Fate/Reclamation (IC)

[Zagrin]

Rider of White
15th of December, 2015
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

"I'm sure the Grail has told you the details of this rather irregular war."

"Indeed, where normally it is a battle royal between seven servant and master pairs, this war which I have joined is rather one waged between two factions, each faction having its own set of masters and servants. I am not aware of any other irregularities than that however, so say it now if you know something that I haven't mentioned, Master."

As he concluded his understanding of this "Holy Grail War," Rider began to walk alongside Gendou towards, what he assumed, was the exit of this crypt. As they left the chamber, the presence that been permeating the area appeared to depart as well and was now following right after the duo.

"It is good however that you picked such a desolate spot, without the presence of your peers. The sight of you had already soured my mood, had there been more...well, I'm sure this irregular war of yours would have quickly come to an end."

"For this Holy Grail War, in which class have you manifested in?"

"The class I was summoned in is Rider," he frowned underneath his helm as he answered his master's question and looked at his right hand as he opened and clenched it repeatedly, "And such a weak vessel it is. It's actually quite maddening how constrained I feel in it, but then I suppose it is to be expected with how weak magic has become in this age and a sub-par ritual is used to manifest me."

With little care that it took the efforts of three great mage families to bring about the creation of the Holy Grail War or the face that it provided anyone who came out the victor any wish that he or she desired (Which he himself wasn't truly convinced on either), Rider derided it as nothing more than the work of amateurs. In comparison to the wonders he had seen in his time, the magecraft that Gendou and his kind now dabbled in seemed nothing more like pale imitations and cheap parlor tricks in Rider's eyes.

"You've heard mine so it's only fair: what is it that you seek,『　』?"

"What is it that I seek?" Rider muttered, as he came to a pause to ponder the question, "How to describe it? Salvation? Revenge? Freedom? Ah wait, I know..."

With that he began moving again, past Gendou before finally giving his answer.

"Closure, and so my wish is your wish, Gendou Matou."

[I3uster]

Lancer of White
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

This was surprising. Not a lot of insight could be gained by the summoning itself, so she had simply assumed the girl before her was a magus, especially since she could not shake that strange feeling just by looking at her. Maybe it was just the general aura of one interacting with the less visible parts of this world. Still, these were good news. A conventional magus would pose quite a risk to her own moral integrity. And so, an honest smile accompanied her reply.

"Determined and yet noble, you are doing well to correct your initial impression. I am, dare I say it, happy that there seems to be an understanding in this regard. I hope you can back up that determination when the battle begins."

Even with critical remarks woven in, her statement could not be seen as anything but a compliment.

"And to answer your question...it is a wish befitting my status. Contrary to you I do not seek war for its own sake, I seek what you would call a higher goal. Though I can't say I do not know your type. It is the make of excellent generals...as well as petty street criminals. I hope I will be able to steer you on the right path regarding this matter."

Lancer broke eye contact as she thought on how to formulate her wish. It was not yet the time for her to reveal all about herself.

"I desire nothing wicked, I swear that on my pride as a heroic spirit. I feel it would be rather inconsequential to you in any case."

By now Lancer took a step back, and after taking a good hard look at the sparse surroundings she seemed deeply lost in thought for just a moment.

"Master, nothing should really hold us here. This place is filthy, and I desire to see the city..."

She made her way to the exit.

"

Come, we are leaving.

Viens, nous partons.

"

And spoke in a language that had just minutes ago been foreign to the girl.

[Kirby]

Saber of 『　』
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

"You had answered my call, a feat you said seemed to you a miracle. But you could not have known of my circumstances then. And that is why—that is why I wish to make it clear now. Before you call me Master.

I am a murderer.
I am directly responsible for the deaths of six; it was at my hands that they perished. I do not know if it seems a banal matter to a warrior of the past.
But it was not in war, nor was it in self-defense, nor was it justified in any way."

I keep my face as impassive as I can, listening, and then sigh.

“Yes. I suppose the act of killing to a typical warrior or soldier would not be a meaningful one. As for me, however,” I say, twirling the small knife around in my hand, “I have never killed anyone in my life.”

“Ah, but that’s a moot point, no? I cannot pass judgement on you, for I am no judge; nor can I force you to repent, for I am no priest.” I toss the blade aside, as it clatters to the ground somewhere by the window. “I, however, am but a— well, I suppose sage is a bit too grand for my tastes, so let’s just say I’m a teacher. You speak as if you regret your actions. Do you, or do you not? If so, then to face justice or seek repentance shall be of no one’s will but your own.”

‘None of it could be called anything but that.’

What a strange way to describe one’s killings. As if what it was was something that could be contested.

“I shall aid you in attaining your wish. As for me, the means is its own end. I have no interest in the Grail itself, and have no wish of mine that I cannot grant on my own. And as for you,” I say, turning to the boy before me, “I know not why you kill. But I have no interest in senseless murder, nor shall I condone such behavior from my pupils. If you find yourself gripped by such violence…”

Y’know, I just wanted to come here to stretch my legs, fight a little, have a little fun and not be saddled with such complicated crap… is that so hard?

“Then I shall beat it out of you.”

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Something froze.

"So you would stop me. That is good to hear." The tone in Arwyn's voice was quiet, but noticeably devoid of emotion. As though everything that had threatened to spill out had suddenly disappeared.

His eyes still gazed at Saber, but no longer did they seem to see her.

"You speak as if you regret your actions. Do you, or do you not? If so, then to face justice or seek repentance shall be of no one’s will but your own."

His own?
No. It was precisely because…precisely because it was unforgivable…


—Because he could not forgive himself, then neither should the world. A world that let one such as him free of retribution while those who deserved better suffered without reward.
That was not how it should be, that could not be how it was, surely…


He shivers and looks away, his wounded left arm clutching his right even as it pressed ever harder into his wound.

"…I need to wash the blood off myself if we are to be making any excursions. Please excuse me for some time."

He turns his back to her, and mechanically unwraps the dressing of the wound. The duct tape and bloodied cloths fall aimlessly to the ground as he begins to walk away, headed to the bathroom.


It seemed, almost in a way, cruel irony—that one such as him would have summoned, of all the heroes of the past, one who had never herself bloodied her hands.

---

The hot water runs onto him, flowing past the open wound, dyeing red the shower floor. He felt the sharp stinging pain, but it was only as if he were simply observing a simulation, from a distant perspective.

