[FF] Grail Works, Ltd.: Fate/Anarchy (Type-Moon/Scion crossover)

[RanmaBushiko]

Okay, man, that... that... that was AWESOME!! XD

I worked HARD to make sure it would be as good of a fight as it could possibly be, but I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Additionally, even with my reading speed being stupidly fast, it seems to match up perfectly to the music.

[Arbitrarity]

Whoo, that was a long one. I think my favourite part there is the geas, simply because nobody reads the fine print. If I'm reading that correctly, Touko already transferred her third command spell to her duplicate? Lots of foresight there, but it makes sense as a last resort/backup. I would expect, given how long-duration commands work with Seals (that is, they are not very effective), that the impact of that order to not attack Assassin of Black isn't likely to have much in the way of ongoing effects in the future, even if it seems like it could be a Chekov's Gun.

Astronauts were amusing, though that might screw over Erik's attempts at secrecy eventually. Doesn't sound likely to happen soon, though. Mordred having an aura of command is a cute development, though she's still kinda immature.

I note that it seems like Kiara made a fairly big tactical error in using a Seal to tell Jack to "Get to air", since she probably could have used the "teleport to me" function we know Seals are capable of, which would have probably been more appropriate, given how dire her situation was.

Erik is definitely not in good shape for fighting Dracula right now. He has literally 1 Legend left. He might be able to tap more from the Gem, but that's kind of risky with Shirou and Semiramis still lurking in the background. I assume he's paying the same amount of upkeep for Mordred as he was for Amaterasu, so even a day should restore a good amount of Legend with the Cosmoreactor supplementing him, but he may not get that day. I suppose he'll have to just rely on mechanical firepower, unless he gets into a real pinch.

[Kieran]

I worked HARD to make sure it would be as good of a fight as it could possibly be,

He did, trust me.

Whoo, that was a long one.

Speaking as the guy who does the proof-reading, yup.

I think my favourite part there is the geas, simply because nobody reads the fine print.

Certainly not someone with the mentality and life experience of a child . . . Cunning will only take you so far.

I would expect, given how long-duration commands work with Seals (that is, they are not very effective), that the impact of that order to not attack Assassin of Black isn't likely to have much in the way of ongoing effects in the future, even if it seems like it could be a Chekov's Gun.

You'll see.

I note that it seems like Kiara made a fairly big tactical error in using a Seal to tell Jack to "Get to air", since she probably could have used the "teleport to me" function we know Seals are capable of, which would have probably been more appropriate, given how dire her situation was.

This is what happens when you get a bystander to do a magus' job . . .

Erik is definitely not in good shape for fighting Dracula right now. He has literally 1 Legend left. He might be able to tap more from the Gem, but that's kind of risky with Shirou and Semiramis still lurking in the background. I assume he's paying the same amount of upkeep for Mordred as he was for Amaterasu, so even a day should restore a good amount of Legend with the Cosmoreactor supplementing him, but he may not get that day. I suppose he'll have to just rely on mechanical firepower, unless he gets into a real pinch.

Again, you'll see - and probably soon, since part of the reason this took so long is because I accidentally proofed the next chapter first. (stupid overproductive insomniacs . . . )


. . . And no opinions on the first Berserker to match Sparatacus in delusionality?

[Arbitrarity]

. . . And no opinions on the first Berserker to match Sparatacus in delusionality?

I mostly think "hm, I feel like we might have some conceptual overlap with Kiyohime. Scary." with a bit of "Oh great, Azaka has gone full chuuni". That EX rank seems undeserved to me. Then again, Kiyohime's also seems undeserved, so maybe not that surprising.

[Kieran]

I mostly think "hm, I feel like we might have some conceptual overlap with Kiyohime. Scary."

Yeah, just a little. Honestly, that last Skill of hers started out as "Pursuer of Love" until I read what it actually did; I'm still not entirely happy with it, either. I keep thinking "Distortion" might be more accurate, but I'm not sure how to quantify it properly.

with a bit of "Oh great, Azaka has gone full chuuni".

*Chuckles* What can I say? She seemed the type.

That EX rank seems undeserved to me. Then again, Kiyohime's also seems undeserved, so maybe not that surprising.

It probably is, and I likely should've added a "?" to it as a result - it's mostly derived from "Shiki and Fujino have EX-ranked Phantasms, so I should, too."

In practice, assume the lower ranking in the description is the one in play.

[RanmaBushiko]

Chapter 59: Rage and Conflict




The Wolfen

Main Bridge







Nestor slumps back into his chair, rubbing his forehead softly. “It's been a long time since these old bones last faced combat, I'll admit.”




Fiore smiles a bit, studying the bridge closely. “I'll admit, I'm now much more willing to believe in Erik’s claims of godhood, even if I can’t imagine how it could be true in this age. Those clips from those mechanical dragons, and the... ‘Mecha,’ was the term? It’s all quite fascinating! To say nothing of impossible, even with all I’ve seen of Servants thus far.”



Nestor chuckles softly. “Fair enough. Fair enough. To be fair, considering who my ancestors were, I shouldn't be so surprised. Yet it's still a wonder to work for him.”




“Your ancestors?” Rin asks, folding her arms. EMIYA and Chiron do as well, before Chiron pauses. “Wait. Let me guess. You're descended from THAT Nestor, perhaps?”



