Ruins of Errázuriz Avenue, Valparaíso
Day 03
Evening Phase – 12
Severe Cold (-34 °C/-29 °F)
Magical Blizzard
(BGM)
I…can’t.
I can’t tap into the flame. I’m not…I lack…whatever I need to touch the flame right now—Courage? Desperation? Boldness? Disdain? Nihilism?
Whatever it is, I don’t have it. I just don’t want to do it. I just feel it’s not the right thing to do.
Some mysterious, ominous divine power will not save me this time. Damn it, why am I always like this? Always talking shit about being independent, the boss of my own life, and the moment things go south I can’t do shit and I have to lean on other people’s help.
If I’m gonna make it through this evening in one piece, it’ll be as a goddamn human being, doing whatever I can do as a human being. So, just what is that exactly?
*** ***
Slow. She has to take it slow. Preserve all her energy for one decisive burst of overwhelming power. She has to wreck that armor in a single blow.
It’s getting colder, to a degree that she can no longer ignore it. Why the hell is Javier still here? He should be hurrying indoors before this blizzard kills him. Though, would that even help by this point? She can feel it; this is not the singularity’s natural weather, but a new magical effect acting upon the environment. This is…probably the Herald. That was the howl of Garmr, announcing the advent of the direst of winters. A part of Maria is glad her savior is okay, but her worries only increase now that she has unleashed this threat upon everybody in the frozen city.
Maria, however, cannot afford to send her thoughts to the Herald. The hated enemy stands before her, challenging her. She no longer fears his lightning discharges, but she will not underestimate him. There’s still that one weapon. If he manages to get her with that, she’s done for. But, is that power armor equipped with it?
Ah, who is she kidding, of course it is.
Then, where exactly is it? Can he fire it from the hand cannons like the lightning bolts, or it is hidden someplace else…?
“Shit…” She sighs.
The more time they spent on a standstill, the more advantage she allows him. Maria knows she is not the smartest needle in the stack—even if Dr. Hans Kammler was not a soldier at any point in his life, she would expect a goddamn Nazi PhD to outsmart a plain high school girl in combat tactics. Saver’s Great Crown Inversion Impulse guides her through the motions of combat, more effective the more excited and angry she is, but there is not much thinking or strategizing involved in that.
In that case…
*** ***
(BGM)
“So! Aren’t ya gonna tell us what this is about, Kammler?”
Maria’s voice breaks through the howling winds and the biting cold. It is fierce and hostile, demanding of attention.
“…it’s Herr Kammler for you, disrespectful child.”
“Respect is something that is earned, Kammler. But really, there’s so much shit I want to ask you, but let’s start with the one I already asked: how is a third-rate piece-of-shit nobody like you a Servant?”
The reply is a brief series of lightning shots Maria bats away effortlessly. The clash does not stretch any further, both of them carefully preserving their strength and measuring the other’s. It is hard to tell just how effective Maria’s words are at riling Rider up.
“I mean, if your Master can somehow summon Nazi figures as Servants, wouldn’t it make sense to get some who actually know a thing about fighting? Heck, at least Hitler had some sort of experience in a battlefield.”
“Yet, I am the one who stands here, facing you,” retorts Rider, sounding almost proud of the fact. Seems like Maria’s words are stoking his ego if anything.
“I am the survivor. The sole inheritor of the true Germanic will.”
“Yeah, wonder what actual, modern living Germans would’ve to say about that.”
“You know not what you defy!”
“What’s there to know about a worthless piece of shit!?”
“Watch out!”
Senta and I hit the ground even before Caster’s warning is out, as lightning that fails to strike Maria lashes in our general direction. It is obvious that the sword girl is faster and has little trouble dealing with Rider’s barrage, but her movements still feel someone stiff and stilted. Is it exhaustion or the weather? Probably both. As for Rider, he fights a careful, defensive battle, using his lightning attacks to direct Maria’s movements and keep a prudent distance from her rather than hoping to land a hit. Maria has the initiative and the offense; she should come out the winner, but …I’d say Rider has a plan.
