lmao good work team nice powerlevels ;^)
2, javier didn't choose the sith life we chose it for him
lmao good work team nice powerlevels ;^)
2, javier didn't choose the sith life we chose it for him
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
25
All the options are to give into the purging urge of the spirit, if we force a tie we could fight it off and have Javier assume control again.
Edit: Changed vote to 5
Last edited by Faux; February 5th, 2020 at 07:00 PM.
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
A tie will probably lead to the Divine Flame trying to purge everyone and if there’s a Seigi vs Javier fight I’ll try and keep that tearjerker for the finale.
3
Quest of Fate
Apocrypha Universe Fate Quest Project
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Hermes Servant Collection Master Post
As promised, Javier's character info in the OP has been updated. In addition, the NPC file has been updated with minor notes, plus new profiles for Diego and María Magdalena Vyhmeister. Finally, the list of Tier 3 Regression Steps is now included among the Extra Materials.
Catalog of Somewhat Original Servants
In Progress: Fimbulwinter Quest Project.
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...Well, that escalated quickly!
3
I will say 5 for now, but might adjust my vote later since I do think a tie might be the best outcome for several reasons. I do agree with Faux for the most part.
- All the choices are in some way letting the flame do what it wants and what it chooses. Even if we pick a “safe” target, it’s only forestalling the next target.
- There's no guarantee allies won’t be caught up in collateral damage anyway given Javier isn’t exactly throwing small flames around. His last attack was a massive AOE after all. Having him nuke his allies in an AOE when he’s “targeting” the scorpion wouldn’t be the biggest help.
- A tie unlocking a new choice is unusual and suggests it could be something worth trying - at the worst, it might attack everyone which it plans to do in order any way, and at the best, it might make an opportunity for Javier to reassert some control, since he’s definitely not in the driver seat anymore. That’s not a state I think should be encouraged.
- ...admittedly I’m also simply curious!
That being said I picked 5 instead of 2 as an alternate to 3 since I don’t like seigi being a target and I don’t think he’d be the first one it chooses a a target given he’s incapacitated. But I do think a tie is worth trying!
Last edited by Sunny; February 5th, 2020 at 01:42 PM.
3
I'm curious with the tie too, 5.
You can discussThe OG RequiemConQUEST and other Quests in Discord (disc is much more active here).
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Hmm tempted to tiebreak it to ̶3̶, but I think I'll abstain from voting now as I'm rather curious what the tiebreaker is. I'm hoping like the others that it means Javier will retake control.
5.2.
Finally caught up.
Last edited by Cain12; February 9th, 2020 at 03:49 AM. Reason: People yelled at me on the discord for breaking their manufactured tie.
And with that I will switch to 3.
Seigi, you've been left with your life.
5. It's a Fate quest, give us the Heroic Spirits battle woop woop !
Avenger’s Bounded Field
Hot (32°C/0°F)
Harsh Sunlight
In her mind, Maria can easily draw Avenger’s movements as he approaches. She has a few moments of peace left, sprawled on the ground of some nondescript house.
“Well, even if I have a plan, there’s no point if he kills me before it achieves anything. And we’re only getting weaker, so there’s no reason to hold anything back at this point.”
There is no response from Saver. Perhaps the Servant is upset at her.
“Dance or not, it’s time to do my best.”
The only sound in this world where not even the wind blows comes from Maria’s breathing. She sighs, a little saddened by the end of this moment of peace.
(BGM)
She is already on the move when the ceiling above her head shatters inwards, the armored Avenger dropping like a peregrine falcon to impale her on the ground. As his weapon strikes the ground, Maria bounces off the wall, sword poised to slice Avenger in half. Weapon meets weapon, golden melam crashes against the polearm’s dark radiance. An explosion later, the building is rubble and Maria is flying off again.
“Shit!” she gasps out as she land effortlessly on her feet.. “He’s already stronger than us!”
“Do you understand now!?” howls the armored Servant already on the chase. “Have you come to know hopelessness!?”
Their weapons clash again, and Maria has to hold back the tears for she felt her arms were going to tear off her shoulders. This time she puts the effort to keep her feet on the ground, persisting on the clash of blades against the ruinous power crashing upon her like an avalanche. The force that would have sent her flying is instead transmitted to the dry ground and everywhere around them, unleashing destruction as if these deadlands had suffered through an earthquake.
“Do you know the feeling of the inevitable?” continues taunting the Servant. “Of doom that you cannot escape?”
“Quoting the words of the wise sage Ziusudra: eat a dick and fuck off.”
The clash of blades continues with renewed vigor, Maria matching the blows with everything she has.
“You can’t win,” declares Avenger. “There is only misery and defeat in this world.”
“Oh, don’t fucking boo-hoo me,” spits out Maria, melam flaring along with her disdain. “This is your big plan to beat me? Becoming a whiny little bitch!?”
Truly, Maria is making up for the lost strength with sheer spite.
“It sure as hell doesn’t feel like I’m being defeated by Naram-Sin of Akkad, let me tell you! Look at what you’ve done to yourself! I’m waiting for the eyeliner and fuckin’ My Chemical Romance now! But I guess it’s worth it, becoming this pathetic emo shit as long as you get to win, right? Good fucking job, Your Majesty!”
Avenger is not deaf to the obvious sarcasm and disdain in that last address. His muscles swell beneath the armor as he puts more power into the next blow. Maria, who has not bothered dodging this whole time, finally forces herself to give in to the attack’s powerful inertia and fly backwards to put some distance between the two.
“Desist your attempt at disturbing my thoughts. You will die here, and that is that.”
Maria only snorts, presenting Avenger with her mocking smirk as she takes the most basic stance.
