Chapter 14
Victory/Defeat
The shield of Aias was once said to have deflected a spear thrown with the force to penetrate a fortress. It was the first time that one of the Greek warriors invading Troy had feinted off the might of the city’s champion-prince.
Long ago, such a device was recovered by the alchemists of Atlas and, as was their specialty, they reverse-engineered a way to generate the sevenfold protection of the once-Noble Phantasm in an attempt to create a defensive armament suitable for saving the world from destruction. Capable of protecting a wielder or wielders against quite a threat—but not capable of shielding the entire world nor entirely containing and locking away a danger—the research was eventually abandoned.
One glimpse had been all Shirou Emiya had needed to make it suitable for his uses.
Unfortunately, while it served to protect him from many modern attacks and even a few strange abilities of those of a supernatural kind, it was still a lesser protection than the true shield wielded by a great warrior of ancient times. Despite the throw coming from over a kilometer away, the blow that shook both man and shield was great enough that it would have torn tiles right off the rooftop even if it missed. It cracked the first layer of protection before the spear fell to the ground, twisted and distorted by the force.
Shirou’s arm likewise felt cracked, the bones within fractured. Aias was reliant upon the bearer and damaging it could damage the wielder. Biting down on the pain, he waved Sakura back toward the other side of the building. He shouted, “Saber, the park!” in the direction of his phone and hoped those on the other end would hear.
Something in him could feel the gaze from the enemy Servant, assessing what had happened. The position he was using compromised, he took off at full tilt, grabbing Sakura around the waist with his good arm, and leapt right off the rooftop, pouring as much prana through his body as he could to get them to an adjacent rooftop concealed in the shadow of the Central Building’s larger stature.
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Saber did indeed hear the call from Hakuno’s phone. Launching herself from the rooftop, she too crossed the expanse but swept further upriver from where Avin now engaged magi attempting to flee. Kicking up a wake as she shot across the stretch of open water, she zeroed in on the park where she and Shirou had once upon a time engaged the King of Heroes—
The prana surging through Saber’s body was released like an afterburner, and she was before her opponent in an instant. She brought the sword in her hand down atop the Lancer-class that stood next to a felled tree. The swirling winds that surrounded the blade buffeted down upon the warrior who held his shield aloft to keep the blow from driving into his skull. Saber’s arms buckled from the blow and she drove the Heroic Spirit back.
He was taller than the previous two Lancers she had faced, bearing down with an aura that was entirely unlike theirs. He was not a wild and fierce warrior as Cuchulainn nor was he sharp-eyed and centered as Diarmuid. It only took a glance for her to know that this was a general of an army, a man born to lead, someone that stood tall and let others follow from beneath the protection of his shadow. He stood with the bearing of a man even a head taller, his gaze entirely unreadable.
Saber readied the sword in her hands at the high guard, seeing something in his stance to know he was going to come at her. An instant later her premonition came true, the point of a spear leading the way as he charged, a thrust for her neck.
A parry. Saber turned the strike aside. She dove in for a strike of her own, but was blocked by the enemy’s shield. He choked up on his spear and made another quick jab for her throat.
This time, her sword became a storm as she released the pressure of her Noble Phantasm. The blast of wind was enough to redirect the spear thrust just enough that it flew past Saber’s left ear. She pushed off from the shield and landed a few meters away, bringing the spell back entirely around the sword. Without the need to conceal Excalibur’s appearance—and thus her own identity—the judicious use of Invisible Air was going to be her main tool for combating her enemy. While she would use the concealment of its length to her advantage as much as possible, it would also be necessary to use the winds around it to surprise Lancer.
Her enemy moved in after her, thrusting thrice, each aimed for classical kill areas about the neck and head. His strikes were surgical and precise and Saber turned each aside just so, one grazing her forehead just enough to draw blood. She moved in to counter, a full thrust of her own, and was turned aside by the rounded shield he held. Without relenting an inch, she pressed the attack, the gale-force winds swirling around her sword, blowing the plume of Lancer’s helm up into the air. Strikes aimed for his thigh, his weapon arm, his unarmored face, each clanging loudly as shield or spear deflected them aside. She drove him back and kept tight in his range, not once allowing his superior reach to have an effect.