“Senta…”
My voice comes out weaker than even I expected. No, it’s also the wind that smothers all sound. The thunderous noise from the west seems to have ceased; seems like whatever scuffle the Herald was involved in might just be over.
“Senta, what can you tell me ‘bout that armor thing?”
The wrecked, irregular street is clean of snow save for the one now falling. Lying prone is no better or worse than standing in these conditions. It’s just rough. This place is rough. This cold is rough. And when the Nazi homunculus is looking at you with worry in her eyes, you know you’ve had it tough.
“Nothing really; we weren’t involved in building that thing. Actually, it’s the first time I see it.”
“Fuck.” So we have nothing to work with…
“But I guess I can deduce a thing or two. I’ll try to be quick.”
Senta has my undivided attention. Caster is also listening in, but fuck Caster.
“Look, Rider is not a good magus. His mystic codes are leagues better than any spell he could cast on his own. That’s why he always shoots that lightning of his from that weird gauntlet he’s got…ah, I guess you can’t see it right now. Anyway, he must have some way to interface his gauntlet to that machine, plus whatever other weapon-type mystic codes he’s got mounted in there.”
All his attacks come from tools. Well, I already knew that: there’s all the lightning attacks, and that wind cannon that almost got me—
—that’s right! He’s got that thing! That cyclone cannon thing that can paralyze Maria! If he catches her with that at this point…no, but that was a big-ass cannon barrel, could he have some sort of compact, miniature version of that mounted in that armor?
“Senta, you gotta know about that…cyclone cannon or whatever.”
“You mean…right, he could do that!” Senta hisses with somewhat-inappropriate excitement. “The air cannon is merely a medium of delivery, the important thing is the rune. It’s the Odal rune used to embody ‘blood and soil’ to act as a ‘grounding’ seal.”
“Grounding…? Not paralysis?”
“Nope, it’s grounding. If you want me to be precise, it’s ‘fixing an object to a position in space’. It’s Earth-element magecraft.”
“Earth…”
If it’s Earth and magic, then I think of Saturn and the spleen, but there’s no way Rider can fit a weapon in that thing’s torso with himself inside. Besides, a tackle would be too impractical compared to delivering the rune with its attacks...wait, no.
“No, there’s no way Rider can land a hit on Maria in close combat,” I conclude. “It’s gotta be some sort of hidden gun; some miniature version of the cannon or whatever. But if it’s not in the spleen area, then where…?”
The person to my left clears their throat.
“It would make no sense to base such a mystic code on alchemical principles if it has nothing to do with alchemy. Rather than ‘change’, the grounding effect is all about ‘place’.”
If we are talking “position in space”, among the mystical disciplines…summoning? No, that doesn’t make sense…oh!
“Astronomy.”
What Senta said. The microcosm reflects the macrocosm, and vice versa. It’s also a basic tenet of theosophical mysticism. So, that place…if there’s nothing on the front side I see, that means…!
*** ***
“Why do you oppose us, girl!?”
Rider fires no mere lightning bolts anymore; they have now become serpents, whipping through the air in irregular trajectories through complex manipulations of the surrounding air’s dielectric properties.
“Is that a trick question? Like anybody needs a reason to get in your way!”
Maria dances slowly, carefully, but what amounts to “slow” to Servant Saver is still fleetness of foot at the pinnacle of human ability. She is not even grazed by the tricky lightning whips, to Rider’s growing irritation.
“How many times do I have to tell you? I figured out your bullshit. It’s Vril, isn’t it?”
Rider, his face only partially visible inside the battered armor, shows a measure of surprise bordering appalment. The man constantly seeking control of his outwards presentation, as befits an officer of the Reich, quickly eases his choleric expression.
“You…you are no ordinary Nazi huntress. Who are you?”
“No, that’s not how it goes, Kammler. First, I crush you. Then, you give me the answers I want—!”