In the distance, he wonders.

Why had he done what he did? Why had he come this far? How did he arrive at this point?

The disbelief, the desperation, the wish to see what he did not.

All of it, he saw, and observed—in this moment, as though it was not his.
But if those were not his, right now, then what was his?


"……"

Name your price.

What had he gained?

The last thing in this world you would willingly part with.

—Only what was lost.

And yet—what did he hold in these hands? What did he see?


"⸻."


And that, was when he realized its nature.

Loss, without gain. A zero-sum game of no reward. A worldview in which there are only those who take and those who are taken from and yet neither attain anything in the end.

For there is only loss, and those who escape loss.

…Had he known what it was called in the world of magi, he would have thought thus.


That it was neither noble, nor, as much as he wished it was—a mere phantasm.

[Spinach]

Alexandra Chimeragenos
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

The smell arrived first.

Stone grotesques flapped their wings and hopped toward the windows, opening the two additional closed ones and further raising the others. Another pair flew to door, grabbing hold of the handle and hastily turning it.

"Ugh, I can't believe it. Losing to The Lambs? Just throw Fairclough out on his saggy grey arse and be done with it! I could get better results if you gave me a month! Jesus!"

Only to be violently launched to the other side of the room, crashing into the wall as the door was kicked open with a level of force far beyond what was necessary.

The arrival of the man brought a clash. The scrutinous presence of Chimeragenos, an atmosphere that followed the Lord everywhere, that weighed down on everything near her with unrelenting pressure of observation, clashed with the palpable, literal aura of the man. Cigarette smoke that had long soaked into his second-hand clothes, which looked to have been the product of equal thrift store lurking and years of wear and tear, wafted through the room. With the slightest turn of his neck the poisonous scent of the man's self-destructive habit escaped from his leather jacket, years of diligent, careless smoking odors escaping from the fur trim.

"Hey, Gigantor, look at this, Tamworth's got us 0-3 on the run. I mean, I knew things were bad now that we were demoted back to Conference, but Christ Almighty! If we ain't picking up the pace I'll be ashamed to show my face at the stadium. Bloody Fairclough. 'A new, better management', my arse. Money and politicing, that's what it is! Just like with you Lords, you get what I'm saying?"

As always, the man who the very genes of Chimeragenos told her not to associate with greeted her with no more than a crude remark on her appearance, only to seamlessly transition into commentary on his sports hobby.

The gargoyles on the lord's desk turned toward the windows, digging their claws in deep and flapping their wings rhythmically in an effort to blow the cigarette smoke away from their creator.

That creator, a giant known for her expression that was theorized to not be capable of changing, whose disposition and wiring was rumored to not be set to respond to the same stimuli as a true human, who could only ever show herself to be unconcerned with her environment, as well as the entire world...

Coughed.

"Anyways, what sort of trouble have you gotten your super-sized ass this time? And do you need me to bail you out? I figure there's something you want me to do since you went through the trouble of calling me. So, lay it on me. And I mean all of it, Big Ben. If I find out that you left some details out on purpose to stay all aloof and mysterious again, there'll be hell to pay. I can't help your ginormous, pale behind if you refuse to meet me halfway there. It's like worrying about a child sometimes, honestly..."

"A child the size of London Eye."

Alexandra could never explain how it was that she tolerated this man. She excused his behavior, his nonexistent ability to respect others, his absolute disregard for etiquette, by thinking about everything else. Behind everything the man displayed on the outside was something close to a true genius, the kind that only surfaced every few centuries, and such was not Alexandra's sole opinion of him. Otherwise, a man such as this, a first generation magus who crawled his way into the Clock Tower from nowhere, would never have reached the Crown.

The long, pale arm arm of Alexandra rose from her side. Leaning forward, and standing from her seat, the Lord reached over the desk and plucked the still-lit cigarette from the lecturer's mouth.

"Freogan," Chimeragenos began, handing the cigarette to a tiny gargoyle which greedily devoured the cigarette as though it were a delicacy, "I have given you many special permissions. There are few in the Clock Tower who dare to call me by my given name, let alone 'gigantor.' There isn't a magus who would allow another to rest his dirty boots on their desk. And there are many who would insist on you using the doorknob. I have even personally handled and dismissed multiple insistent lecturers and prominent students complaining about your smoking habit."

As she spoke, the Lord picked up the newspaper the man had tossed onto her desk. Not to read it. No, she had read it while the man had been rattling on about his strange fascination with sports. Chimeragenos simply dropped the newspaper to the floor beside her desk, removing it to prevent it from obfuscating the papers she had handwritten prior to the man's arrival.

"However, I will insist you not smoke in my office."

Saying so, the Lord pushed the papers forward, sliding them over her desk until they stopped at the Freogan Deofolgeat's shoes.

"Unlike with my return from Egypt, or the incident with the Grim that I left to you last year, this time I'm also under-informed, Freogan. Any omitted details are blanks in my own knowledge. I have been forced to play a part in a ritual the likes of which I can only hold disdain for, and everything concerning the matter I called you here over is written here, to the utmost of my understanding. This is no longer a personal request, but a formal one. I need support from someone capable, someone intelligent, and most of all," the Lord blinked, a rarer sight than a member of the Dragon kind being discovered in the modern era, "someone trustworthy."

[Verg Avesta]

Freogan Deofolgeat
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

The arm of Freogan was half-way done reaching for the papers that Alexandra had pushed towards his muddied boots, but for a moment his rough hand froze mid-air, dangling there like some sort of tilted Japanese crane-game. Instead of looking at what were no doubt very important documents involving the current situation, Freogan was staring at the titanic woman like she had grown two additional heads who were now blinking rapidly at him. Even his mouth, which had been about to file a crudely worded complain for snagging away his cigarette, just hung limply without being able to find the right words to go forward.

Two seconds passed like that. Five seconds. All ten seconds passed after the Department Head's words before Freogan finally reacted.

He did it by blushing furiously.

"T-trustworthy!? You damn right I am!" He snarled, scratching his head furiously to hide how flustered he was. "The hell you think you're doing you bell-end, spouting nonsense like that! Ain't nothing you're gonna get by buttering my arsehole up! Worse than that, somebody's bound to misunderstand you, you bloody moron!"