Their battle continues.
*** ***
(BGM)
When two exemplars of martial combat clash, it is only natural their encounter also transcends the boundaries of combat prowess as understood within the realm of what is ordinary—that which people call “common sense”. Because the human experience is defined by human perception and analytical processing, when capability breaks through that perception, a difference rises between actions as they are done and actions as they would be perceived by any witnesses. It is a matter of different frames of reference, really: when you are clashing at a speed of a dozen attacks in a second, do ten seconds really feel like ten seconds? Is it the mind that expands, or time itself that dilates? What is time, really?
Their clash extends as if it were perpetual motion, as if the two were meant to trade blows like this for eternity. A single second fills the dead world with light; the summation of many flashes created by the meeting of metal with metal. Gold crashes like waves against purplish darkness, Avenger’s melam itself the shadow of this inner world built by the burden of history. They speak through the threnody of impacts swift and violent. However, in spite of his strength, he fails to push her back again. While his helmet conceals his facial expressions, the girl wears her feelings explicit and vivid for all to see: desperate, spirited, fierce, unrelenting. Even if she is the one who looks like she is struggling the must; even if she is the one sweating and breathing more heavily, she refuses to remove the utter contempt from her face.
It does not matter. Even if against all common sense he fails to overpower her, he will inevitably win the battle of attrition. It probably will not take that long. After all, with every passing second, he learns more and more of her unorthodox style. For example, if he purposely overextends this thrust about half an arm length—
—indeed. The girl is almost childishly straightforward. She never uses feints. In the other hand, however, she never falls for a feint. Her ability to ignore all attempts at deception and properly meet every true attack feels almost like precognition.
He made the mistake of going along with her rhythm. He already knows that she is a thoroughly offensive fighter, and that her defensive technique is clumsy at best. However, she still manages to keep up with his attacks, her sword meeting his poleaxe every single time.
Servant Saver has not become a goddess of parrying in a few seconds. She is just attacking his weapon. It is as if her mind has adopted the idea that her enemy is the polearm, not its wielder, and deployed her offensive style against it. Now he is caught in a maddening rhythm that she should not be able to keep up forever, not in this bounded field. Is she attempting to match her endurance against his ability to sustain the bounded field? Ridiculous.
The battle continues stretching for all of twenty eternal seconds. Avenger’s mind works at the speed of his attacks, as does his analysis of the opponent.
*** ***(BGM)
Naturally, Maria Westinghouse is not thinking. The very possibility of she being able to plan consciously every single action in battle is ludicrous to her. She follows her “instinct”; that which feels natural to do at any given moment, which is in itself awkward because she knows this “instinct” is begotten of a Servant Skill. She only knows she has to put all her strength into every single blow, because to falter even for a moment means being crushed by Avenger. Therefore, everything that is Maria goes into the grip of her hands on the sword, on ignoring the sweat and the pain wracking every muscle in her body, on pretending the frantic beating of her heart is exhilaration and not sheer terror, and on making sure that her mocking smile does not falter no matter what. Because she wants to prove to this chump that changing class to Emo Bitch did not make him stronger in the slightest.
The result is a fugue-like state, wholly unlike the fight against Hans Kammler, for she was never truly in danger against the Nazi engineer. Her thoughts seem to fade into the distance, swallowed by the storm of sound and light and ache. She is like a castaway alone and adrift amidst a stormy sea; her body can only struggle to stay afloat while dragged helplessly to and fro. It is easier to allow herself to be dragged along, for the body knows what her mind is too slow to decide. When she attacks in a certain way, her body already knows the motion that comes next. The next step is already in her blood flow. The wind whispers it to her ears even as it caresses her strained muscles. It is engraved in the eldritch swirls of her melam, and it is spelled by the sparks generated by the friction of their weapons clashing at ludicrous speed.
There is no time to think, so she just does not think.
No thinking, only moving.
She would not know how to being to direct the flow of battle, so she lets the flow of battle direct her.
Just grit those teeth and don’t let go of that sword, no matter what.
*** ***
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Idiot girl.”
*** ***
Avenger cannot tell when things begin to change. It was perhaps not a discrete moment in time, not a switch that was flicked on, but the culmination of a process encompassing the whole battle. He only realizes something has changed when, for the first time in almost a minute, his enemy dodges instead of intercepting his thrust.
It is a simple sidestep, but it feels like the hammer of fate about carve the history of the world.
(BGM)
Avenger obviously pulls back his weapon, but the sword girl literally leans her back on the long shaft. The sudden, unexpected strain pushes both poleaxe and weapon arm to the side, and almost before he can tell what is happening, the girl is twirling along the length of the weapon, her word tracing an arc of golden radiance over her head before falling hard in the executioner’s slash.
This would have resolved the fight, were the enemy at her full strength. She is not, though, and Avenger evades the blow that would have split his head into halves with a single step backwards. His weapon is back at the ready position, while her weapon is held low. Their positions are reversed. If he attacks from her current weapon arm (the left), she has to pull the sword in that direction to block it in an awkward parry, either exposing her torso to a kick—no, her twirl is not complete! Her right foot is not touching the ground; he can outright destroy her balance—!
“You’re done—!”
She is not.
Avenger is baffled to see that the girl kicks the tip of the blade, her grip on it loose so that the kick results in the clockwise rotation of the blade in her hand. What should have been an awkward jerk of the arm to parry an attack to her left side is instead a firm and proper block, the sword held parallel to the arm more like a cane than like a sword.
“Wha—!”