Maria does not miss the left hand splitting to the sides to reveal multiple barrels. She grunts as she has to push herself to get out of the way of the barrage of automatic fire. She knows this is the breaking point. Rider keeps using his weaponry to keep a distance, seemingly going for a battle of attrition, or perhaps waiting for her to make a mistake. Maria cannot stretch this into a battle of attrition. Not with Javier out here—why the hell is he still here!?
Not after Enûma Eliš.
She will end this. A burst of supernal speed Rider will never catch up with. Rider’s survival and the sudden blizzard broke her groove for a moment, but really, does she really need a reason to hesitate? Some third-rate Nazi engineer with magitech bullshit will never match a demonic warrior from the Age of Gods.
“It ends now,” she says entirely to herself, consciously channeling both potential and magical energy to her legs for a burst of lightning speed.
“Maria!”
The voice is heeded, but Maria cannot let Javier’s call stop her. She grits her teeth and becomes lightning.
“The knees!”
Maria is already behind the anthropomorphic machine. Rider would never be able to match this linear speed; surpassing her own exhaustion, Maria has put everything of herself for the sake of a decisive blow.
“The back of its knees!”
She doesn’t look down; it would be a fatal mistake. Her muscles scream, but the alternative is death.
Collimated air is released by small cannons protruding of the back of the mecha’s legs like exhaust pipes. It strikes nothing.
Rider curses in his native language. Javier’s German is rather lacking, but the wretched emotions in the Servant’s face are universal. The last officer of the SS tries a desperate gambit, aiming his machinegun at Saver’s not-really-Master, but the luxury of time is already beyond him.
Maria floats as if weightless over the war machine, trivially pulling off a record-breaking high jump. The sword in her hand glints the promise of victory, and Rider’s world is engulfed in gold and pain.
Maria proves herself a fine student of a terrible master.
The military-repurposed power armor should not have collapsed so easily, but it was already on the brink of ruin after suffering the most sublime power unleashed. Saver’s melam tears through the reinforced metal almost effortlessly, cutting both steel and flesh with unabashed brutality.
(BGM STOP)
*** ***
The blizzard stops, just as suddenly as it came into being. Maria stands on the ravaged coastal thoroughfare, gazing down at the wrecked machine and the dying man inside with cold eyes.
(BGM)
Some distance behind, the other Servant as lightly dressed as Maria mutters a prayer Javier and Senta cannot understand. Maria, however, understands the words in the ancient language of fallen Babylon: a brief elegy for a fallen warrior, for the sake of peaceful passage into the Underworld, so his spirit does not remain restless nor threatens the living from the beyond.
It is in the Servant’s lines of choice for that prayer, however, that Maria Westinghouse—or rather, Servant Saver—figures out the identity of the one who can only be Servant Caster.
“Javier!” calls out the bespectacled girl in that most deplorable uniform. The man who supplies Maria with magical energy is on the verge of collapse. Yet, he looks not at the girl struggling to support him and the other, unknown man he carries. He does not look at Caster; not even at Maria. His exhausted eyes remain on Rider, as if unwilling to surrender to his exhaustion until he can ascertain that it is truly over.
His company worries her. He has surrounded himself with people who infuriate her just by existing. But Maria Westinghouse nonetheless finds herself in his debt one more time. Because he choose to not run away and put his senses and his brain into helping her, he figured out Rider’s final trick. Maria, too, had been wary of a possible repetition of the Wirbelringkanonen, but after the first clash she came to dismiss the idea that he could have miniaturized such a weapon. She overestimated herself and underestimated Rider’s Item Construction, because his major weapons had all been large vehicles and vehicle-mounted weapons, not something that could fit in a personal armor. She really should have known better: the standard mob soldiers all carry assault rifles with bullets that can harm Servants, after all.
If Javier had not been there to warn her…the paralysis inflicted by the Odal rune lasts a couple of seconds at most. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been enough to give Rider victory, but would Maria have been able to remain standing like this afterwards?