Protests like the ones delivered by his junkyard-filthy mouth would have probably been much stronger and more vile had Freogan not been red as Manchester U's shirts. It certainly did wonders to suck all of the ill will and genuine spitefulness out of his retorts. Still growling curses under his breath the lecturer yanked the papers from the table and hid behind them. While it might have been imaginary, it was hard not to see smoke rising from beyond those papers, most likely originating from Freogan's ears.

Still, while the winner of the unofficial title for "Most Undeserved Rank of Clock Tower" three years in a row made an excuse to avert his blue eyes from Alexandra's by hiding behind the papers, he did seem to actually read them. This could be seen from how his body stopped shaking and his posture straightened up like he was suddenly preparing for some fisticuffs. The fingers holding the papers quivered a bit and squeezed harder and after a minute or two, the Department Head could hear an annoyed click of a tongue like Freogan had found something that absolutely ground his gears while pouring through the information.

This all came to a sudden halt when the blonde man raised his left hand and index finger.

"Wait a moment."

The papers were lowered and suddenly Alexandra Chimeragenos found himself staring straight into the scowling eyes of Freogan. His brows were knitted into a such tight formation of V that they could have served as a blueprint for a fighter jet. All that ire that had been directed at the papers was suddenly crashing its waves against the rocky shores of Alexandra's person. Indeed it was a look that was often reserved only to bar patrons about to start a brawl.

"'Formal invitation'? A 'disdainful ritual'? This seems like something that'd drive any wazzock of a magus nuts with work. I mean, just look at how ridiculous this is! Even I'd be running ragged with all this!" He nearly spat out, before leaning forward, clearly annoyed. Leaning forward so far that he was mere inches from Alexandra's impassive. "Which would mean..."

It was like a hound dog closing in on a prey.

"... You haven't eaten, have you?"

What followed was a chilling silence, as if a gust of cold wind, full of blame towards the woman in white, blew through the room. It shattered when Freogan collapsed back to his chair and let out a loud groan of frustration, throwing his head back and scratching his mangy hair once again. His other hand had left the papers back on the desk and was now rummaging through the plastic bag that he had been carrying.

"Seriously it's the same thing every time with you lazy sod! What am I, your mum!? Actually, if I was I'd have raised you to respect dinner!" Freogan muttered over and over again while digging through the bag. "Sodding tosser, barmy git, _{do you enjoy making me worried about your health}, daft cow...!"

What the hooligan magus finally emerged with immediately dispersed the foul-smelling cigarette smoke and replaced it with something both better and worse. An absolutely eye-watering waft of spicy, strong curry washed over the room. It was a veritable tidal wave for noses, replacing smells of animal fur, beasts and magical ingredients with that of food that had become a staple of London so long ago. Two takeaway boxes, wrapped in foil and still deliciously warm, were set before Alexandra with surprising force. Towering over them was Freogan, eyes almost shining with intent. It was in these rare situations that the mental image of the thirty-something man reached for the same stature as that of the Department Head.

"There! I... I j-just happened to buy too much from The Regency Club after the game! Lucky for you, huh, Gigantor!?" Freogan grinned victoriously, but with familiar redness rising to his cheeks. Perhaps it was just the smell of spices. "S-so, eat up. I'm not budging an inch until I know you're not about to keel over from hunger! I mean, I can't have you half-assing something as important as this. T-that's the only reason, Jesus! So just eat you minger!"

Freogan's waiting, tapping foot was creating a fast-paced rhythm that would have made Ringo Starr proud.

[Spinach]

Alexandra Chimeragenos
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

"It is correct that I have failed to meet my daily intake of nutrients."

Alexandra stared ahead, choosing to ignore the outburst of the red-haired magus. Such strange tirades, shots off topic, and deflections from the matter at hand were commonplace for him. The tall woman wouldn't say she understood the reason for them, but at the least she had grown accustomed to this specific peculiarity.

Truthfully, she was thankful for the proposition. Not because of hunger. She had no time to feel hunger. In fact, she literally did not feel hunger. It was one of the many sensations she denied herself.

It was the smell.

Gone was the poisonous, invasive, smog-like cigarette smoke, its stink no longer lingering like the brown tint that Freogan's teeth would be doomed to take on. The replacement, the food placed upon her desk and insistently shoved toward her, carried an equally powerful but fundamentally different smell. It was a mix of many aromas, spices, and ingredients. Cooked until fragrant, intermixed to perfection. Her eyes did not sting in response to the new substance, nor did her lungs itch in irritation.

"Very well, I shall partake, Freogan. I will be sure to reimburse you."

Saying so, the Lord took the offered meal, her winged familiars of stone diligently making space on her desk, as well as unpackaging the curry for her. In silence, she took her spoon, and took a bite.

Then another.

Followed by many, many more, as if she was taking time to neither chew nor taste what she was eating. All the while Alexandra stared forward with her ever-present vacant gaze. With no visible interest in savoring the meal, Lord Chimeragenos utterly demolished her portion of curry.

The stone gargoyles hastily rushed to the remains of the takeout meal, ushering them to the waste bin.

"As for the matter of the ritual, the Holy Grail War, you are not a 'Master' such as myself, I have no intention of asking you to enter the battle proper. A lone magus, even one such as yourself, would be doing little more than committing suicide to challenge a Servant. There is something that you can do though."

[Verg Avesta]

Freogan Deofolgeat
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

It was only when the Department Head began shoveling the food into her mouth with a spoon that Freogan finally relented with his frown and sat back down. His expression melted into something close to satisfaction with an added pinch of relief. No, there was a bit more to it than that. If one would have had to find something to compare it to, his expression was that of a mother who finally got his rebellious child to do as she told them. There were not many times Freogan Deofolgeat felt victorious in his confrontations with the Department Head, but when it came to food, he was the one to usually end up on top.

Though that did not mean that he couldn't shoot a stray comment in the air while Alexandra ate her meal.

"You know, you'd be a lot more popular if you smiled while you ate," Freogan muttered, lifting the papers so that they once more shielded his face. "People might figure you were enjoying it."

Indeed, that might have been one of Freogan's most usual complaints to Alexandra Chimeragenos - That she should smile more. Or at all. According to him her 'reputation' in the Clock Tower was at the very least not helped by the fact that she always wore that same, impassive face; and when put next to the emotive, sometimes explosively gesturing Freogan, it tended to highlight the Department Head's emotionless stare even more. Freogan had even once (when drunk, admittedly) tried to pin clothes pegs to Alexandra's face to forcibly get her to grin... and the less said about that episode, the better.