The kicking right foot now touches solid ground to propel a jump with the other foot forward. Avenger is quick to shift from offense to defense, planting the polearm in front of him to intercept a roundhouse kick that never comes. Instead, he is taken by the chilling sight of the sword still held like a cane—or a dagger—coming at him against from above, this time in a stabbing motion. Again, he inches back and away from the sword, which slides into the space between his body and his weapon, stabbing the ground while wholly encircled by his arms. He does not have to ponder whether she was aiming for this from the beginning; he cannot attack from this position, and to get out of it he is obligated to let go of his poleaxe with one hand to sway to one side. By this point, however, he already can tell what comes next, the sword planted on the ground is an ideal support after all. He barely has to time to interpose his vambraces before the proper and complete roundhouse kick smashes the side of his head and knocks him several yards away.
Only one second of action passed, yet the battle has changed in several fundamental ways. Furthermore, his opponent feels different.
(BGM)
More of the same follows, as Avenger abruptly finds himself the one who has to keep up with his opponent’s unceasing offensive. It is not that her “combat style” has changed, because this girl has no combat style whatsoever. What was missing before was “a sequence”. She finally moved beyond “attacking Avenger” and “attacking Avenger’s weapon”, into something more resembling a plan of attack and a sequence of strikes bearing intent beyond their individual lethality.
However, these are not the movements of a human being.
Kicking the tip of the sword into a parry.
Instead of a sidestep leading to a straight counter, a layout triple side flip to an executioner’s blow.
Instead of simply intercepting his swing with a parry to the side, a reverse roundhouse to stop the poleaxe with her heel, the angular momentum carrying the outstretched sword into a horizontal slash.
Even without formal training or the acquisition of a combat style, they are not the actions any reasonable swordsman would use in a battle. However, the pointless, inefficient acrobatics nonetheless work. Each unnecessarily complicated stunt keeps his weapon from reaching her flesh and flows naturally into another attack, to a degree that to the eye both inexperienced and expert, it almost seems as if those were the right moves to make. As if any other choice of action, no matter how obvious or more efficient, would have failed or provided lesser dividends at best.
“No, that’s not it—!” Avenger murmurs to himself right before blocking a sword despite the other Servant standing thirty steps away. Naturally, her melam can act as a physical force, so she can use it as a rope or a whip with a sword tied at the end. He charges forward and slashes at a weaponless target, but that same melam makes it like slashing through a glob of honey The difference to the inexperienced eye is imperceptible, but it is the time she needs to recall her sword to her hand to intercept Avenger’s attack.
“Girl…!”
She is not looking at him anymore. Her face is frozen in that mocking smirk, but her eyes are no longer focused on him. She is not attacking him, and she is not attacking his weapon. It is as if she is not participating in the battle, but rather performing a prearranged choreography that happens to let her match him blow by blow…
*** ***
The world is a blur. It is her heartbeat, the fire (pain) inflaming her body, the winds dancing around them and the perpetual clash of blades. Everything moves in unison and flows in harmony as parts of an amalgamated whole. There is no longer an instant in time in which her body is still. Maria Westinghouse only knows she has to keep moving; the way to move is not something she decides.
Maria knows she has to twirl clockwise while leaning to her left, lower her body mid-twirl to transition into a very low slash, the tip of the sword caressing the ground. She does not know the twirl gets her away from a thrust to her throat. She does not know the difference in reach means that low slash will never get even close to reaching Avenger’s teeth. However, when the tip of the sword bumps against a stone, it becomes the pivot leading to a roundhouse kick that connects with the shaft of Avenger’s weapon. As if expecting that, Maria twists that leg around the shaft, turning it into a new pivot leading to a swift rotation in the opposite direction, this time indeed leading her sword in a collision course with Avenger. However, Avenger is a master of his weapon and of its reach; the blade ends up rubbing against the furthest end of the shaft instead of striking his head.
“I know who you are, fawn of the abzu.”
“Good for you,” Maria hears herself saying. “Want a fuckin’ medal?”
She does not know Saver’s identity; should she not be more worried about this?
No, of course not. No time for that. She only needs to keep moving.
“Why are you even fighting me!?” suddenly complains the armored Avenger. “You know the hopelessness of being strung along by the gods and their whims! You know the hollowness of having your efforts amount to nothing!”
The words feel like vitriol in her head and fire in her blood.
“How worthless and pathetic can you be?” spits back Maria—rather, the one speaking with Maria’s voice. “You belong to humanity, the primate species. You bent the World to you will and forced it to abide by your rules. Yet you dare to whine about ‘being strung along’ or whatever like you’re a powerless little baby? If you really believe that bull then you really deserve whatever those worthless gods do to you.”
As she speaks, she moves. The battle is not interrupted at any moment, and in fact grows in intensity to match the anger in her voice.
“And don’t fucking dare bring me down to your level!” she continues, accenting her words with ferocious swings of her blade. “I am a system, a living device created for a single purpose! I was tuned to resent, so I resented! I was built to fight, so I fought!”
“But you’re human! You! Get! To! Choose!”Spoiler:
The flaring of her golden radiance makes Avenger falter for a fraction of an instant. Maria cannot know that his knowing her true identity only exacerbates the effect, for he now knows the words and the threat comes not from some copycat, but from one he believed would understand him.
“You were the one who chose to become this whiny bitch! If you are really Naram-Sin, then you know! That the tale of the Curse upon Akkad is just that! A tale! Something made centuries after you by losers who feel better about themselves when they can dump their blames on someone!”
This whole time, she keeps stacking the pressure. Her absurd way of combat means she attacks from all directions, so it feels he is crashing against a wall of attacks. Against all common sense, she is pushing him back. Despite the fact that he knows he is stronger than her by now, that his bounded field should have diminished her physical capabilities, she still feels mightier.