“Indeed! My blood is touched by the Gods, even now! Even if barely. Nothing like back then, I'll admit, but things that worked for my ancestors still tend to for me. At the same time, the price is that my ancestors, like myself, tend to get sucked into things involving Gods, one way or another.” Nestor replies with a wry grin, to a still surprised looking Chiron.




“Interesting, indeed—and you mentioned you're the Scylla?” Chiron asks after a moment. “What's your relationship with the original? I don't recall if I’ve heard, yet.”



“He doesn't exactly like to talk about it...” Nestor starts up, before the Scylla interrupts him.




“A crazy Demigod created me, some poor bastards fused to their motorcycles, and a brand new Charybdis to use on Erik, once upon a time,” is the response, before he continues, “For a brain in a jar, my life's honestly pretty good. Better yet is the fact that he doesn't want to dissect me like so many others did, after things fell through and my Boss won.”



Chiron winces, as does Rin and Fiore.




“And by that, you mean...?” Fiore asks, hesitantly.



“The Gods wanted to dissect me, to see how I was made, to replicate and counter it. Erik saved me from that. Thus, he's my boss. Because out of all those assholes I met that day, he was the only one that didn't want to carve me open and 'fix' me, but saw me as a new sentient being. Oh, sure, I wound up as something like a semi-organic supercomputer for some of his first mecha in return, helping him out. But he cares, he genuinely wants to help, and he makes me neat shit in return. Better than what I could have gone through.”




“I see... I'm sorry to hear that,” Fiore apologizes, before asking quietly, “Is there any word from Godafrid? I'm a little worried about him, considering we left so quickly.”



“Honestly, they're probably holed up in a small cafe somewhere, wondering why they can't get a hold of us, lass—I'm sure they're fine...” Nestor answers, before he starts pulling up camera feeds. “Now, Scylla, can you show us what's going on with Trifas?”



“Yeah, no problem—let's see now...” The Scylla trails off, studying things, as it pulls up screens. “Oh, that's not good...”



“An army of the DEAD?!” Rin screams almost in sync with Fiore, with the latter pulling her hands up to her chest and asking, “Are they all right?!”




“We're getting heavy interference,” the Scylla admits, “but it looks like it. Still, it shouldn’t be a problem, since we're pretty much combat ready—the Legion of Coal are searching for any other Dragon's-Tooth Warriors on the ship, and we're ready to fire up the reactors at any moment.” There’s a pause. “Okay, that's... Hang on—diverting power to the stuff meant for scanning Legend… I'm not sure what the hell is going on at Yggdmillennia Castle, but it's something big!”



Monitors change, showing the Scylla working as it tries to analyze something happening at the castle as massive amounts of prana and Legend flare within it.




“Looks like the Castle is attempting something... Something dimensional?” the Scylla reports, sounding as much like a question as it does a statement. “I'm not sure—never seen anything like this before in my life, and that's saying something considering the shit we survived back then!” After a moment’s pause, he continues, “Yeah, this definitely looks a little similar to some of Erik's early experiments...Looks like it's an attempt at summoning something!”



The bridge goes quiet as the Scylla works, still reporting things. “Dimensional energies have flared--and...!” He waits a beat before answering, “Nothing, as far as I can see. Whatever the hell just happened, it drew a lot of power in, but I can't see anything else. Might have been trying to summon something from another universe, for all I know.”



“Scylla,” Tamamo speaks up, finally. “Are the reactors ready for to turn back on and go back to full power?”
“Yes, Ma'am; it can be done at any time,” the Scylla reports. “All systems showing green, and we've gone over it with a fine-toothed comb.”




“Nestor, do us the honors—drop, and wipe out that army of the 'Dead', so we can recover my Husband, our guests, and try to be done with this stuff today,” Tamamo states, a bit of her normal act as a proper Japanese noblewoman disappearing due the sheer level of raw irritation...



“Roger that,” Nestor states, as he studies screens. “Calculate the drop, then we'll hit atmosphere and pump power into the gravity units once we drop low enough—any suggestions on weapons, Scylla?”

“Gimme seventeen seconds to have the calculations done,” the Scylla reports. “And as for weapons, I'd suggest not using missiles—our bomb launchers are like mortars, aren't they? Better overall damage, not as much chance of civilian casualties.”




“Then as soon as we're ready, we'll drop and support Erik, Godafrid and Olga,” Tamamo states. “We'll get to them in time, Fiore. I promise.”




Fiore smiles weakly and nods, her eyes becoming slightly unfocused as she turns her attention to speaking with Chiron telepathically. “Chiron, go find Mordred and get a ride down with her, please.”



Chiron nods and leaves the room, as people get prepared to drop the Wolfen from orbit, safely.





Trifas, Romania

City Center







Mecha Fafnir MK3 lands, the Hoverpod within slowly floating down to reveal a pissed off Erik glaring at the castle Darnic now resides in. Quietly, he looks around, eyes picking up damaged houses, the scents of blood and death, with some fires mixed in. More yet, he can hear—the screams of the dying, begging their loved ones to snap out of it, and not kill them; the prayers of the terrified, desperately praying to whatever Gods they worship, unanswered. Children and adults alike desperately afraid, trying to hide, even the tears, silent or otherwise, of the city.




For a moment, he glances down at the Cosmoreactor, feeling it pulse in his chest as his right hand moves closer to the prototype lightsaber. Then he pulls it up, turns it on, and watches, feeling the Cosmoreactor go slightly more active, before blinking quietly.



"So THAT'S how you work, hmm?" Erik murmurs, before smirking. "Work for my laser rifle, too, will you?"