For now, however, he seemed content with muttering every now and then as he read through the papers, while listening to Alexandra eat. It was somewhat weird, but during the time that Freogan had spent in the Clock Tower, he had never been overly affected by sheer, colossal presence of the Chimeragenos. While others might have felt her to be akin to a tower looming over them or a deep sea creature passing under their ship as naught but a shadow, Freogan... didn't. It would have been a foolish and a dead magus who relaxed around their colleagues, but that was really the only way to describe how the blonde man behaved in Alexandra's office.

He visibly relaxed almost as if he had absolute trust in the woman.

"As for the matter of the ritual, the Holy Grail War, you are not a 'Master' such as myself, I have no intention of asking you to enter the battle proper. A lone magus, even one such as yourself, would be doing little more than committing suicide to challenge a Servant. There is something that you can do though."

Alexandra's words, as well as the end of her meal, once again drew Freogan's attention away from the papers. He looked at the woman in white and a dissatisfied, almost insulted expression rose to his face. Those blue eyes of his were locked dead-on to Alexandra's own and they refused to budge a single inch.

"Sorry, Gigantor, but I don't care. You don't need to ask. If any of those knob-heads so much as touches you I'll kick their faces in, Servant or Master. I didn't get where I'm now by keeping my nose clean and pretty," Freogan said, rough edge in his voice. He balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it against his left palm. "Besides, how much trouble can a couple of supercharged familiars cause, really?"

[Leftovers]

Berserker of Blue
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

The ascent from the underworld was rife with contemplation.

In the form of a spirit that did not need to conform to the rules of the material world, she merely had to grasp at the thread of magical energy connecting her to her Master and let herself be tugged along by that metaphysical umbilical cord. The thoughts she no longer needed to commit to controlling her physical body were free to focus on other matters even as she trailed the imposing Alexandra Chimeragenos through level after level of labyrinthine halls in the long trail to the surface. Matters such as evaluating her current circumstances as a Servant in the Holy Grail War.

Doubtlessly, she was suited for the class of Berserker. She had felt the capabilties of the container from the moment she was summoned and knew she could exhibit her true self within it. And yet that was not all; beyond the monstrous strength and the throes of madness, deep at the core of her being, she could feel the presence of something different. A nostalgic warmth whose memory she could barely recall reignited within cold ashes. A long-lost phantasm was traced anew and engraved into her being.

It was irregular. Miraculous. Was this too the Holy Grail's influence? She had been prepared to fight with naked tooth and claw to achieve her wish, but for such a thing to be possible, that surely meant--

No. Even though the first signs were favourable, she would not take them for omens. She remembered very well her purpose, and what she had sacrificed to be here. Fate gave nothing without recompense - nothing but promises. To achieve her goal she would need to pay for it with blood, toil, and her entire being once more, should it be necessary.

Everything has led up to this. I cannot let this opportunity slip by.

Her attention roamed to her Master. If she were materialised, Berserker's eyes would be fixed squarely on the massive back of Alexandra Chimeragenos.

"That will can be your undoing."

Then, those eyes would close in trepidation.

Pride did not matter. She had never possessed such a thing in the first place. Yet she still felt that the contract that bound her to this woman meant more than to provide magical energy and anchor her to the world of the living. This strange woman, who seemed almost inhuman, had summoned her, and she did not want to believe that it was merely the resonance between a monster and a beastmaster at work. What cut through time and space and reached the souls in the Throne were not chains and promises. What heroes responded to and took up their arms for were wishes.

And for her who would stake it all for a miracle, another's wish was something worth fighting for.

To save the world, or burn it down to ash. She could only hope that her Master would understand her own heart's yearnings.

Or else, if she would stand between her and her goal...

.

.

.

15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

This man is...

Freogan Deofolgeat was not honest with his feelings. Or rather, he wore them openly on his sleeve yet refused to ever acknowledge them. She was reminded all too much of the kind of person that complained the hardest, mocked the most relentlessly, yet always ended up frantically fretting over the targets of their abuse, denying their kindness and the affection they had trouble expressing all the while. She'd known such a person in the past. Remembering that, she couldn't help but feel an impulsive fondness for him.

...cute.

Watching him coax a semblance of human emotion into her Master's mannerisms, Berserker thought that even in this roundabout manner of an underling criticising his superior, it was good that Alexandra Chimeragenos had someone watching out for her. Well, besides herself. But still, he might actually be a bit too eager?

"Sorry, Gigantor, but I don't care. You don't need to ask. If any of those knob-heads so much as touches you I'll kick their faces in, Servant or Master. I didn't get where I'm now by keeping my nose clean and pretty. Besides, how much trouble can a couple of supercharged familiars cause, really?"

An understatement if there ever was one. Perhaps she had massively underestimated the abilities of thaumaturgists in the present era, but the destruction a single Servant could wreak in a short span of time in the metropolis that stretched as far as she could see outside the window of the study was truly immense. The prime directive imparted by the Holy Grail called for secrecy and separation from the mundane, but that was merely an instruction that the Servants could choose whether or not to follow. As far as she knew, the Grail could not enforce it by itself - and there hardly were "a couple" of them lying in wait somewhere in London.

This seemed like a good cue to reveal herself. It was clear that her Master had intended for the people she had sent for to be taken in her confidence regarding her participation in the Holy Grail War. In the first place, the decisive proof that such a ritual was taking place could be none other than the Servant itself. Surely awaiting her Master's command to materialise would fall more in line with Alexandra Chimeragenos' idea of how a familiar should behave, but for better or for worse, Berserker was decidedly more self-willed than those stone gargoyles of hers.

But more than that, she wouldn't deny being a little bit interested in seeing Freogan Deofolgeat's startled face.

Without revealing her form, Berserker let her voice resound in the material plane.

"More than you would believe, good sir. I salute your spirit and your devotion to my Master, but you would best leave the enemy Servants to me."

[zikari8]

Mori Shiori
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Lancer didn’t seem privy to reveal her wish in its entirety, but that was to be expected. It’s not as if Shiori herself had told her entire goals either. If the Heroic Spirit was telling the truth though, she probably wasn’t planning to do anything nefarious. Her character didn’t seem to be as such either… although her propensity for stabbing people was currently worrying.

"Master, nothing should really hold us here. This place is filthy, and I desire to see the city..."

“Hmmm… very well. I see no harm in changing locations.”