And she never, ever, stops her dance.
Instead of stepping back or jumping over his low sweep, she stabs the ground to stop it altogether.
Instead of parrying a thrust to her face, she lets go of her blade, catches the poleaxe between her hands and kicks the sword at his face.
Instead of meeting his flurry of rapid strikes, she deploys her melam with a furious kiai, knocking him back with its golden, explosive power.
“Because I want to win! Because my pride—”
“The fuck is pride, if it makes you become this worthless sack of shit!” Maria’s voice spits back. “Naram-Sin was an emperor, right? An aggressive emperor, eager to spread the reach of his might and the wealth of his coffers! That kind of man shouldn’t be whining about dooo~ooom and despaaa~aaair!”
(BGM STOP)
Avenger’s body falters, and so does the world around him. Only now does he realize that wind has picked up, something that should not happen inside this world. It is not simple the air displaced by their fierce combat, but self-perpetuating air currents dancing around them as if in tandem with their martial performance.
“Tch!” Avenger clicks his tongue as he resets his posture, ready for the next round. “I guess I expected too much. What does a doll understand of human feelings?”
“I understand that, win or lose, I will do it as myself!” The girl shouts back. “Can you say the same, Avenger!? Can you say with conviction that you are Naram Sin? That the thing in front of me is what Naram Sin should be!?”
Avenger’s reply is the bloating of his dark radiance, seemingly to mirror his lower posture to create the image of a dark colossus looming over the swordswoman.
“The only thing that matters is that you will die here.”
The golden melam flares vividly, not intimidated or diminished by Avenger’s dark power.
(BGM)
Maria is engulfed by a bonfire like a second sun; an aurum conflagration that reaches high into the sky. It is enough to startle Avenger into a complaint.
“How, why is it still so powerful!? By this point, your magical energy should be—!?”
“Why so surprised, you moron? You said you know who I am, didn’t ya!? Then you know the true nature of my power! It is inscribed in my name!”
She is the first to charge this time. Avenger sets himself to meet it with his polearm, a weapon intended to break such straight charges, but how is he supposed to expect the girl to throw the sword at his feet mid-dash?
The impact raises a cloud of dust and gravel that hides her forward somersault. Avenger feels rather than sees her hands reaching for the sides of his head as she reaches the peak of her forward arc, the moment she is completely upside down, and he quickly ducks before she can break his neck. A moment later, she is back on solid ground, sword already back in her hand to meet his counter.
“The fiercer the battle, the stronger I become! That’s only obvious!”
“Damn you!”
*** ***Light.
Maria Westinghouse feels so light.
Even the ache of her muscles has floated away, a vague numbness in the back of her mind. Her body moves unimpeded, as if it were the natural thing to do. Every single movement is the right movement, the right state for Maria Westinghouse and the Servant Saver. Her mind cannot keep up with her body’s acceleration and her sight is a blur, but she is not fighting by the guidance of her eyes. She just moves, and each movement leads to another, and it feels as obvious as following a trail of breadcrumbs.
“Aren’t you getting slower, Avenger!?” taunts Saver (for who else could it be?) as she leaps at the armored opponent with sword held high.
“This world will be your end!” The poleaxe clad in darkness is ready, held in both hands to bat the soaring girl out of the sky or outright slice her in halves.
“Should keep that mouth closed!” Instead of attacking Avenger, however, Saver strikes the ground in front of him, pole-vaulting herself over his attack. “Sand will get in there!”
“Stop bouncing around!” barks Avenger while turning to block her kick to the back of his head with his vambrace. He is already hauling his long weapon over his shoulder, expecting the girl to recall her sword—
“You’re just jealous!” Saver laughs, stepping deep into Avenger’s personal space the moment her feet touch the ground. “That you can’t move like this!”
While the polearm’s reach gives it the advantage against a sword, it cannot do much against a brawler who gets inside the weapon’s reach.
“Buwagh!” The inside of his helmet is soiled with spit when the punch to his gut transmits terrible force through plate armor and skin to his diaphragm.
“Ishtar loves to fly, what about ya!?” Saver jeers at the man launched backwards and into the sky. Grabbing the sword still stabbing the hard soil of the lifeless empire, the dancer dashes after her opponent.
Avenger corrects his posture in midair crashing against a cliff wall on his feet rather than his back. His left hand stabs the rock, the ancient warrior holding himself high atop the vertical wall while looking at the golden star racing across the wasteland.
A cloud of dust and sand swirls after her, raised by her footsteps and by the dancing winds around her, and it grows and spreads like a peacock’s tail until it becomes a looming tidal wave, a sandstorm sweeping the land as it chases the golden dancer. Avenger shudders—it truly feels as if she is somehow turning his bounded field against him. However, he will relent. With a kiai of his own, Avenger lets his dark radiance swirl around his weapon, growing and stretching irregularly like a gargantuan, monstrous black serpent.
“Ha!”
Saver yet again mocks his expectations and does not launch herself at him. Instead, she releases a mighty “Aura Slash” at the ground in front of her. The wave of radiance penetrates the soil like a knife through butter and only explodes well beneath the surface, blasting off a clump of hard soil and rock the size of a three-story building towards the cliff and the Servant clinging to it.
“What the—uuuooooaaaaaaaAAARRRGGH!”
Avenger has no time, so he roars and unleashes his clump of dark power at the absurd projectile, shattering it in mid-flight. Of course, Saver used the stupidly large missile to hide her own leap after it. Of course, that Avenger did see coming—even if he could not see Saver’s small figure in the distance, he could see the sandstorm rising after her.
“This is it, Saber!” claims the heavily armored warrior, still clinging to a misunderstanding that ceased to be amusing long ago.