Then, as his gaze drifts back upwards, his smirk dies.



"I'll say it again, Darnic: what the hell are you doing?" Erik's words, broadcast over the city from Mecha Fafnir MK3 are like a wave of sound, leaving the city dead quiet at the recognition that someone else has come into play. And as his Hoverpod lands, he calmly puts an earpiece on.



"Boss?” The Scylla's words reach Erik, as his eyes narrow. “What the hell is going on down there—why'd you land?!"



"Jack the Ripper is dead, but Darnic seems to have decided to go full Zombie Apocalypse on us, Scylla,” Erik replies, voice tense and filled with an undertone of anger that is obviously heard.



Pitching his next words to Tamamo, he continues, “Dear, I'll need Nestor to prep the Wolfen for an orbital drop, this time without the crash. Once Mordred and our Archers are done clearing out the ship of any remaining Dragon's-Tooth Warriors, then I'll expect some backup."
"He WHAT?!" Tamamo's screech reaches Erik, as she loses all composure to almost scream at the microphone. "He's seriously started a zombie apocalypse down there?! Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—we could see it, if barely from the bad connection, but he is the cause?"



"Darnic... He... He wouldn't..." Fiore trails off for a moment. "Let me see more, please!"



"Transmit pictures to the Wolfen please, Mecha Fafnir MK3." Erik glances over at the mechanical dragon, then the city, still unnaturally still.



"A Dead Apostle attack, just like I thought...” Fiore whispers in horror. “But that he would be the cause... Are the others okay—is Godafrid alright?!”



Fiore's desperation pushes Erik to focus, and he catches the scent of them. "They smell to be in one piece, even if they're terrified right now... I'll find them, don't worry. As for the cause, they all smell faintly like Darnic and his Servant."



"Thank you...Oh thank you—I genuinely can't imagine life without him in it," Fiore's voice replies, filled with relief, before the rest of what Erik said hits. “Wait, they smell like him?”



“Yeah—like his energies are flowing through them right now,” Erik explains. “His energies and his Servant's; I can smell Legend, and the zombies all smell like both of them clearly... Look, I'll contact you later, okay? I need to test my Wolf Wing, and find the others—if I hear anything, I'll let you know, or open communications back up.”



For a moment, Erik tests the Hoverpod. Slowly, it rises, before abruptly falling once more. "Tch—damaged that much, huh? Re-entry must've been worse on it than I thought. Damn. On foot it is, then."



With those words, Erik pulls himself out of the Hoverpod and walks forwards, with prototype lightsaber in one hand and laser rifle in the other.



Soon enough, however, he is forced to stop, staring at a large number of people that are both obviously dead and yet, still moving.



"I'm afraid that 'Darnic' is no longer available, on a permanent basis." The voice coming from their mouths are all Darnic's, and yet, to Erik's ears, the voices are a cacophony of sound; twisted, wrong. Like something's wrong with them, and Darnic as well. Subtly, Erik turns the communications back on, as he faces down with them all.



"The fuck? Then you are?" Erik asks, his eyes narrowed.



"I suppose a hint for you, then, since you ironically gave Darnic the information that lead to my being here. It is not by my hand alone that I am once again given flesh. I was brought here by a fool, wishing to alter his Servant to be more like me." Darnic's voice replies, still a deluge of discordant tones.



"...Oh. Mother fucker. Me damn it, seriously? He managed to summon you? Dracula?" Erik's eyes narrow, as he glances over the people before him.



Twenty-seven dead corpses, still somehow moving. He's dealt with worse.



"I'll admit, for some no-name God, you're quite impressive, especially that army of yours," Darnic, no, Dracula's voice echoes, before the group of the Dead smile and bare fangs as one. "Still, won't you side with me? Humanity is useless, after all. What is a man, but a miserable pile of secrets?" Dracula’s voice is smug. "Darnic saw your little army with a spell on your 'War Beast'. Moreover, Vlad, this universe's pale reflection of myself, guessed you had maybe twenty to forty thousand soldiers to use. He fully intended to betray you with this army, once you returned."



Erik's fist clenches tighter around the sword, still crackling with lightning and energy, as he looks more around the city, then at Dracula's force—as well as the forces trying to sneak up on him.



"You should know, before we continue this..." Erik sighs. "The Wolfen was assaulted by Jack the Ripper. We've lost at least one Master to that little clusterfuck, and I lost my own Servant in that little fracas. Though Mordred was happy to take my Servant's place in the scheme of things... I killed that bitch, Jack the Ripper, Assassin of Black, myself." Erik grins darkly, as the Dead Dracula are speaking through back up slightly from Erik, staring at him in new light.



"Hm—not as weak as I supposed, then?" Dracula's voice trails off, obviously thinking. "Two of these Servants, dead by your hand... Indeed not, then. Very well, Norseman—you may consider this an invitation, and a challenge. If it is battle you desire, I shall oblige; my throne room awaits you... But be forewarned: you will be far from the first god I have brought to heel—or slainoutright."



Erik nods and smiles, baring teeth as he does. "So be it, then. I finished off Jormungandr, you should be an interesting challenge yourself. And, for the record, doing this to innocent people? I'm going to make you suffer before I put my boot through your skull."



Dracula laughs through the horde of the Dead, as the former villagers continue to gather around Erik. "I must admit—a game to see who lives or dies is magnificent ...!"



"Oh, I'm looking forwards to it..." Erik's voice is smug, as the Scylla's voice rings in his ear.