As the Servant moved towards the exit, Shiori followed without complaint, barely recognizing that the woman had spoken in a language Shiori once didn’t know. The meanings of the words had registered in her mind as if they were part of her native tongue. Reflecting on it, it sure was a handy power she had been given, considering the price for it hadn’t been that bad. It made all that time she spent at home learning English seem like a pitiful waste.

As the two neared the exit though, the girl’s better judgement caught up to her.

“

Wait a minute

Moment mal

.”

She called out, in another entirely different language, as she stopped in her tracks and turned back around. Where she had been standing only moments ago was still the remnants of the summoning circle she created, an amalgam of chalk, alchohol, and now some blood and cloth.

“If you don’t mind, I need to clean up. It’ll only take a moment. Feel free to go on ahead, if you must. I’ll catch up.”

Without waiting for a response, she reached into her cheap purse of holding and retrieved some napkins. Although she wasn’t a magus, she had her own code of secrecy to follow, in some ways stronger than that of a conventional magus. Carefully balancing herself as she squatted down, Shiori wiped off the evidence of her summoning from the floor of the warehouse. Half of it was liquid so the cleaning was effortless. The blood would be a bit tricky but she could lighten the colour to the point that it wasn’t noticeable. As for the rest… the chair seemed conspicuous. It would eventually disappear, right?

As she worked with meticulous haste, her mind began to wander to the series of events that had just transpired. Finally, she had summoned a servant… She knew Lancer’s true identity. There was no need for her to say it; Shiori could tell. The catalyst she used narrowed down the possibilities, her appearance and attitude were evidence, and the spear was the clincher. As for her character, she didn’t seem like a bad person. It seemed like she even was willing to tolerate Shiori quite a bit, based on the amount of honest praise she was giving out.

Lost in her own thought while cleaning, she contemplated one of Lancer’s comments in particular.

“It is the make of excellent generals...as well as petty street criminals.”

Although it had been a casual comment, it struck a chord with her. She couldn’t help but wonder…

Which one was she? Which one… did she want to be?

Even if the answer seemed obvious, she wasn’t so sure.

After about a few dozen seconds of cleaning, she had rid the floor of remaining proof of her activities there, leaving nothing but the sour, sweet smell of the sake in the air. Best some outsider could tell, some thugs were drinking in here and no magical summoning ritual happened at all. Shiori folded the used napkins back into her purse for later disposal and went to catch up with Lancer.

“Sorry for the wait.

Let's go

Allons-y

.”

[Katie]

Erika Kanzaki
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Before I can even respond, Caster has already bolted past me, eager to start working. I guess thinking Natsuki would be too much of a distraction was wrong after all. Though… to be quite honest, I’ve never really met any academic as excitable as Caster. Most tend to be the sort that would tell you to stop interfering with their research, but it seems Caster wouldn’t care unless you were being a severe disruption.

Although…

“Curious about our circumstances, huh?” It’s rather rude of me, but there are some things to put at the front and somethings to keep hidden… Just like what she tried to do with me. Honesty is not… complete honesty is not something I’m comfortable with, except for my onee-chan. If anything, I’ll just inform Caster when it’s relevant…

The mewling of Sawamura distracts me from my thoughts. Natsuki has been waving her hand in front of my face for a while, I realize. Sawamura is once again perched on her shoulder, giving me a look.

These two never learn.

“You’re lucky Caster tried to cover for you,” I say, to which Natsuki gives me a sheepish smile. How can someone look both apologetic yet not at the same time? “You get to live, for now.”

“Come on, it was an accident… It, um, I didn’t think she’d have that reaction.” Well, her tone is apologetic, at least. It gives me hope for this girl’s presumably tumultuous future. At the very least, she recognizes how to put her head down and not make things worse. She awkwardly fidgets, like a cornered rabbit. “My bad.”

“It isn’t really your fault,” I admit, patting my roommate on the head. She lets it happen while Sawamura gives me a glare, as if he is the one who deserves attention. I’ll give you affection if you stop being so annoying, thanks.

Still, I’m left wondering how to proceed. Was it best to let Caster work on setting up her Workshop by her lonesome, or would our aid be needed? What were the limits of what a Servant could do? Maybe I should cook dinner with Natsuki while we wait?

“Erika, you can stop now…” Natsuki grabs a hold of my hand and puts it at my side, looking somewhat annoyed. I probably should stop letting my mind wander and endlessly worry about every step of the future. Though, considering the situation, I’d argue it just can’t be helped.

“My bad.” I pause, thinking about it. “Let’s just walk in and see if we can do anything for her, and if not we’ll just make dinner.”

Well, I have to eat and probably change clothes before eight, so… There’s plenty of time, and if not I can probably just excuse myself if things are running late. I quickly glance at my watch. Everything should be fine…

“’Kay.” With that, Natsuki follows me to the ritual room, though I’m not really sure what to expect.

[Dranes]

Gendou Matou
15th of December, 2015
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

"Ah, it seems I've really met with someone interesting," The Matou mused as he caught up with the Reaper in plate, "Something unexpected altogether even."

He shrugged nonchalantly as they continued onward and as if on cue, the door ajar appeared before them, slightly ajar allowing a single ray of light into the dark cavern. It had felt like an eternity down in the depths of London and yet it seemed as if it was still early afternoon. In a way it was quite jarring, the day was still so young and Gendou Matou had already risked his life once already...and it seemed he would have to risk it at least once more today if not a dozen more times. He visibly deflated at the thought and hanged his hands forward in a somewhat comical fashion, even if the King here was one good at the whole fighting thing...did he really have to risk it all again so quickly?

Of course, because that's the life of the magus and even more so now, to reclaim that which was stolen from the Matous.

Or at least that's probably what the head of the family would tell him if he voiced his disdain.

"Still, I'm thankful for at least one thing."

His posture once more straightened up as he approached the door, left ajar when he entered this crypt.

"Good to have you around, chances are you're the only one who'd humor this wish of mine."

Even if it was only because his own wish lined up with that of Rider's, at least it was nice to have someone that was on the same page. That much was necessary if either of them hoped to win this war.

Pushing at the rusty door, it creaked as Gendou heaved at it. An audible huff escaped him as the rusted hinges fought against him, the door slowly opening as if a mystical door to an unknown world.