“Damn right it is!” retorts Saver before stepping on one of the pieces of shattered rock to launch herself further upwards, Avenger thusly realizing this is what she aimed for from the beginning, for his attack upon the massive block released fragments in every direction, including above.
Saver flies, and the sandstorm rises as a column after her trail of golden radiance. Avenger too calls upon his magical energy to ready a response, but he is too aware of his difficult position. Letting himself fall will open him to attack, and throwing himself after her will not let him put all his strength after jumping from such a precarious place. Meanwhile, Saver rises, the sandstorm rises, and magical energy too rises. Light, dust and power spiral around the girl as she stands upside-down for a fleeting instant, feet resting on the piece of flying debris that reached the highest.
Avenger can only bear witness in awe. The storm of light and sand flows even past Saver, as if a spiraling spear intent on piercing through the sky itself, now tinted a sublime yet unhallowed gold. The light roars, and the rock he is holding on to seems to shudder beneath his fingers, the whole world round him suddenly feeling less real.
“…aaah, what in the gods…”
Yes, it is indeed the kind of scene that would make anyone question their actions thus far. However, Avenger does not have the luxury of reflection.To break the sky
“!”Libuša uzzu agu tiamtiBegotten by the Abzu, World-Shattering Maelstrom
It is not an attack meant to destroy Avenger. He simply happens to be in the path of the falling star.
Rather than a “beam” or a “slash”, it is a “downpour”. The energy falls from the sky and becomes a wave spreading outwards in every direction, unraveling Avenger’s false world in its passing. As the world breaks apart around him, as he is swallowed by golden radiance, as he feels himself being swept away by the maelstrom, he still catches the words his absurd opponent has for him and only him.
“You are the bearer of her light. Why would you let go of something like that? Don’t make me hate you, stupid king.”
Spoiler:
*** ***
“Well there you go. The rest is up to you.”
Catalog of Somewhat Original Servants
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That's the good shit right there.
This is peak Daneel Content: An obscure Mesopotamian figure trashtalking the shit out of a more famous one
True Rider
Fimbulwinter anime adaptation when?
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Church of Saint Aloysius de Gonzaga, Templeman 990, Cerro Alegre, Valparaíso
Day 04
Morning Phase - 09a
Sheer cold (-31°C/-24°F)
Snowfall
(BGM)
“Ah, I’m so glad…” was Alicia Drake’s response to the news of her husband being alive and well. Her response was weak because she herself was (and still is) weak, but the light that filled her smiling face is not something that can be faked.
“Liria probably already told Mr. Drake and Mr. Ahrens that you are here, but I don’t know if they are in a position to come here. Things seem to have gotten rowdy out there.”
“Eh? Mr…you mean Marco? Marco’s here?” These news also seem to give new energy to the woman. “Then, is Miss Lily…?” She stops herself the moment she takes in the looks on the former magus and the priest’s faces. “Ah, I…I said too much.”
Ricardo exhales loudly and at length as he crosses his arms. He looks and sounds like an aged father who is done with his rebellious child’s shit.
“Alicia, child, I have allowed you to keep your secrets all this time, even if every passing day I fear you might have taken an unwholesome path. Isn’t it about time—”
“Do please excuse me, Father,” interrupts the woman with a pleading voice. “But I will say no more until Marco is here.”
It has already been several minutes since that short exchange. In the meantime, Fiore has been hard at work preparing fresh water for the slightly dehydrated Alicia, Sakura, and Ricardo. The bedridden woman does not hide her worry at the sight of the former heir of Forvedge, who is in fact sweating like nobody ever should in such cold.
“Do not mind me.” Fiore is quick to dismiss her situation. “I’m still getting used to this…method, and it’s been many years since I used this much magecraft.”
“And there’s also that magecraft should be at least a little dampened inside this building,” posits the local priest. Fiore nods.
“Yes, the influence of the local faith is stronger than I expected.”
The distant rumbling put an end to this line of discussion. They do not know what is happening out there (although the last they all saw of Caster was her taking the stairs to the bell tower), but thus far they remain unthreatened. It is impossible not to wonder how long this will last.
A quiet grunt interrupts all musings and all eyes turn to the one seemingly on the cusp of consciousness. Fiore is the first to kneel by Sakura’s side, saying nothing and allowing the other woman to come to full awareness.
Sakura’s awakening is slow. She blinks a lot, perhaps in an attempt to wipe away the cloudiness in her thoughts. It is a hard battle against tiredness, lack of food and water, and the loss of blood from previous battles. Soon enough, though, her groggy eyes settle on Fiore, and a petite smile blooms.
“Ah, so I didn’t end up in Hell after all.”
The former magus snorts.
“Well, you are hitting on another woman inside a Catholic parish, so I guess you are going to Hell now.”
“Oh,” murmurs the convalescent woman, perhaps only now becoming aware of her humble and barely furnished surroundings. Alicia and Father Scherer inch closer and Sakura notices the priest.
“Ah. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
The unsmiling man makes a horse-like snort.
“I am sure you have done worse things, Miss Edelfelt.”
“Ouch. Very true, but ouch.”
Sakura then attempts to raise her torso to sit on the bed, but she is pushed back down on the bed with celerity that makes her raise an eyebrow.
“Fiore, not in holy grounds~”
“I don’t know what you are implying, but I guess it is something unwholesome so please stop. You already did enough stupid things to get here.”
“Ugh,” is the sound of the child who knows she got caught.
“You overdid it,” Fiore continues in a sterner tone. “Leaping in and out of imaginary number space.”