"We're coming down, Boss—fifteen seconds before re-entry!"



“Enough talk, have at thee!” Dracula's voice snarls as the Dead fling themselves forwards at Erik.



Erik's smile widens to show even more teeth, as he continues making his way forward, suddenly able to dodge every blow aimed at him. “Have you ever thought of what my Wolfen looks like in daylight, by any chance Dracula?”



“Hm? Ah, your ship? You can only show it at night, right? Tch, how am I missing you here?” Then Dracula is interrupted by sound and a wave of heat...



http://vgmixarchive.com/songs/vgmix2...ntasy%204).mp3 (Crimson Over Imperial Skies ~ Final Fantasy 4 Remix by Dennis)



Dracula's eyes widen in shock through his collective minions at a shockwave of flames slamming through the spell he had created to protect the Dead from sunlight—a shockwave of fire concealing a rather familiar ship.



As re-entry fire fades around the ship, Erik's smile is now all teeth, as he abandons casual movement and hurls himself to the attack. The thump-thump of the Wolfen's massive bomb launchers working like mortars, sending explosives towards large clusters of the Dead ring out through the city; the drum-beat like explosions going off every second in time with Erik's own movements and heartbeat.



And as Erik listens to the cracks of rail-guns and hissing of lasers, the Dead die en masse.



“Oh, a competition is it?! Well, let me show you how a warrior does it!” Scáthach's call is barely heard from atop the Wolfen, but her next move leaves Dracula quiet with surprise.



“GAE BOLG ALTERNATIVE!”
With a scream like the wailing of lost souls piercing the air, a sudden rain of legendary spears leaves Dracula blinking in surprise.



Erik looks up at the raining spears with a smirk, remarking casually while finishing off the Dead before him, “What strange weather this country has—raining spears, of all things!”
Then he glances down at the prototype lightsaber. “I think I'm going to call you Raika— 'Fire Started by Lightning' sounds perfect as a name for you.”



As another horde of the Dead rush out towards him from nearby buildings, Erik seeming ignores them and looks up. Shouldering his laser rifle, he concentrates instead...
One moment, there's nothing in his left hand—and the next, an ice block the size of a city bus is formed in front of him, before he kicks it at them.



There are no survivors, as he continues through the town, heading towards Castlevania, pausing only to turn off the microphone as he moves forwards.






Trifas

A small cottage







Jackie and her son David had recently moved to Romania together—mostly because she loved recreating authentic medieval experiences for Renaissance fairs, and wished to live in such an environment.
She also loved her son, to the point where she had spent quite a bit of money getting one of those game consoles that her young son had played so much (a “Dreamcast”), and ensured there'd be a power source and an actual television. In a city such as Trifas, however—where technology may not have been banned,per se, it was still frowned upon—the Dreamcast was only a “sometimes” toy for David and his friends. But she knew that he loved it, and loved to spoil him when she could.



In particular, her son loved the Sonic Adventure games, quite literally playing them for months on end—just exploring every nook and cranny in each level in the games.



So when they're in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, she blinks at him staring up through the blinds, and suddenly going wide-eyed with visible glee, before desperately tiptoeing and trying to find paper. Even as she hides, her chest of drawers and a couch set in-between the door to the small room they're stuck in and any of the dead things that had replaced her neighbors.



After a moment, David smiles, and writes quickly. “Eggman outside!”



Jackie tilts her head, and gives her son the look that all mothers seem to know, and all small children seem to fear.



After a moment, he adjusts his words. “Real-life Eggman outside! Like Mad Scientist! Flying airship and everything!”



Jackie stares at her son, blinking. Then she quietly tiptoes over, and looks through the blinds, at the same angle her son was looking through them.



ROAR



A monstrous figure—one of her neighbors covered in blood and bite marks—tries to push through the window, right in front of her. Jackie desperately pulls back, staring wide-eyed in horror as the figure tries to break the glass.



BZZT



Then, as a laser cuts the undead abomination that used to be her neighbor in half, she stares in wide-eyed shock as she can see the flying battleship in the air.



For a moment, she swears under her breath, before murmuring, “That thing has to be at least a kilometer in length. Who the hell built it?!”



Then she waves through the window, with a scream of “Thank you! Can you kill the rest before we get eaten?!”, and starts giving prayers of thanks to whatever saved herself and her son.



The sudden appearance of the Hoverpod and the mechanical dragon outside her front lawn leaves her looking at David.



Then she smiles. “It looks like you were right! They have some sort of flying egg and everything!”



As more and more of David's friends over the city also have their parents get saved, their parents pray in thanks as well. As well as those that don't understand it, but realize that they seem to have been saved.



And as that happens, a few of the cracks in the Gem of Power start to glow and fix themselves, as the massive gem starts to slowly mend itself a bit, from the sheer force of the faith of the survivors of Trifas.





Trifas

Yggdmillennia Castlevania






Dracula smiles from within his new body as the Wolfen brings itself to bear, facing off with his new castle.



A spark forms, becoming a beam of light so bright that any that look at it are momentarily blinded, slamming into this new castle—then it fizzles, fading out as it hits a barrier. For a moment, Dracula frowns, feeling the extent of the impact, then smirks
“Power drained by only three percent? I must admit, Darnic's ability with making a shield like this one is far more impressive than I imagined...” Dracula's voice rises. “And now, for my own retaliation—all gunnery crews, fire at will!”