Maria sighs. Her legs are begging her to let them surrender; the weight of her body is too much to bear. She uses her sword as a cane one more time. Not yet, she says to herself. She needs to stand just a little bit longer.
“Why…”
Maria cares not for the words of a fallen Nazi officer, but she cannot stop her ears from listening.
“...to end…like this…after…worked so hard…”
It is almost reason to be grateful, for the ignition of her blood grants Maria fiery vitality to overcome her exhaustion.
“Only children get medals for effort, you fucker,” she hisses. “You dat hungry for praise!? ‘Good fuckin’ job on those concentration camps!’ That’s what you wanna hear!?”
Rider moves feebly, pinned to the ground by the wreck of his mechanical armor. Maria is vaguely aware the three behind are staring, but her eyes are clouded by hate not entirely her own. She hurriedly walks the few steps towards the fallen Hans Kammler, and for a moment it seems she is going to kick his head until it breaks off his body, but she stops with her legs pulled behind. Her twitching fingers are curled like a harpy’s claws. Her mouth is an ugly snarl of loathing. Instead of kicking, she kneels and cruelly pulls the man by his hair, forcing him to look up at her. Then, she says a person’s name, only for him.
“Tell me what you know,” she demands.
The dying man stares in silence for just a moment, until his single open eye shows the weakest glint of realization.
“Ah…I see…you’re that woman’s…yes, I see the, resemblance…”
“Tell me who killed her!” Maria cares not for the spit that mars Rider’s face, nor does she for the rictus of pain that fills him as she roughly shakes his head.
“Kill…?” The man has the gall to release a weak snort. “Haven’t…even thought of that woman since…she fled…didn’t even know she was…still…”
Maria is gritting her teeth at this point, holding back tears Saver will not allow her to cry.
“You can’t…you can’t tell me you don’t know shit!” She one-sidedly declares. “Who killed her!? Who killed my grandma!?”
Rider’s throat hums. Perhaps by this point he does not feel pain anymore.
“Kill her…if anybody…likely…that Maid…curse…her…”
“Maid? The fuck you talking about!?”
“…was meant…become…new…Führer…a farce…”
“Rider!”
“…failed...I’m sorry…Deutschland…Uber…ah…”
“Rider! Answer me, Rider!”
But his eyes no longer look at anything. His head hangs limply by the hairs Maria holds.
“Rider!?” Maria nonetheless screams. “Rider!”
No response could possibly come from the lifeless body.
“Fuck!”
Rather than release him, Maria rudely slams the inert head on the ground. Blood has pooled beneath his crushed body and already frozen. The girl cares not about this.
“Fuck!”
Her fist smacks the metal wreck that was Hans Kammler’s final stand.
“Fuck!”
Her aimless curse is the only thing that fills the chilling air. For a change, there is no wind. The world is still in its coldness. And the girl curses, and punches the broken armor, and curses again, for her remains unresolved.
She does this until she realizes two things.
One: she is not alone in this place.
Two: Servant Rider’s body is still there.
“The fuck,” she mutters to herself, even as the pieces of facts assemble in her head, assisted by Saver’s knowledge plus the input from the World she receives as needed in her duties as an element of the Counter Force.
“The fuck,” she repeats, this time the words bearing the weight of disbelief. Quickly, she stands and turns her back to the corpse, but her finger still points at him while she is challenging Caster.
“You,” she calls out. “How is this even possible?”
Caster nods, clearly aware of exactly what Maria is talking about.
“To make it brief, it was made possible by the combined efforts of two different Noble Phantasms powered by the Grail. The details can wait.”
“Maria—”
“Shut up.”
Her response to Javier’s weak call is blunt and harsh, her eyes gleaming for a moment with Saver’s blatant inhumanity.
“I can’t handle your shit right now.”
Her eyes drift towards Senta for a moment, long enough for the homunculus girl to squeak and shrink herself behind the kneeling Javier. Maria then sets her attention on Caster again.