“That I did,” Sakura says in a voice closer to a sigh. “Something good came out of it, though. To be honest, I didn’t even know if I could take someone along with me, but I had to try.”
Alicia lets her gratitude show on her face, and Fiore cannot argue against the results, even if she knows just how much Sakura must have pushed herself to achieve them. There might be a better time and place to have that conversation, for distant rumbling catches everybody’s attention. If anything, Sakura looks disheartened by it, although that could just be her exhaustion showing.
“Things have gotten messy, I take it.”
“That’s a way to put it, yes,” Fiore admits. “We might have undesired guests soon, but you are going to stay on that bed. We’ll manage something.”
Sakura is probably intent to asking more, but that simply ceases to be a possibility.
(BGM)
The explosion does not even get the chance to fill them with terror, for just a second later the windows spared by the cold for some mysterious reason all shatter and explode inwards, mercilessly assaulted by a shockwave of pressure and surprising heat. Alicia gasps in mixed fear and surprise—she is the sole one pushed backwards by the blast of overheated air. Father Scherer manages to half-interpose himself in the path of the falling glass; a testament to his reflexes.
“Hot…!” Sakura gasps out as she winces. What should be a comfortable change after days of living in a frozen world is simply to oppressive, too uncomfortable. Their bodies instantly begin to shed copious sweat to soak their thick winter garb.
“What is this?” Alicia cries out. “What is this!?”
They all know exactly what she means. Those with magic circuits might have a better means to put up resistance, and the priest may simply be one of superior mental fortitude, but the simple and plain Alicia Drake is a wreck now, her already pale skin made even whiter as her face contorts into a mask of terror.
They all can feel it, far away that it is. Hostility.
There is something out there, the likely source of this terrible heat. Whatever it is, it very much does not like them. It is dangerous and ominous like the first bouncing pebbles before the landslide, like the receding tide before a tsunami, like glowing eyes in the forest at night. It is the inhuman rejecting the human. That which is inevitable and beyond human control. It seeps into the mind with its brain-freezing ultimatum.
If you stand on my way, I will destroy you.
If you do not get out of the way, I will destroy you.
And you might not get away quickly enough.
It hurts. It hurts to feel this. Alicia Drake squeezes her body, as if the presence were a mass growing in her guts that she wishes she could crush out of existence.
“That’s…that’s Javier, isn’t he?” Sakura manages to get out through gritted teeth.
“Javier?” gasps out the priest. “What does he have to do with this…?”
“I know what I felt back there at the other church,” Sakura confesses. “But it’s gotten to this point in less than a day…”
“And you, stop trying to get up…!” Fiore insists, true to her Hippocratic Oath even as she struggles against the feeling of oppressive rejection. Sakura does relent but does not take her eyes off the sole male in the room.
“Father…forget about the Association and the name Edelfelt. We are way past keeping things from each other here. So tell me: what in tarnation is Javier!?”
“No, but…you, you are the one who does not get it, Miss Edelfelt,” insists the old priest while shaking his head. “He is supposed to be nothing special; he was the control sample in the Villarrica experiment.”
“That doesn’t feel like ‘nothing special’ to me!” retorts the bedridden woman with considerably more energy than one would expect in her situation. “Father Scherer, I don’t have the Enforcers on speed dial, so please don’t hold back on me. What are those experiments—!?”
The heat and the oppressive hostility are followed by a very real, very physical rumbling that spreads to the walls and furniture and their own rattling bones.
“Wait!” Fiore gasps out. “Don’t tell me, this is a—!”
*** ***
Simón Bolívar Lookout Square, Playa Ancha, Valparaíso
Sheer cold (-31°C/-24°F – Thermal Sensation 31 °C/87.8 °F)
Heat Wave
“—earthquake, huh.”
Her battle has taken her far from the coast. From her current spot, she can see the city suffering the wrathful, unrestrained release of divine power. The ruler of mountains, hills and volcanoes has declared its sovereignty, and the hills of Valparaíso rise in joy. This is the World’s cry of rebellion against the weight of humanity, which has long subjugated it. It desires to topple this city, but humanity is wily, and the people of Valparaíso have built their homes to resist the homeland’s frequent seismic activity. However, many buildings already bear damage from the battles of the past three days. These find themselves pushed beyond the limits of their engineering and inevitably topple down, becoming scars of rubble in the hilly, once colorful city.
“You are moving too quickly, student,” she murmurs to the air. “You are reaching into the divine flame too deeply, too quickly, despite my warnings. How disappointing.”
She blinks, and her transcendental mind compiles this new development, adds it to her internal computations, and thus recalculates all feasible possibilities that may rise from it.
“The ritual needs three more days, but at this pace everything will be resolved tomorrow.” Her solemn face and tone soon give in to her usual smirk. “Well, that is only to be if they can survive the Holy Tyrant.”
With that said, she turns her gaze to a powerful-looking man completely wrapped in ominous dark chains.
“You are not in need of my instruction, Archer; you know very well why you lost. Let not your confidence waver, both you and I know this could have gone either way.”
“Why haven’t you killed me?” asks the quiet looking yet glowering male, powerful muscles straining against the chains. Bearing the gift of potent divinity, Archer’s immense strength does in no way help him against the Chains of Cursed Heaven.
“I have many defects, but being wasteful is not one of them.”
Archer looks surprised for only an instant, before settling on a deep frown.
“You…still intend to use me. What is your deal?”
“Deal? Archer, what I offer has not changed. I simply believe you can still be of use to protect my ritual. After all, if it fails, then there is no point to your summoning.”
“What about Avenger, then?” Archer asks quickly, carefully guarding his own thoughts and feelings.
