out of her hands: an icosahedron made of incense sticks, with that odd, red egg I'd seen, suspended by wire in the middle of it.
She tsked. 'That's not what I meant. What you've described, the things that are happening in that house are horrific. Bringing down a magus like that… everything I know tells me it's the right thing to do. I only worry about the practicalities.' She began to rustle through her jacket, biting a length off a ball of twine once she found it. 'I've no doubts that two Servants working in tandem, one empowered by three Command Seals, can destroy this monster. I'm less confident you can actually save the girl like this. Couldn't we wait?'
'No,' I told her. 'Even if Berserker didn't injure himself fighting every other Servant in the War but me, Zouken's familiars are everywhere. He'd cotton on to us immediately. I'm not convinced he hasn't already. And besides, getting her out is up to us. Saving her us up to you,' I shot back. It was up to me, rather, to be the mastermind of this operation; these two would never enter the mansion, and Berserker would be following Kariya's Command Seals, meaning that 'empowered' was a little rich, and it meant I'd be the only one responsible for what happened in there. It would all be my fault.
'With a week, hell, with a full day's work, I could have. You gave me three hours.' One corner of the object came undone, and she cursed under her breath. 'You should have told me earlier.'
Should I have? Maybe she was right. My stomach curdled at the idea that Sakura would die, not because I failed to save her, but because I'd failed to trust my Master. The reality of the situation was becoming overwhelming. I could smell the stuffy car, see the twinkling stars, feel the oppressive roar of the motor. I was stuck, trapped by the air, feeling the coolness in my lungs like they were full of rigid steel. It was all well and good to plan a death, and know it was the right thing to do. It was another to know I'd be wading through hell, through the guts and slime of the thing-that-had-been-human, Zouken Matou. I could already smell the blood. A little girl might die for my negligence, my mistrust. My spectral heart thundered in this alien chest of mine as we raced through the city.
When we arrived, Kariya was the first to leave, and I manifested soon after, eager to run in and begin to convert the dying Crest Worms into water demons, but my Master held me back, the incense-twine-thing under her arm as she tightened some of the knots with her free hand. The mansion itself was an old, luxurious building, bordering on opulent, like a lilliput castle with squat, round towers topped by cones, all blue stone and glass, lurking in the coolness of night.
We stood outside the gate, looking in through the bars; from here, one would never guess that anything, but a wealthy eccentric resided there. There were hints at something amiss- the planters were empty of anything but shriveled weeds, and the little bit of lawn allotted to the grounds was mostly moss and dandelions, and even the ivy on the walls was yellowing, but these were evidence of a withering fortune, rather than the true, far more insidious corruption.
Beneath the earth, evil dwelt.
I could feel a twanging in the air, and the smell of ozone, and when I held out my hand, I felt something try- and fail- to hold me back. Some kind of bounded field Berserker had shattered on his way in? There was, on inspection, a hole in the side of the manor, from which poured dark smoke.
And suddenly, I smelled sulfur.
My Master, finished with her incense-whatever-it-was, snapped her fingers over it. Sparks flew from her hand, setting it ablaze, the egg rocking back and forth in its cradle. Then, without any explanation, Tiffany took a stance like a pétanque player and chucked the entire burning contraption as far as she could onto the roof of the mansion. It landed with a splat and a hundred twigs snapping. A wet, red, lizard face shortly after poked over the edge of the roof almost coquettishly, a yellow-hot tongue of flame licking at the air.
"Salamander," Tiffany yelled over the great distance, the small, glowing reptilian fixing its newborn gaze on her. "I bid you, let consuming flame have this manse! Let no crawling thing of the earth escape! Let its dark wood fall into the yawning abyss of fire! Thus your master commands!" The elemental trilled happily, and leapt ahead, into what would soon, very soon indeed, be a charnel house to match the worst Bluebeard had ever seen. And I was already running into it.
Next time, something a little different. Look forward to it.
Like always, this story is being cross-posted on AO3
- Location
- Probably at sea
Well, you know, usually. Right now, that's Irisviel.
This is something I always found funny - in their duel Saber wonders which one of the spears Lancer is holding is his Noble Phantasm, like it's totally impossible for him to have two, despite the fact that she's literally holding both Excalibur and Invisible Air in her hands right that second.
Um. In the game mechanics of Grand Order, yes, but that's not a fluff thing. Artoria is actually one of the better Servants you could choose to go up against Gilgamesh, provided Kiritsugu gives her Avalon first; Diarmuid would last a couple of seconds.
Kinda sorta... it's necessary but not sufficient, IIRC. In the Heaven's Feel route, Zouken survived Sakura crushing the heart worm and was eventually finished off by Illya - I could be wrong and he was still dying there, it's been a while, but I think he was getting ready to convert another worm into a heart worm and cling on somehow.
It's actually kind of refreshing for the SI to not immediately focus solely on manipulating the War, but to have a side-project like saving Sakura that they want to get done first. Without Ryuunosuke and Gilles fucking around until inevitably finding out, the first stage of the War would look entirely different. I don't know, I just like that it's not all scheming around the stations of canon.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Heh, yeah. He means more in the sense of what Avalon represents, but I'll get into that later.
I didn't know that it was only a FGO mechanic, I swear I heard it referenced beyond that. But otherwise, neither SI!Caster or I think that Saber is a worse choice against Archer than Lancer, don't fret. This one was just for flavor.
Caster and Murderboy were the first villains of Fate/Zero, so beyond this very first setpiece, there ended up being very few stations of canon SI!Caster could use: aside from backstory and the realities of the Grail War, of course.
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Flairina
Least Omnipotent Goddess
- Location
- The next infinity over
A question I wish people asked more often, as it often leads to more interesting stories. Frankly, you don't see many servant inserts just in general (surprisingly enough), so it's nice to see one that's also taking the harder, less traveled road rather than the "fun" road. Chapters 2 and 3 were a bit exposition-heavy on their own, but we're moving right along into major changes already, so that's no big deal. Eager to see where this goes next. O(∩_∩)O
- Pronouns
- He/Him
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Man, now I'm having a cursed mental picture of Caster doing that