With those words, Dracula spreads his arms wide as the Dead heed his command; they aim at the Wolfen, and pull various triggers—



Nothing happens, except loud clicking noises from the mechanisms being worked.



A Legion of Coal unit walks forth from the shadows. The Scylla's voice can be heard, triumphant from it, as it speaks to Dracula. “Did you think we'd actually build guns that can shoot at our own equipment—seriously?”



Dracula goes still, before turning to glare at the Legion of Coal unit. “Hmm. Soulless automatons. With something looking through, as well...”



With those words, Dracula moves—



And the Legion of Coal unit the Scylla was talking through falls in half.



Outside, the Wolfen's plasma cannon sparks, firing once more, roiling energy slamming into the barrier Dracula's raised up over his castle.



“Another three percent—irritating, but manageable,” Dracula muses, while thinking. “Now all we need to do is consolidate forces, and set Darnic's little magecraft-wielding mages to handle reinforcing the shields, while ensuring they don't realize what I've done.” Dracula smiles widely, showing fangs. “Then, after I've dealt with that Wolfen, I think I'll enjoy making those magecraft wielders suffer...”



“After all...” he continues, unhurriedly, “As long as this 'Grail War' goes on, I have plenty of time to ensure the Crimson Stone is crafted, and works well. All I need to do is reclaim that Greater Grail come nightfall, and my own plans are going to work well.”






KA-WHUMP BOOM



Then Castlevania rocks, as the spinal-mounted railgun fires; launching a massive bomb at Mach 7. The bomb pushes into, then halfway through the shield entirely, before it detonates, sending Dracula flying in the room he's in.



Wide-eyed with shock, Dracula pulls himself up, then turns to gaze at the Wolfen once more. Shaking his head, he focuses and works to have his army of the Dead repair the shields so that the ship can't do that again.



"Perhaps I should try to dominate those automatons sooner than I initially planned..."





Trifas

Approaching Yggdmillennia Castlevania






“Boss, looks like the Spinal Railgun does have an effect on the damned shield that castle has up,” The Scylla's voice reaches Erik's ear through the headset, “but it can only fire once every five minutes, with how much power we need to charge the damned thing. I've got more capacitors being built for it, and setting up more links for it now—won’t be much help now, though.”
“Thanks, Scylla. You okay?” Erik replies, casually beheading another member of the Dead that Dracula's sent his way, then pauses to note that the streets are empty of life for now.



“Not exactly... that bastard Dracula killed the Legion of Coal unit I confronted him with, after he tried to shoot us with weapons he bought off us—hurt like a bitch. And… I'm a bit troubled by things right now, Boss.”
The Scylla is irritated but hesitant to Erik's ears, leaving him to go still and listen. After a bit of silence, Erik replies, “Go on—you know I'm willing to hear you out.”



“Why did you save me, Erik? That one's always bothered me. Those Olympian Gods offered to take me off your hands, make me not exist anymore after looting me for information. And yet... you stepped up, and asked for me, for contributions to the war effort. Rather than trading me in, and letting me die, like anyone else should have... you gave me a chance.”
The Scylla's words leave Erik smiling softly.



“You deserved a chance. That's why. Whatever bullshit made you... I know it was horrible. I know you have PTSD from it, to the point where you consciously can't remember. I heard you crying, you know? During those first nights, when you were in my backpack, and I carried you around; the nightmares you had from flashes of memories from what was used to create you, likely people who were torn apart and remade as you.” Erik replies, quietly. “And rather than let you die, so that sick work that made you would be undone... in those moments I realized you're a person too. No matter what, Scylla, you're my friend, and you deserve to live—to find your place in this world.”



“Boss, you... Thank you, Boss. A more worrying thing, though... Is this really worth it—all this fighting, this Grail War?” The Scylla asks, hesitantly, voice tinged with emotions.



For a moment, Erik surveys things, his eyes narrowed as he breathes in deep through his nose. Then he glances, in two directions. In one, he can faintly see some of his mecha near. The other brings the hint of an unfamiliar scent within Castlevania itself.



“You heard my wife and Godafrid speak, didn't you? He's hiding shit, though he's always done that. The voice, the mannerisms, the face… When he's not adjusted it with illusions? It's all the same—but the conscious mind and his lack of tells about certain situations... Either it's been a stupidly long time since we met... Or...”



For a moment, Erik trails off, thinking.



“Or, perhaps with his love of pen-and-paper games, we were characters in one. It would explain why he knows so much, yet seems to remember so little.” Erik sighs softly, continuing, “But all these people? I don't want to see them all die. I don't want to die either. The only way out that I can see, though, is to either claim some new form of divinity, or find worshipers, and soon. More than that, though. I want to see you live and be happy. I want to see my wife live and be happy; and Fenris, as well. I fought so damned hard, so we could be family, friends—have a life together. Do you really think I want to, or am going to just up and quit?”



Erik's eyes settle towards the road less traveled as he starts walking towards the oddly familiar, yet different scent.



“Boss... You're right. You're my best damned friend. And you said it best, back then: if the Pantheons are going to stop us? Fuck The Gods.”



Erik smiles at the Scylla's words.



“Exactly. We nearly built one. Just because things have changed, doesn't mean we still can't.” Erik replies, looking around.



CRUNCH



Both are interrupted by a Vehicle launching off the Wolfen, and slamming down next to Erik. The Tumbler Erik made for Mordred's windshield pops open, leaving Mordred smiling at Erik.