In any other situation she would find the challenge enjoyable. Even in previous wars, finding adversaries that were capable of standing tall against her sat well with her—she was prideful enough to desire such an obstacle. Yet now, there was no honorable prize to obtain, and her heart would be forever stained.
A boy had once told her to accept the past and live from this moment onward.
As one that had failed before, she refused to let such a thing transpire yet again.
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Gunvor watched from the safety of the shadows. His planning had extended beforehand to places he knew he could retreat to, putting his back to a wall and granting him concealment from enemies. He could make out the battle nearby just enough, obstructed by a line of brush and two additional evergreens. A stone bench with a dedication plaque on it was thrown on its side and would serve as a shield if an opponent showed themselves.
The enemy Servant’s fast appearance was a concern, as was the attempt on his life—but now that his own Servant had come, Gunvor felt no fear. He had established the link properly, had done everything correct. His Servant now fed off of residual energy that was built up over months and he could communicate with his Servant over some distance through their contract. Gunvor was sure to alert Lancer that he would retreat to cover, allowing the Heroic Spirit to fight the woman that had emerged with impunity.
Now it was in the hands of his Servant.
The battle progressed in ways that were surprising to Gunvor, but not in a fashion that left no solution. This rival Servant was overall perhaps more powerful, but she seemed held back by something. Gunvor’s fascination with people had given him intuitive understanding of the human condition, and although these spirits fought at a level beyond humanity, the way they retained their personas and egos allowed him some insight. At the very least, this was not an enemy that fought with total, dominate victory in mind.
Their exchanges were fierce and faster than Gunvor could visually keep up with. Lancer came out of it worse for wear, but only slightly. Wounds of that caliber could only be counted as minor when it came to beings that fought immortals and gods.
Additionally, Lancer was topped off even with a Master incapable of providing magical energy. If he used up his own stores, he would naturally regenerate more as the leyline fed him. His own magical energy was easily sufficient to repair the damage done to his body.
No magus would have arranged it that way—doing so would be comparable to admitting they were insufficient as a magus. Gunvor did not have such qualms and would do whatever it took to prove his methodology was superior.
He would continue to watch and wait, and provide his Lancer with any further opportunities his knowledge could bring.
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It looked like a fireworks show, or the backlot to a movie full of special effects. Lights like fireworks going off, small firecracker noises as squibs blew up, a piece of furniture or architecture collapsing as it was struck by some invisible force. An errant bolt struck a parked car and caused steam to rise from the engine as if it overheated. The street lights in the immediate vicinity all blew out at once.
Avin was successful at turning the huge slab of stone to a bunch of rubble and had even taken one of the enemy magi, the younger female, to the ground by rupturing her eardrums and sickening her to the point of throwing up. In the process, however, he had been blown right across the river by some kind of explosive spell, striking the surface like a skipping stone and washing up on the other shore.
Tasmir watched it happen from her hidden boundary field and confirmed he was still moving—he looked dazed and concussed but was still breathing at least—before taking action herself. Her own magecraft was not suitable for doing much besides taking a defensive stance or keeping watch. Yet she was also not one to sit by entirely when those she stood by were threatened.
Without Avin present to flank them, the enemy magus, a tall and dark man that had followed two younger people out of the building turned to address the crumbling stones they were transporting out of the house and the collapsed young woman that had fallen next to it. The third person, a young man that looked roughly the same age as Tasmir, issued commands in a different language to the device transporting the stones.
The fourth person to leave, a woman Tasmir vaguely recognized, was busy setting up a new barrier around the house. Tasmir could tell by a single glance that it was meant to contain something within, so she assumed it was to trap Waver, Luvia, and Rin inside.
One thing at a time, however. The taller man that had disabled Avin would be the immediate threat when she revealed herself. Too, there was a bit of satisfaction to striking back against someone who had harmed one of theirs.
Releasing the boundary field on her flying carpet, Tasmir found her feet on the embankment just shy of the river. She remained in the shadow of the house next door, unnoticed as the four were still busy with their escape preparations. The one that had hit Avin made an occasional look across the river for a counterattack but did not look her way—so Tasmir made her move, raising her hand before her.