“So? What’s your deal, gala priest? You sayin’ you betrayin’ your Master like Assassin?”
“No, not quite like sweet Liria,” Caster admits, seemingly unsurprised by the (accurate) label Maria placed on them. “I would rather destroy myself before becoming Master’s enemy. However, it remains fact that she must be stopped. This,” continues the Servant, gesturing at the wintry world around them. “Must be stopped.”
Maria looks utterly unimpressed, her thoughts unreadable. The sword in her hand sways lazily yet ominously. Caster begins to take a step back, but hesitates. The three are still, the world is still, until Maria twirls the sword so that it rests on her shoulder.
“Fine, I’ll hear what you’ve to say, after you answer my question: do you know something about a mai—”
(BGM STOP)
On cue, both Maria and Caster explode into motion. The swordswoman is a degree of magnitude faster, standing protectively in front of Javier (and, by extension, Seigi and Senta), only to groan and drop to one knee after the effort well past her limit. They all would normally be warier of Caster’s spellcasting, but it is impossible to prioritize them over the visible display of supernatural power rising from the base of Concepción Hill well over the nearby ruins and the still-standing buildings further away.
(BGM)
A pillar of white light pierces the sky. The earth shakes, stirred by the tremendous release of magical energy. But the visual display is only second to the way the world shudders around them. The distant aurora from the top of the tallest hills seems to dim its cerulean hue, as if surrendering to this new, glorious power, if only for a moment. Senta somehow still has the presence of mind to catch Seigi Nomikata who is about to slip off Javier’s shoulders. The Caster of the Black Sun sheds a single tear they cannot explain. Maria feels an overpowering nostalgia—motherly warmth experienced only once in a mythical abyss—that becomes an almost crushing sense of loss when it is gone.
“Wha…what now!?” Senta shrieks, her mind straining against one-too-many shocking experiences in too short a period. “A Noble Phantasm!?”
“No, this is just…” Caster stops herself, as if using the word “just” to describe this were the ultimate blasphemy. Maria has a better answer, even if it does not amount to much.
“Magic…truly ancient magic.”
However, it is Javier who feels the tremors of the earth more profoundly than the others, to the point that he feels alone and detached from the others; to the point that he forgets he is carrying an unconscious man.
To him, the hum beneath his feet is a dirge—a lamentation for magnificence lost, a declaration that the world has become just a little darker and more flawed. The distant spirits hidden in the Otherworldly shadow beneath Valparaíso’s hills mourn a precious existence departed forever. Connected to them as he is, Javier too feels this loss all too deeply, and it is as if he, too, had lost an irreplaceable part of himself.
It is too much.
Javier Lucero, who has so little, who is so tired, cannot take the loss of yet another treasure he did not know he had.
“Javier!”
Senta’s cry grabs the attention of the other two women, aided by the potent magical phenomenon already losing intensity, its unknown purpose fulfilled. They are in the process turning the face-down, unconscious man when the other unconscious man awakens with a gasp.
“Ah, you!”
Senta needs a bit more time to grasp his name. Seigi Nomikata does not care. He is not even aware of Javier Lucero beneath him; he only has eyes for the fading white light. He does not understand, yet he understands all too well. There is a hole within him that was never really such; rather, his body—his circuits—had carried something extra for the good part of a year.
It is gone now, and that absence makes his eyes waver and his heart ache in wrench that he could have never expected.
“Lancer…is dead…?”
(BGM STOP)
*** ***
END OF EVENING PHASE
SERVANT RIDER – DEFEATED
SERVANT LANCER (LILY) – DEAD
SERVANT ASSASSIN – ???????
The Hound has released the Howl of Omen.
*** ***
Warning!
This is a Save Point.
If your quest reaches a Dead End, you may choose to resume it from this point.
*** ***
Warning!
The Phase has ended with Javier’s Stamina in Critical condition.
There will be NO Night Phase Setup. Javier and Maria are locked to a Rest Action.
*** ***
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
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