“Oi, Master! I brought Godafrid's sword for this clusterfuck. Any sign of him?” Mordred grins.



“Did I seriously HAVE to ride this thing down with a driver like you?! That was like one of those ‘roller coasters’ Master told me about.” Chiron asks, looking like he's at least somewhat sick from Mordred's driving in the passenger's seat. Then he glances out, and looks around. “Master sent me to find her fiancé.”



“Godafrid's down towards the mecha procession. Get the sword to him. After that, I'd like you to deal with the bastard who's decided to body-jack both Darnic and his Servant, who claims to be Dracula—from the Castlevania games, no less.” Erik admits. “With your boosts, it should be possible, if nothing goes wrong at least. Chiron, could you ride along, and ensure that Olga and Mash are fine as well? I'd tag along myself, but there's not enough room, and I'm not riding on top.”



Chiron nods, as does Mordred. “Gotcha! Later, Master!”



With that, they drive off, leaving Erik sighing softly, and continuing the conversation. “Sorry about the interruption. Anything else I should be worried about, Scylla?”



“… Dimensional fuckery happened earlier,” comes the eventual reply, leaving Erik nodding as he steadily approaches the mecha procession. “I think that Dracula's Castlevania tried to summon someone—or something—but it either failed, or mostly failed.”
“Take a note of its general location. I'll look for it when I head in soon enough; any signs of Gordes or Roche in the city?” Erik asks, keeping watch. When a head pops up—one of the 'Dead' as Fiore called them—Erik carves its head off with a shot from his laser rifle, before pausing. Then he turns it, glancing at the power readout.



“Swords alone, maybe? Or maybe I built this Cosmoreactor prototype wrong...?” Erik mutters under his breath.



“I'll look into it, when we have better connections, Boss. As it stands, you're the only one with a decent connection right now. Whatever the hell that cloud is in the sky that Darnic made and Dracula seems to be taking advantage of, it also is releasing a lot of electromagnetic radiation, and that's playing hell with all the technology down there. It's not quite as bad as an EMP pulse, but if we didn't have everything shielded and hardened against that sort of shit...” The Scylla trails off, pointedly.



“Yeah, I get it. I'm glad I upgraded the Legion of Coal as well as the production line mecha to deal with that.” Erik admits.



As Erik continues making his way, the sound of approaching footsteps hits his ears. Slowly, he glances around, studying the small army of dead people surrounding him. Spread out, to avoid being hit by the Wolfen's explosives, more than a few dead, there's still over two hundred undead people surrounding him.



One glance up at the Wolfen leaves him realizing why. It's just at the right arc that if it had fired, it would have likely made him collateral damage. Not good.



For one moment, he looks at Raika, and then puts it away before raising his hands at once. Then he focuses, Frozen Panoply mixing with his ability to make pykrete to create something new.



The thing that formed was far too heavy to be called a sword—too big, too thick, too heavy, and too rough. It was more like heap of pykrete, an iceberg even, in the shape of a sword, with a long handle on the end.



As the Dead stumble back—staring in confusion with a look that screams “Where the hell did that come from?!”—Erik smirks and launches himself into them, swinging it like a madman.



It has to be said that swinging around a thousand pounds of weight does the job, as Erik finds out. But as he continues swinging, carving through them like a hot knife through butter, the Norseman slowly starts to smile at the feeling of the Cosmoreactor prototype slowly firing up in his chest.



Even as more and more dead people start to swarm him, Erik's grin widens. “Are you enjoying this, Dracula? Not as easy as you thought, is it?! Your little zombie apocalypse in a can may have given you numbers, but it obviously hasn't given you more skill!”



Low sweep, and watch them lose their legs; high sweep, and watch more lose their heads. Twist, and swing at the first batch, to remove their heads. Swing in an upper-cut style fashion, and one goes flying, cut in half.



Then Erik's grin widens further, as he spots an opportunity. He throws the massive blade with one hand, catching it in the other, so the force of the throw flings him forwards, then slams one foot into the ground, while forcing with all his might to turn.



Like a pendulum, Erik spins as he moves forwards; one crazy top that slams its way through a small horde of dead people, sending many of them flying, mouths open in horror from instinctive shock at what Erik's just done, towards the walls of Yggdmillennia Castlevania.



The sounds of them splattering against the walls of the castle can be heard from the streets below, as Erik looks up, grinning at the suddenly empty streets.



“Hah! I knew it! I knew that would work!” Then Erik sighs, rubbing his shoulder as the sword shatters into ice and metal fragments, before pulling Raika out once more. Then, the sound of pounding feet hit his ears.



“ERIK!” Godafrid's voice rings through the air as he approaches, shouting in full fury. “Why the hell did you build Darnic CASTLEVANIA, of all the damned things?!”
As Godafrid approaches, looking like he's about to punch Erik in the face, he abruptly pauses, looking at Erik, and the street full of gore around him.



“On one hand, I want to punch you for replicating Castlevania like this,” Godafrid continues calmly, as though discussing the weather, simply staring at the streets. “On the other hand, what the hell did you just do?”
“Improvised replica Dragonslayer, SEVERAL times the sword's size, made out of pykrete.” Erik answers, smirking as Godafrid begins rubbing his temples in an all-too-familiar mannerism. Offhandedly, he adds, “Also, you forgot your sword.”
For a moment, Erik checks the headset, to make sure it's off, before returning to the topic at hand.
“Seriously, I handed you Nero's fucking actual sword, a bonafide fucking Noble Phantasm—or at least the beginnings of one, considering how much Legend it put out before I UPGRADED IT—and you're not using it? Or transforming it, so you can hide it when not in combat? What the hell is WRONG with you?!”