“Contendite vestra sponte
Move to attack
A boundary field that operated antithetical to a standard field’s operation. It gave off a visible cue like a windowpane and instead of subtly affecting the world, it was meant for pure physical interference. In concept it was like a quicker, dirtier, less powerful version of one of the petals to the shield Shirou had used to protect himself from the thrown spear. Cast relative to her hand’s position, she could feel a glass-like sensation against her palm. Once deployed, it remained in place so long as the user fed prana into it or it was destroyed.
That was not the end of it, however. As it would not move from its position, Tasmir could not “take it with her” so to speak. But in this case, it could also be used for a different purpose. As it took the form of an object capable of physical interference, it was like any other object itself.
A second barrier went up ahead of the first. Then a third barrier went up ahead of the second.
These barriers multiplied in the blink of an eye, building aside one another in space. While a single high-powered bullet could probably pierce right through a dozen of the fields at a time, defense was not their purpose. Like a tidal wave the size of a small car, the fields rapidly deployed and lurched toward the magus that had blasted Avin across the river.
Like being hit by a speeding vehicle, Rodrigue Lockette was flung into the streets beyond, skipping once and crashing into a wooden fence further down the block.
That certainly garnered attention. The woman forming the barrier around the house—Tasmir now recognized her as the heir to the Einon family—turned and, without even having confirmed Tasmir’s location visually, sent a curse flying. Like a tracer bullet, it shot across the distance with a fiery light and just missed Tasmir, who dove face-first into the grass at her feet.
“Testudinem formate
Armor formation
Not even bothering to get up, she redeployed boundary fields up around her, this time meant to protect oneself from attack. Multiple translucent barriers roughly the size of a hand formed around her in a rectangular formation, appearing similar to a miniaturized form of the Roman military formation it was named for.
Another curse shot forth, this time aimed at Tasmir’s prone body. The moment the light bullet struck one of the barriers, a disproportionate explosion went off with the force of a land mine.
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While warring with the enemy without the sword she was used to certainly posed many challenges, Saber did not feel at the complete disadvantage. Lancer was eyeing her hands and invisible weapon carefully, although the crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes suggested he had yet to entirely determine its physical properties. He certainly had overall speed and reach on her, but not enough that she had been unable to close in on him for a potentially deadly blow.
He was, however, very capable at shielding himself and skilled at making a quick riposte each time. If she understood his power correctly, this was a man that fought not to overpower nor to overwhelm, but to seek out existing weakness and prey on it any way he could.
Still, he also seemed to be concerned for his Master’s safety, having kept himself firmly in place between Saber and the direction the unknown Master had disappeared to. There was honor to be found there, and if so, in her own way, Saber sought to exploit it. The cool air settled her body and she lowered her sword—but did not completely set it aside.
“Servant Lancer. You understand the reasons for being brought here.”
He did not lower his guard, but nodded slowly. “Of course.”
“I urge you to stand down. This war is not as it would appear on the surface.”
“I refuse.”
Saber expected as much, but pressed on. “This is not an honorable battle between Heroic Spirits,” she said. “Despite the circumstances that have brought you to this battle, it is all for a falsehood.”
“If this is so, you were the one to bring danger and threaten death to my Master and I. The attacking force has no right suing for peace immediately after opening hostilities.” He stomped the tail end of his spear on the ground as if to emphasize his point, smashing a fist-sized crater into the brick pathway at their feet. “Your statements reek of half-truths and your own greed.”
Not that Saber and the others had a choice. If the summoned spirit was the kind of monster that Gilles de Rias or Medusa were, the whole point of fighting, of keeping the evils of the war from spilling out to the rest of the world was in jeopardy.
Yet this one seemed to have honor about him. If he could be reasoned with, that was ultimately preferable, even if unlikely.
“The item you have been summoned to obtain is not capable of granting wishes. You should turn away now, or seek another source for your desires.”
The man did not lower his guard, did not retreat from his place with spear raised and shield held before him. His gaze sharpened. “Speak not of my desires. A Heroic Spirit should not question another’s resolve.”
He punctuated the statement by throwing one of his spears. Saber swatted the blow aside, then had to dive out of reach as Lancer was a mere step behind the throw, catching the polearm on the rebound and taking a swing that would have bisected her at the waist.
Saber let out a hiss, unable to contain her frustration. Lancer pressed the attack, jabbing once more for sure-kill strikes that Saber methodically feinted off with a bare minimum of separation.