Though the sight was as plain and mundane as one would expect from the real world and the winter air wasn't doing Gendou any favors. The snow was falling just as it was as he entered, covering the rather grim area with a coat of white. It was quite a picturesque view in all honestly though one that was little worth for someone who was to stake their life on someone else's war.

The greater part of London was bustling, even when the majority of the city was covered in snow it was easy to make out the forms of cars moving about and the daily going ons.

"Our battlefield, Rider.," Hand extended as if a showman, he presents the city as if it was some type of marvel, "Not some shanty little town or a no man's land but what some would argue the greatest city in Europe, steeped in history and culture."

"This is the site of a despicable battle such as ours, where we are to kill or be killed."

London truly was a marvel of the modern world wasn't it? Built up as the jewel of the British empire and seen as the pinnacle of what a strong civilization could do, wealth and power were located here and for that reason isn't it the perfect place for this war? Of course on the other side of history, it is a land of debauchery whose people unjustly took advantage and took from others, the smoke-filled skies a true reflection of the people that lived within and who enriched themselves on the suffering of others. Still adequate if one thought about this war deeply enough.

In the end however, neither view mattered to Gendou. Rather London was the pinnacle of his expectations of people, the truest form of evolution for humans. Doing whatever is necessary, they will act for their own wants, needs and whims and bring about what they wish regardless of the consequences.

Such as it is.

"So what do you think? Not that I expect you to rank it too highly, either as a city or a field of war."

[Sunny]

Caster of Blue
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

By the time the two caught up to her, Caster was sitting on her knees in the center of the ritual room, in front of the circle that had been used to summon her. The tall girl looked over her shoulder, stifling a giggle and gave them a warm smile. "I'm setting up my workshop now. Sorry for the wait, Erika, Miss Natsuki!"

Digging about in the pocket of her long white coat, she produced what looked like a small, sealed capsule slightly smaller than a chicken's egg. She snapped it open between two fingers, tipping it over and pouring what seemed to be a silvery, powder-like substance onto the center of the circle. She used the back of her fingers to flatten and spread out the small pile, then shook her gloved fingers clean, carefully and meticulously. Then she tossed the capsule aside, which vanished into dissipating magical energy even as she cast it aside.

"Ahaha... There! It's ready to go!" Caster exclaimed gleefully, springing up and stepping backwards in a few hurried hops, until she was outside in the hallway beside the others. It wasn't terribly clear how a small pool of silvery gray powder was intended to be her workshop, much less her workshop in a state ready to do anything. But nevertheless Caster stood with her hands on her hips, bouncing impatiently and excitedly.

A small, visible charge of electrical energy crackled across the small mound, only to quickly vanish without any clear effect. However...

With the utmost confidence, Caster made a box with her thumbs and forefingers, squinting through the gap as her visor pinpoint narrowed into a thin line. "Okay. Let's get started," she murmured to herself, then made a gesture with her right hand, flicking her fingers upwards.

Immediately, the small dune began to respond as though reacting to Caster's hand alone. A thin flow began to trickle upwards towards the ceiling, particles reflecting the light as they slowly collected in a second pool directly above the summoning circle. Yet somehow, no matter how much flowed lazily up, the first pool hadn't diminished in size at all. In fact, it seemed to be growing, spreading out to take up the entirety of the summoning circle even as the glittering silver spread over the ceiling.

"Ah, good, I was right. There was enough residual magical energy in the circle. Good, good," the girl nodded in clear, bright satisfaction. She allowed herself a pleased giggle, then paused, hesitating as she looked back at her master and new roommate. "Oh, right. Don't go in yet, please. These feed on ambient mana and well... they should be calibrated not to respond to anything organic, this time, but I'd really rather not check."

Satisfied, she made a quick downwards swipe. Once she did, the powder on the floor began to recede, no longer spreading but receding and emptying out into the flow to the ceiling until only a unified pool remained. The pool shimmered once, then remained inert, awaiting further commands.

Now, forming a fan with her hand, Caster swept it down flatly, and the upside-down pool began to shift, a small square of space flowing downwards near the far left corner. In a matter of moments, the falling substance had created a blocky square around the girl's own height, a few feet in width and thickness, until Caster fanned her hand up and the flow immediately ceased.

Grinning, her pointer finger drew a rectangular shape in the air, and the top of the pile began to carve out the same shape. Swirls of her individual fingers began to draw more shapes, sculpting the pile in real-time, gradually giving shape to the mound of powdery sand she had created. Graceful and delicate, she sketched out the images she had been holding in her mind since the moment she'd been summoned.

For that moment, the girl had no awareness of Natsuki or even Erika, her eye wide and intent on her task, a bright light focused entirely on just one thought and desire. The simple, pure-hearted joy of creating something new.

Once she was satisfied, the girl closed her hand, and the powder seemed to lose cohesion all at once, falling away from...

A finished structure, a terminal formed of dark metal and glass, with wires unattached to anything behind it. The first step in an unconventional workshop for an unusual excuse for a magus.

Caster turned to her Master, smiling ear to ear, even as she continued forming and sculpting something else without looking at it. "This won't take long, I promise! I'll be ready before it's time to go, for sure!" she began, then coughed, another child-like curiosity clear on her face. "But more importantly, what do you think, what do you think?"

[Verg Avesta]

Freogan Deofolgeat
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

"More than you would believe, good sir. I salute your spirit and your devotion to my Master, but you would best leave the enemy Servants to me."

There was no hesitation whatsoever.

The moment Freogan registered an unknown voice, that of a woman, clear as a ball and tranquil as a still lake, echo through the room, he sprung into motion. His right hand flew inside his beat-up leather jacket while his left hand grasped the edge of the table. Showing surprising dexterity and reaction speed he vaulted over Alexandra's desk, sending papers flying everywhere as he did so. At the same time there was a sound of metal scraping against metal, a small node scratching against larger one like a matchstick against the box. Smoke, vapors, grey smog that made it momentarily hard to see billowed out of Freogan's body, or rather, under his jacket. It enveloped the room like a heavy cloud only to concentrate back on the fast-moving man almost immediately.

His mouth spoke words into the smoke.

His lips painted pictures into the smog.

His blue eyes were trained at the source of the voice as Freogan activated his magic circuits, a mental image of an V8-engine revving up in his mind sending a hypnotic suggestion to his body. As the room glowed blue where his breath met the rapidly shrinking cloud of heavy, oddly fragrant fog, Freogan prepared and readied all the spells he knew could lessen incoming damage, could keep him as a shield between his liege and the intruder that had appeared in their midst. At the same time his vaulting body completed its somersault, his leather boots slamming against the stone floor as the man set himself squarely between Alexandra Chimeragenos and the new voice that had caught the male magus unawares.