Godafrid freezes, and then stares at Erik.



“You WHAT.”





The Wolfen

Main Bridge






Nestor sighs, as he controls the ship, lowering it further down. “That's as close as we're going to get, Fiore. One of the mechs will be able to carry you safely from here. We'll be landing troops in a bit, however.”



Fiore smiles at the old captain. “Thank you, Nestor. After this, I think I'll return, and get my legs fixed, if that's all right with you all?”



Nestor nods, smiling. “Not a problem. There's a line of Servants that already want physical bodies for themselves, you know? We'll be glad to work things out for you.”



Fiore smiles brightly, and nods. “Thank you! But first, I need to know what my faction's leader has done, and deal with him if necessary. Things like this, I simply can't allow...”



Fiore moves to leave, then halts, staring at the biggest wolf she's seen in her life casually moving through the door, giving her a nod as it passes by.



“You're... Fenris, I... presume?” Fiore's voice shakes, with barely concealed terror, as she stares at the Fenris Wolf.



Fenris simply walks up to her, gives her a sniff, and then wolfishly grins at her as he passes by. “Indeed. And you seem to be a good fit for Godafrid, too—what with you two smelling like each other.”



Fiore goes crimson as she stares at Fenris, then starts rapidly trying to explain, “I… You... That... WE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING IMPROPER!”



Fenris simply smirks. “If you really want to make me happy, perhaps you can name one of your inevitable pups for me? I can feel how much you love him, and you two deserve to be happy together!”



His grin widens as Fiore flees the room, trying to figure out how to not get eaten by Fenris, or irritate him. Or perhaps it's just sheer raw embarrassment?



“That was an evil thing to do, Fenris.” Nestor admits, with a grin. “I enjoyed it. Good job pushing them together!”



Fenris gives a single barking laugh, then settles back on his hind legs to watch the upcoming show, as the Scylla reports that the Legion of Coal are starting to disembark.



As the Legion of Coal descends from the hangar bay, ten thousand troops strong, many of them glance at each other. Then, as one, they start humming the Droid Army's marching theme from Star Wars, while marching forwards to wipe out the Dead within Trifas. After all, between a robot army and a zombie apocalypse, which really is going to win?






Author's Notes:



So. Godafrid wants Darnic dead, not quite knowing that Darnic pulled something truly idiotic. Erik wants to rip Dracula's skull off and use it as a new mug. While Fiore just wants Godafrid safe.



And the worship from Trifas for being their savior, whether they realize it or not, is having effects.



Because why would worshippers from a different universe affect a God as well as ones from the universe they're in currently?



As for Fenris. Norse Wolf of the Apocalypse is going to troll whoever he damned well wants to. It's like a 600 pound Gorilla. They're going to do whatever the hell they want, and no one's going to stop them.



Only in this case, the wolf can become the size of a large, 42 foot long, double decker bus. Not the moutain he's used to, but still pretty decent.



As for Frozen Panoply, and Pykrete Creation being used here, by Erik? Genuinely, those two are his most terrifying abilities. Period. And he uses them to stupidly great success here.



Also yes, he used it, much like a bat, to smack most of the zombie horde straight into Dracula's new copy of Castlevania. A few right into his window, even! Boy, if Dracula wasn't irritated before...



On a different note, Arbitrarity? Erik did tap the gem of power, for a full recharge. I just haven't gotten around to writing down how much power was recharged. And the Cosmoreactor prototype interfered with some of it as well, so I have to do the most dreaded of all things. Math.

[Xamusel]

How many chapters until the end of the story, do you guys estimate?

[Arbitrarity]

Ohh right, I assumed Erik just tapped the Gem in chapter 56 for enough to craft the mech, and was otherwise still at the same level as before. Didn't realize he tapped for a full recharge, especially since there weren't numbers yet.

Nice to get a bit of character development for Scylla. It's easy for it to be swallowed as "another of Erik's machines", even if those all have souls as well. (Rest in peace Train-kun, never forget)
Feels like kind of a waste of mana to throw out Gae Bolg Alternative here, when conventional weapons are sufficing, but Scathach does like fighting things.

Getting local worship seems like potentially a huge power-up for Erik. He's been running with 400 people or something on Mars, so whatever's left of Trifas seems like it could significantly boost that, depending on the formula for that, and whether local-universe worshippers work better. I was assuming it was something like sqrt(worshippers), but I can't really find references to how that works at all. Restoring damage from Gaia is a bonus, for sure.

I'm assuming dimensional fuckery was just summoning Dracula, though it could be something else. Godafrid's reaction to being told about the sword is interesting, though I can't tell which part he's reacting to. I'm guessing the "upgraded" part.

Fenris is a shipper now. Joy.

[Kieran]

How many chapters until the end of the story, do you guys estimate?

I think that depends entirely on what I can either talk RB into, or need to talk him out of . . .

Getting local worship seems like potentially a huge power-up for Erik. He's been running with 400 people or something on Mars, so whatever's left of Trifas seems like it could significantly boost that, depending on the formula for that, and whether local-universe worshippers work better. I was assuming it was something like sqrt(worshippers), but I can't really find references to how that works at all. Restoring damage from Gaia is a bonus, for sure.