Then with a quick flash of light that saw her armor dissipate, she stepped up and rammed her shoulder into Lancer’s raised shield, the force of the blow sending Lancer on the back foot. Saber followed through, jabbing at her opponent with strikes faster than the natural human eye could see even if her sword was not invisible. Blows were either parried when Lancer choked up on his spear or blocked when he raised his shield and turned the blow aside. This time she added further force to each thrust, having discarded her armor in favor of greater speed and prana usage.
That hair’s breadth made just enough of a difference that one blow made it past Lancer’s parry and struck him beneath his spear-arm. Although Lancer darted aside and out of reach within an instant, Saber managed a deep gash right between his ribs.
“As expected of a Heroic Spirit of the sword,” Lancer said. He winced at the damage to his body, but did not waver, yet still prepared for another attack. “Blade and body in accord. No wasted energy. Every strike precise and deadly. I should be thankful you did not skewer me entirely.” He did not, however, sound like a man with a wound that should have reached his lungs. Magical energy was already flowing into him and sewing the damage shut.
Saber said nothing. She still did not wish to do battle if it was in the realm of possibility to find some kind of compromise to cease hostilities, to find some common ground by which to communicate.
Of course, Saber thought bitterly, she was the last person in the world to trust with that. Perhaps it was her fate to never truly connect with anyone but a young man of an entirely different time and place. A person just as atypical as she.
The wound around Lancer’s torso disappeared, although from watching carefully Saber could tell that he was not one gifted with great self-healing abilities. Even his prana output was of a lesser nature, although he seemed to have stores that met or exceeded her own. A being that survived the long campaign rather than fought for swift victory.
A voice called out from the darkness, “Lancer, your Noble Phantasm. Go ahead if it is to your advantage!”
There was something in the unseen Master’s tone that suggested more than he let on. Saber was instantly on full alert, sword before her. Although she could not imagine a Servant that could defeat the protectiveness of Avalon beyond the King of Heroes, she was not a fool enough to discount anything on the field of battle, even from the least of an opponent.
After all, her own Master had once made a sword capable of killing a god multiple times over.
Lancer nodded in assent, his spear held at the ready. There was no change in his stance, however, which was of a certain concern to Saber. Even a low-ranked Noble Phantasm could be truly deadly if one could use it at any moment they so desired.
Yet at the same time, this was not a situation that called for conservative action. With Rin and the other magi engaging an enemy that might themselves attempt a summoning, while Shirou’s status was currently unknown to her, letting another party gain a foothold into the city and the path to the Einzbern’s broken magic was too great a threat.
If she was given the opportunity, she would use her Noble Phantasm to protect her from whatever action Lancer made, then use the gap created by the attack’s failure to strike true.
“Apollo’s will guide me!” Lancer cried, and he shot forth at a speed greater than before.
Saber had no time to decipher his words. She stepped into the charge, sword at the ready, her own true power at the forefront of her mind—
Lancer’s spear cut through the night air separating them. “Deiphobus
Always Facing Death Spear
The spear rang true with a strangely musical hum, but instead of going for a strike to pierce Saber’s body, it turned in the direction of her raised sword.
Ancient warriors of the era did not go for dueling maneuvers. They did not strike to test out the capacities of their enemy. Every attack was meant to be fatal. Every blow went for the weakest, most deadly location.
Saber was a Heroic Spirit, an individual with power that far exceeded normal man. Her body was infused with prana. A Noble Phantasm of unspeakable power healed wounds with speed that surpassed vampiric regeneration. She was a knight that would never leave an opening to her exposed head. She could move faster than the wind and mow through enemies like a lightning bolt tore through the sky.
The sword she carried, however, was not on the same level. It was made by a modern man, with the tools of a modern warrior. No matter the skill of craftsmanship, it was not a weapon that matched her capacity as a warrior, as a figure of legend.
Apollo’s blessing drove Lancer’s spear to the death-knell of a Servant named Saber. The sword in her hand shattered and pieces flew in all directions. Saber herself barely avoided the follow-through, flinging herself aside and blowing past the enemy like a charging vehicle swerving out of the way at the last moment, the spear just grazing the fringe right side of her breastplate.
Death and defeat waited for a being called Saber without a sword.