In a span of just a moment Freogan had made himself a human shield between Berserker of Blue and the white Department Head.

"--------!"

And just like that, seconds of silence stretched into minutes. A heavily breathing man, one whose circuits were screaming for release, had readied himself for an attack that never came. And as more and more time passed in the incredibly, awkwardly silent office, even Freogan Deofolgeat seemed to realize that he may have jumped a gun a bit.

Therefore he opened his mouth again. Not to cast spells, but to speak. All done without dropping his unwavering guard.

"... Okay, the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in here?" He snarled, trying to get a bead on the invisible, possible, enemy that he had been able to roughly locate thanks to her words. "Show your stupid mug, right now!"

Freogan's right arm had been pulled back, as if readying a punch, while his left arm was extended to the side with clear intent to protect Alexandra.

[Spinach]

Alexandra Chimeragenos
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

It all happened at a speed that could have passed for scripted. Alexandra hadn't ordered her Servant to speak, nor had she given it permission. The decision made by Berserker was one of the many complications that would rise from a familiar with a high degree of willpower and presence of mind.

Freogan's speed was something deserving of commendation. Were the giantess one to marvel at combat prowess and value such things highly, surely her opinion of the man would have long since been at a place where it could never fall any significant distance from. There was no hesitation on the part of the blonde magus. The instant he registered the presence of an unknown factor he had sprung to not only neutralize any threats, but also to protect the seated Lord.

"That, Freogan."

Alexandra interjected, still seated the same as before. She had followed and noted the man's every movement in minute detail from the second Berserker had spoken up, and not even once had the situation called for her to show the same amount of urgency and alertness that Freogan displayed.

The Lord snapped her fingers, issuing an order through shared minds.

"Is a Servant."

[Leftovers]

Berserker of Blue
15th of December, 2004
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)
Clock Tower (Department of V) - Alexandra's Office

He was fast. And more than that, decisive to the point of automation. The blonde man must have scarcely registered the foreign voice when his body kicked into motion faster than his brain could interpret the meaning of the spoken words. A thick smoke issued forth from his body only to coalesce into a compact shape - some kind of spell or weapon? - and before Berserker had even finished speaking he had already leapt over Alexandra's desk and taken up a combat stance behind it, words of power at his lips. Having gauged her general position from the direction of her voice, Freogan had placed himself between Alexandra and the unknown, to him, intruder as efficiently as possible, ready to both attack the assailant and protect the Lord from any potential strikes.

As expected of a subject and confidant of her Master. Yet to think so did not do proper credit to him. Attributing his abilities to the station he had achieved would unduly downplay the man's own prowess. Like the warmth that rises in cold air, those who command such strength will naturally ascend to the highest echelons.

"...Okay, the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in here? Show your stupid mug, right now!"

A boor and a lout could be the facade of a loyal knight and retainer. The true mettle of character was revealed in the hour of need. And if she could say anything about Freogan Deofolgeat in the seconds that stretched out indefinitely into silence, he certainly seemed to respond well to danger.

Alexandra seemed to expect as much, for she had not twitched a muscle at his outburst - though that in itself wasn't much of an indication. She was, however, rather loath to allow a stray spell from the agitated magus to gouge her walls, smash her furniture, or make confetti out of her papers which lay scattered about the room in the aftermath of Freogan's acrobatic manoeuvre. Her quip to him, while devoid of concern and almost tinged with dry humour if only one knew nothing about the speaker, was meant to put the man at relative ease.

"That, Freogan--"

Materialise. The mental command was accentuated with a snap of long fingers. Berserker felt obliged to reciprocate her Master's unexpected flair for the dramatic; though she could materialise behind Freogan by Alexandra's side, with the man on guard and a potential hair trigger it would be best to not tempt fate too much at his expense.

In that case--

In the space before Freogan a filigree of azure light shimmered into existence, strands undulating gently in the rolling motion of a calm water's surface. As if they were unwinding from some great spool they interweaved and multiplied without decreasing in length, in time tracing out a human figure, one which barely came up to the blonde man's chest. With a flush of that same light washing over it the figure gained in solidity, and within the blink of an eye the white-clad woman stood before him like she had just been spun out of thin air.

Regarding the taller man with a solemnity only slightly subverted by the almost comical difference in size between her and the two other occupants of the office, she intoned:

"Servant of Chimeragenos, Berserker greets thee."

One would think that grandeur came easily to Servants and in truth the very essence of a Heroic Spirit lent them an aura of majesty befitting the champions of humanity. Lacking that, Berserker figured she would at least resort to good manners. That said, the man before here was still a bit too tense. Perhaps what was suitable for the occassion would be to, what was the expression, 'break the ice'?

"My, but you are swift!"

Shifting gears completely from her ceremonious demeanour, the blue-haired woman brought her palms together at the side of her face and gave Freogan Deofolgeat a genial smile.

"I must insist that you not seek a Servant out yourself, but I dare say you shan't be caught unawares by one."

[Katie]

Erika Kanzaki
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

I’m at a loss for words. What I’m greeted with is… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s as if there’s a science fiction movie coming to life right before my eyes. Not that I’ve watched many of those. But what is happening in front of me is something scientists would die for to understand. Though, for understanding, it’s best I take a good, close look at what Caster’s doing as well…

“Are you sure your Servant isn’t from the future or something?” Natsuki mutters beside me, awestruck. “Like a Terminator.”

“I’m certain.” Her biography is on the internet, after all. Though, I can't help but wonder if it wasn’t a disservice to humanity to keep wonders like this hidden… But I suppose it’s only natural when you mix two opposites together. Science, the pioneer of discovery, is at odds with the sanctity of mystery that empowers magecraft. Being open with creations like these would no doubt tear the tender fabric keeping this working apart.

It’s paradoxically beautiful.

"But more importantly, what do you think, what do you think?"

What do I think?

“It’s extremely impressive,” I say, my words somehow tamer than the emotions running underneath. I want to take a look at everything, so, so much. It’s crazy, the Valueleta family would be all over this… Is this Designation worthy? Does that matter? Nobody will know what happens here if I don’t bring up any of it, so I’m free to indulge, right? “You don’t mind if I inspect everything, do you?”