“What about him?” replies The Maid in an uncharacteristically flighty voice. “I do not care how you two decide who claims the throne of the new world. It makes no difference to me.”
“Really,” the chained Servant speaks his disbelief. His expression lacks eloquence, but it nonetheless shows. “So you are saying you do not favor him.”
“Ah, you see, I simply aimed to summon Servants from civilizations my Master recognized as ‘ancient Aryans’. Lancer was summoned for obvious reasons, and while his presence is convenient, it is ultimately inconsequential. I have my way with or without either of you, in any case.”
Naturally, neither Servant is in any way intimidated by the hostility emanated from the epicenter of the tremors. Neither has reason to fear that contentiousness.
“But I may be getting ahead of myself. The conflict about to take place must first be resolved; the two of us will not intervene for either side. That works for you, does it not? I can think of no more obvious way to decide what side would be more convenient to you.”
Archer finds himself free, this new independence also a wordless taunt. The Maid releases him because she is confident he will not do anything she cannot handle. She already set the rule: no intervening in the battles taking place downhill.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” the gruff warrior king comments upon sight of the triumphant smirk on the woman’s face.
“Well of course. I worked very hard just for this.”
Something does not quite click in that sentence, Archer knows. He wonders with some worry that just perhaps the meaning of that sentence in his head is not the meaning in hers.
What is, after all, what The Maid is aiming for?
“Oh?” The Maid makes a curious sound upon feeling the change in the circulation of magical energy. The dome of fog is spreading open like a flower in bloom, and further dissipating as it opens. Unfortunately, Avenger’s Noble Phantasm is a realm isolate and devoid of gods, and therefore outside of her divinations. She can only make assumptions about what happened in there.
“Well, I feel like I should be there. Or maybe I just want to be there. It is sometimes difficult to separate duty from desire in this form.”
She turns to Archer one last time, her smirk one that would make a lesser man shudder in mixed fright and arousal.
“I will be on my way then. Remember: I will be very cross if you act to support that usurper. Once these engagements have come to a conclusion, feel free to pick your side.”
She disappears with those words, along with the chains binding Archer. The tall warrior clicks his tongue, but perseveres in keeping his emotions to himself. Restraint, patience, and caution; these are the qualities he aspires to as a Servant, for it is their lack that led to his end in life.
Naturally, this begs the question: can a dead dog learn new tricks?
*** ***
Plaza Sotomayor, Valparaíso
Severe cold (-30°C/-22°F – Thermal Sensation 31°C/87.8°C)
(BGM)
The first thing that enters Maria Westinghouse’s awareness is a wave of exhaustion washing over her as if somebody dumped a bucket of it over her head. Her legs give in for a moment and she stumbles like a newborn fawn, but quickly catches herself. The time for rest is yet to come.
It takes her a moment to regard what happened and reassert herself, remind herself that she is still Maria Westinghouse. She cannot tell: who was the one fighting back there? She felt the words forming in her head and pouring out of her mouth. She was wholly aware of her body’s action, even if she could not keep up with her own speed. There was no strategy there, purely an instinct not her own. On one hand, perhaps this…fuzziness and confusion is the point. Perhaps she should be glad they have…”harmonized” to a point that was possible, but…
Maria is worried. She is very much fond of being herself, after all.
With a long intake of breath and an even longer exhalation,regains her bearings and stands upright and proud, sword in hand. There is nobody else at Sotomayor Square save for Maria and her opponent’s prone form.MariaServant Saver
“Ahaha, Yamcha pose—whoah,” Maria stumbles mid-sentence, but it takes her a moment to notice this is not solely the effect of her fatigue.
“Why is it shaking? Actually, why is it still warm?”
It is not just that. All the snow on the ground and the ice clinging under roof tiles and balconies is gone. To a degree, it is as if the singularity had been unraveled and the city returned to its proper state. However, the heat suffusing her surroundings is a secondary matter.
“Seems like the warlock…what’s that expression you use? ‘Bit more than he can chew’.”
It is Maria who now bites the inside of her cheek.
“Goddammit, Javier, what did you do now…?”
“It makes only sense. After seizing the primacy upon this World, outliving your need for gods and pushing them into the Reverse Side, calling upon their powers is just the epitome of idiocy.”
Saver has very strong opinions she does not hesitate to share. They bring a grimace to Maria’s face.
“Uh, then what does that make me…?”
“You’re the Idiot Girl after all. Divine power is founded and sustained upon faith. A false warlock tapping into the attributes of the gods without authentic belief is just an idiot asking for whatever happens to them. They might be better off using one of those ‘gums’.”
“You mean guns, but whatever, Lancer is stirring.”
“What…” murmurs the ancient king as he turns to look up at the cloudless sky above them. His unholy armor is gone, shattered along with the false thaumaturgical world both he and his opponent rejected. “What was that Noble Phantasm…?”
Maria feels her mouth awfully dry, but nonetheless it moves as if not directed by her own will, spouting words not entirely her own.
“Noble Phantasm? Nah, nah, that was something I made up on the spot,” she says with lightheartedness she does not feel. “The crux of the conflict was my being locked in that world crafted by Mystery, so I danced a dance to destroy mystical crafts.”
Something half-cough, half-laugh bursts out of Lancer’s mouth.
“Made up on…? What in the gods, that’s too absurd…” It is hard to tell whether he is complaining or laughing at it. “But I guess I should expect no less. You’d need that kind of absurdity to defy a god.”
“Nah, nah,” Maria (?) quickly dismisses that statement. “That annoying one may be an idiot, but that kind of second-rate trick would never work on her. The true god-breaking dance is something far greater. This was just a sliver of it.”
Something like an appreciative hum vibrate across Lancer’s throat.