Despite the loss, Saber did not panic. She removed herself from melee range with another burst of energy, flying out of even the longest spear’s reach and kept her feet moving beneath her, eyes watching her enemy. The park, although fairly open, still had foliage, still had lamp posts and benches, and she wove herself through those obstacles to keep Lancer from catching her entirely in the open.
It mattered little in the end. Lancer went in pursuit, not once letting up in his assault, striking around each obstacle that presented itself, chipping away at Saber’s life with each blow. The spear grazed her forehead, caught her shoulder, then managed a slash across her heel that would have completely debilitated all but the most determined of beings. Saber rolled out of the way, leapt into the air on her good foot, and landed a good twenty meters away, staring down her opponent, watching his throwing arm carefully.
Avalon rendered these wounds pointless in the end, but there was little she could achieve against any Heroic Spirit if she had no weapon. And Shirou had gone to ground as promised when faced with the threat of being within reach of a Servant.
She was at the mercy of a god-champion. At the mercy of one that she knew now would certainly hold no actual clemency toward one designated as the enemy.
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That was the strength of Lancer. A prince that fought in the defense of a great city-state. A paragon that stood with the sun to his back. A warrior that spared none when battle was known to all.
His fall had ensured his country’s destruction. Had he been there, he could have prevented it all. He could have protected the Palladium. He could have destroyed the wooden horse. He could have faced the Greeks that infiltrated the city. He could have even reconciled with his foolish brother who, in the end, had fought valiantly to defeat the war-god Achilles.
Now, he fought to return to those times. He fought for the desire to see it through to the end. He would not count it more or less noble than any other wish, but he would pour all of his strength into obtaining it. He would see things redone. He would reach back and save his people with the insight forsaken to him at the time. And he would succeed where those that had remained had come up short.
“I hear no suing for peace now, Saber,” Lancer said, a touch of mirth to his voice. “Do you not wish to reach my heart now, cloud my mind, attempt to sway my focus?”
Saber did not answer, having moved out toward an opening in the pathway where the river was in full view. She eyed the dark waters in contemplation as if debating a retreat.
“Such words are pointless now, even if what you speak is the truth. My goal is now to protect my Master and obtain our victory. I should think you know why that may be an important oath to Hector of Troy.”
“What we were once before is of lesser concern to the here and now,” Saber said. She almost seemed surprised to say such a thing.
“Yet we were champions left with responsibilities, you and I. My people, even now, call out for salvation. I should think you of all people would understand such things, King of Knights.”
Saber’s eyes narrowed.
“Oh yes, I know of you. There are no knights in the history of the world that could take such a wound unflinchingly. The untouchable king, only mortal if the scabbard of the fey is taken away. You need not evoke the true name of your Noble Phantasm for the truth to be seen.” Lancer shook his head. “Even the invincible warrior that felled me in my time would not be a match to such a blessing.” He set back into throwing position once again, holding his shield before him to protect from a return attack that, despite her empty hands, he would not risk in the face of triumph.
The knight of the sword watched unblinkingly, her gaze centered right on the point of the javelin aimed for her.
“I do not know why you do not use the sword of victory, but mere defense will not avail you. Even if you were once invincible, in this place of limitations, I will deplete everything you have and take your life.”
There was no call for surrender. Lancer was not a figure of chivalry despite the romanticism that came with his legend. He was a warrior that fought for survival—and in this summoning, for his wish to be granted. His aim was to end the six enemy Servants and obtain victory. Unlike Saber, he had no reason nor desire to call for peace.
“30,000 Fabulae
The Sun-Eclipsing Titan Throw
Not a throw of might that sought to penetrate by strength. Not a throw meant to reach across great distances and strike at a target with accuracy. This was a throw like a prayer, called out with reverence to the one that would empower it and the ones that would die by it. The javelin sped forward to meet the charging King of Knights, yet halfway between them, exploded in light like a flare of the sun at midday.
Saber felt herself melting. As if standing amidst a great furnace, her clothes charred, her skin tore away and evaporated, and the very structure of the Servant container she was contained within seemed to break apart around her. Her fingertips and the fringes of her dress and hair caught aflame. She grimaced through it, one hand up to shield her eyes from the intense light—
Lancer readied another spear.
Even if she was invincible with the protection of her scabbard, the magical energy used to protect her would eventually run out.
And he was ready to tear it out of her all at once.
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
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