“Erika,” Natsuki says, breaking me out of my reverie. While she looks like she wants to go in with me, the familiar on her shoulder gives off the opposite impression. “Sawamura doesn’t like this one bit, so I’m going to go fix up dinner and check on the rest of them.”

She leaves without my response, but a glance at Sawamura leaving view looks as livid as I’ve ever seen him… I should really just ask what the problem is here, shouldn’t I? Or at the very least, get around to it. Though, it’s not that surprising her familiars would be incredibly uncomfortable with a technological display like that. Perhaps they’re related to nature spirits?

Well, as sad as it is, I’m sure Natsuki will be able to come in here on her own time. Might as well make the most of the current opportunity.

“But really, Caster, you’re a genius.”

[Mellon]

Michael Blackmore
15th of December, 2004
East London - Apartment 5009
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

The phone in your hands kept calling.

Perhaps the Irish Enforcer had already left her apartment? If that was the case, then it would be unlikely that you would be able to contact her via the phone. The red-haired woman made a point about not using cellular phones after her third one broke when fighting against some magus wielding wasps… or was it bees? In any case, Bazett’s combat methods made it… tough for her to sensitive electronics while in combat. At least if she wanted to use them afterwards. Well, you were in much the same boat, but as usual, she seemed to have even cruddier luck in these things than you did.

Suddenly you heard a click, signifying a successful connection.

Silence responded from the other side.

You were almost about to repeat your question when you heard a deep breath echo from the other side of the line, followed by typically calm voice of your fellow Enforcer. Was there a problem with the connection?

“Blackmore? …the hunt? Oh, you mean the issue with the Grail War. I just carried out the summoning ritual. Most of my contacts ended up coming back empty handed, but I do have a couple of leads at least. Lancer and I will be looking into them later tonight.”

“At the very least it’s better than setting out blind.”

“And you? Any targets you have managed to scope out so far?

[Sunny]

Caster of Blue
15th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

“You don’t mind if I inspect everything, do you?”

Ah... How nice it feels to be asked that, finally.
I really did get marvelously lucky.

The girl knew most magi wouldn't react like Erika, if they figured out what she'd done. She knew first-hand how her ideas would be received, if their nature was laid bare. Yet here she was, showing her craft, and her master actually wanted to see more, so much that the girl could feel the warmth of her interest. It was enough to make her heart--...

"Ahaha, of course! Just don't touch any of the ones that aren't finished yet," Caster responded with a light, amused tone instead, making a sweeping, attention-grabbing gesture. She had already finished three terminals stacked side-to-side and a shelf adhered to the side wall, and when she swept her hand, any remaining powder was brushed off their surfaces, swirling in lazy, glittering whorls until they rejoined one of her other projects. Grain by grain, her workshop was taking shape in front of them, structures formed from the bottom-up.

In exchange, the mana in the room had been all but extinguished, the air still and empty save for the flow of the sand and... something else, invisible but ever-present.

The tall blonde servant beamed, lightly and repeatedly patting her master's arm with her unused gloved hand. "I'm quite glad you like them! While they're greedy little things, they are useful tools. See?" Caster made an inviting tug with her finger in the air, and like an obedient pet, one of the drifting whorls broke away, caught in an invisible current and making a slow pass in front of the girl and her master. Up close, the individual grains of metallic powder could be seen, wafting in small loops directly in front of their faces despite no obvious apparent motor force carrying them.

"'Nor ever ceasing that tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,'" the girl murmured softly. "A bit of a paraphrase, but that's what gave me the idea, at least. Though really, it's just a perfectly natural off-shoot from alchemy, I think..."

“But really, Caster, you’re a genius.”

Caster paused, quiet for a moment, then covered her mouth with a giggle. "Of course! And I'm quite confident this will be a wonderfully merry partnership! After all, you've summoned a genius well-suited to uncover even the almighty. "

Even if no one had ever called her that save herself.

[Zagrin]

Rider of White
15th of December, 2015
Afternoon (Phase 1-2)

"Our battlefield, Rider. Hand extended as if a showman, he presents the city as if it was some type of marvel, "Not some shanty little town or a no man's land but what some would argue the greatest city in Europe, steeped in history and culture."

Rider crossed his arms as he listened to Gendou's proclamation, before turning his gaze down towards the land before them, and the people that inhabited it. His eye did not widen in astonishment at the sight, in fact they didn't seem to show even a real hint of interest in the marvels that man had achieved over the ages. Rather it maintained the same half-lidded stare, with only the slightest of movements so that it may take in the entirety of the city that laid before him.

He noted the layout, the hustle and bustle with which people moved about the city, the fact that the city seemed almost covered in buildings several stories high, that there was relatively little open space for which an all out battle could take place between two servants let alone two teams. Well that is if the combatants didn't want to be discovered by the mundane folk that now scurried across the streets.

"So what do you think? Not that I expect you to rank it too highly, either as a city or a field of war."

Rider turned toward Gendou as he heard that question, his eye slightly raised as if to ask him if he was actually serious with that question. Nonetheless, after a brief pause, Rider deigned to answer his Master's question.

"If this is the greatest city in Europe then times truly are dire. As a city, certainly I can see the growth that humans have attained and the industries they have created, but in exchange the magical energy present in this world is...middling at best. Then again perhaps it is only natural for things to be so...unnatural, after all as I am to understand it, only a scant few beings in this age seem to care for such things, like you mages for example." As Rider spoke he reached out with his hand towards the city, completely covering it from his view.

"It'd probably just be better to demolish the entire thing and start all over again"

As he said that ominous line, Rider closed his outstretched hand and stayed like that for a moment, before finally moving on to addressing Gendou's other question on the city.

"As for a battlefield, what I mentioned before plays into that as well. Though the layout itself isn't to my liking, I will be able to make do. What is more important is the various areas across the city where magical energy seems to converge, to the point where even I am capable of sensing it. It is...surprising, to say the least, but also something that could play to our advantage should we take advantage of nexuses of power. But I'm sure as someone who prepared for this war, you'd already be aware of these places, wouldn't you, Master?"

With that Rider grew silent and crossed his arms once more before communicating with his Master, however this time rather than speaking to him by word of mouth, he now directly spoke to his mind.

So then, is that what our goal is for tonight in this war? To claim one of these places of power for our own ends?