“I see. Your true Noble Phantasm…is constantly in effect, is it now?”
“Hmm…” Maria hums dubitatively. “More like, I’m my own Noble Phantasm? Fuck if I know.”
Asking for technical details from Maria (or Saver, for that matter) is an exercise in futility.
“I see…” says Lancer even if he really, really doesn’t.
“You already defeated me,” he then admits. “Why have you not ended it yet? I was even unconscious for a few moments.”
Maria thus realizes she has not beaten this guy quite enough.
“Don’t you get tired of saying stupid things?” She taunts. False confidence is confidence nonetheless, and she needs to rely on it now more than ever. “I beat some emo dude in creepy armor. This isn’t quite over until I defeat Naram-Sin of Akkad, right?”
Maria watches in silence, allowing the man to let those words stab him deeply in the chest, their meaning burying itself in his heart as the implicit acknowledgement of his legendary existence.
He sighs.
“Naram-Sin of Akkad, huh…”
(BGM)
A man who lived, loved, killed and ruled, not a boogeyman created by the denizens of a diminished era.
“Really,” he murmurs more to himself than to the swordswoman in front of him. Slowly, he pulls himself back to his feet. “What would my venerable aunt think if she saw me like this…”
He calls his lance to his hand. His original weapon, the one long and thick enough to suggest it was meant for anti-cavalry rather than anti-personal combat.
“I am the fourth emperor of the Dynasty of Akkad. My blood is that of the greatest exemplars of humankind.”
He makes a few swings to his side, as if to test the strength of his main arm.
“I walked in the shadow of my grandfather: the sovereign conqueror, invincible Šarru-kēn. I was witness to the divine transcendence of my aunt: the holiest of holies, sublime Enheduanna. There has not been, and there will never be, others like them in this world.”
Upon planting the butt of the lance on the ground, divine radiance begins to flow from man and weapon.
“I was the king anointed by the gods, the savior who appeased their anger after their temples were defiled by the rebellious ones, the hero chosen to pacify the four quarters.”
“Well aren’t you cool?” mumbles Maria with a trembling voice as she takes a step back, pushed by the pressure waves created by the swirling melam around Lancer. She remembers that this weapon has the power to erode magical energy, not unlike that bounded field Noble Phantasm. Despite Lancer using that powerful EX-rank Noble Phantasm, the degradation she suffered inside that false world means there is probably not much of a difference between them when it comes to magical energy. However, Lancer is supplied by the Grail, while Saver’s sustenance from the World is limited by the hard boundary set by the singularity. As ever, a battle of attrition is not a choice for her. However, she definitely does not have the magical energy to pull off another stunt like the one just earlier, while Lancer will most definitely use his true Noble Phantasm any second now.
The solution is obvious: reach out to Javier to replenish herself. Through their connection, she can feel him pumping out magical energy like nobody’s business, but she knows it is not his own—it is the World’s, run through a specific filter called divinity. If she taps into that power right now, what will happen to her and to Saver? What will happen to Javier?
“I prostrate myself before almighty Annunītum! I plea for your forgiveness, and abandon my fate to your mercy, for I am but the instrument of your will!”
The people for a century after his death completely distorted this man’s legacy. The true Naram-Sin was a faithful devotee of the gods. Like his grandfather, he claimed Ishtar as his patron, and offered his battles, his triumphs and his conquests to her name.
Lancer grunts as he lifts the massive spear over his head, spinning it like a helicopter’s rotor. Maria can feel the buildup of magical energy, rising along with the speed of rotation. The sickly-looking melam also intensifies its inchoate dance as it seems to gain a more vivid color that resembles Saver’s own. The growing magical energy is like a buzzing in her ears, the sound more and more high pitched until it feels like it will make her head burst, and Maria knows this is not solely the density of power accumulated, but the very nature of that power. She feels Saver’s disgust, but she can now also discern her insincere partner’s expectation, the eagerness lurking beneath. The worst part is that she can no longer be certain of these feeling being Saver’s or her own.
Maria’s heartbeat is rising again, her breathing becoming more labored. Is it fear, or is she looking forward to what is to come? Is she about to cry, or is the knot in her chest gleeful laughter restrained?
The blood-boiling madness of battle is about to resume and it makes her lips tremble. How many more times will she be able to bear through this and remain herself?
“Saver…” she whispers, looking for hope where there is none to give.
“You know what to do.”
Of course she knows.
Dance.
Saver only wants her to dance.
But the dance is transhuman, alien and terrifying.
Choice TimeWise-up! (Saver)
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Changed vote
Last edited by SpoonyViking; February 17th, 2020 at 03:55 PM.
With his defeat, Avenger's profile is now complete. Furthermore, Lancer of the Black Sun's profile has been further updated.
It has further come to my awareness that I should provide additional information based on the fact that you guessed Lancer's true identity beforehand, and therefore Maria and Saver have complete awareness of his abilities. I apologize to those who have already voted, and invite you to reconsider your choices if you deem necessary.
* The effect of Lancer's first Noble Phantasm, Sibirru Mišlamim, will not be in effect during the next exchange.
* The nature of Lancer's final technique means that Whimsical Blessing of Annunītum will activate in its defensive aspect.
* The nature of Lancer's final technique also means that Saver's Nemesis Skill will activate at close to its fullest extent. Effectively assume that the debuff to Saver's STR and AGI from Avenger's Agade Hula will be negated.
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A wise and beautiful woman who exudes an aura of grace. She is a sly, cunning, manipulative person who always gets what she wants, whether through trickery or ruthlessness. Her own fighting abilities are low, but she should not be trifled with. What does she ride? Men, of course!