The exact system escapes me at the moment - it's been a couple of years since I last used it, and it was for a comparatively small amount of the campaign, so it didn't become habit - but I do remember that it was on an "X per day" basis.

I'm assuming dimensional fuckery was just summoning Dracula, though it could be something else.

A bit of Column A, a bit of Column B . . .

Godafrid's reaction to being told about the sword is interesting, though I can't tell which part he's reacting to. I'm guessing the "upgraded" part.

Largely the fact that it exists at all, since he can't think of a single reason for Erik to have gone after it - though the "upgrade" issue does worry him. He does know what Erik's idea of "upgrading" is, after all . . .

Fenris is a shipper now. Joy.

And mildly concerning, given that it is freaking Fenris . . .

[RanmaBushiko]

How many chapters until the end of the story, do you guys estimate?

Eh, there's going to be at least 3-4 more involving this arc, I think. And having to rewrite much of chapter 59 to account for it being Dracula, rather than Darnicula, made it take time. I had it finished before he changed it to Dracula from Castlevania, so that took... a few days.

On top of me becoming the second DM for the weekly sunday game sessions.

Ohh right, I assumed Erik just tapped the Gem in chapter 56 for enough to craft the mech, and was otherwise still at the same level as before. Didn't realize he tapped for a full recharge, especially since there weren't numbers yet.

Yeah, sorry. It's just been hard to write down every. Single. Skill. That Erik's used in a chapter, where he's not pulling a Naruto and shouting the name (it tempted me for a bit there, to make it just easier to keep track of all that shit, but it's bad writing, so I won't put you all through that...).

Nice to get a bit of character development for Scylla. It's easy for it to be swallowed as "another of Erik's machines", even if those all have souls as well. (Rest in peace Train-kun, never forget)
Feels like kind of a waste of mana to throw out Gae Bolg Alternative here, when conventional weapons are sufficing, but Scathach does like fighting things.

Yeah, the Scylla was... pretty much a traumatized child when Erik first met it. Was pretty much so for the entirety of the Scion game, until it was in the Wolfen, and could start to relax with that much goddamned hp keeping it safe. As for Train-Kun... the problem with Erik, is that even though he's a good inventor, he doesn't have the Amatsukami skill-set to actually hear the minor gods of all his creations. Tamamo does.

As for Scathach, she and her people are battle hungry like that. Look at Cu Chulainn. He loves fighting, and then going off to drink with whoever he fought during the day. And as his teacher...

Getting local worship seems like potentially a huge power-up for Erik. He's been running with 400 people or something on Mars, so whatever's left of Trifas seems like it could significantly boost that, depending on the formula for that, and whether local-universe worshippers work better. I was assuming it was something like sqrt(worshippers), but I can't really find references to how that works at all. Restoring damage from Gaia is a bonus, for sure.

Yeah, the distance doesn't help. As for the worshipers, it's pretty much 1 star of followers = 1 legend a day. I just averaged it out as 23 legend a day (or whatever it is. Not in the mood to check right now, sorry) rather than doing complicated math such as "Exactly how many kids does Fenris have in Wolf Home?!", etc. etc. etc. Kieran wrote it in himself for the game, as a local rule.

I'm assuming dimensional fuckery was just summoning Dracula, though it could be something else. Godafrid's reaction to being told about the sword is interesting, though I can't tell which part he's reacting to. I'm guessing the "upgraded" part.

Oh, he'd like to have all his minions back. That doesn't mean that they would show up if called, however. And as for Godafrid? As Kieran said, he knows what Erik might do to upgrade it.

Fenris is a shipper now. Joy.

Giant bored wolf of the Norse apocalypse wants something to do that won't remind him of captivity. It's like a 500 pound gorilla. You're not going to tell the Gorilla where it can't sit, or what it can't do. So too does this apply to Fenris.

I think that depends entirely on what I can either talk RB into, or need to talk him out of . . .

This, pretty much, as well as what I said earlier. We've got this, the showdown with Shirou and Semiramis, then a couple chapters left where people resolve final issues, etc., then the epilogues. Which is mostly written for Kiara's, already.

Largely the fact that it exists at all, since he can't think of a single reason for Erik to have gone after it - though the "upgrade" issue does worry him. He does know what Erik's idea of "upgrading" is, after all . . .

Yeah, pretty much this here, too, on top of what I said before.

And mildly concerning, given that it is freaking Fenris . . .

Again. 500 pound gorilla. Giant wolf of doom. Do you want to try telling Fenris no, that he can't do something like shipping? For that matter, does Godafrid and Fiore? I suspect the reactions on their parts is "Okay, okay! You can ship us! Just don't eat us instead! Please, have mercy!" rather than anything else...

[Kieran]

Continuing . . .




Sighișoara, Romania
July 1, 2004








Frid stared. It had been several years—or a couple of lifetimes, depending on how you counted his incarnations—since he’d last dealt with or heard of Kara no Kyokai, but mentioning the two characters who had become Servants in Fate/Grand Order had jogged his memory easily enough.

And here he was, apparently looking at the most terrifying incarnation possible of a character from that setting. Sure, the other two had Mystic Eyes that could end him easily—Fujino was a closet-evil person, and Shiki was openly murderous with the ability to kill everything and anything—but this was worse. After all, in canon, Azaka Kokuto was a “mage apprentice with sub-par spellcasting ability,” closer to a pyrokinetic than an actual magus; someone on Shirou’s level in terms of skill and knowledge, and probably less than that in actual potential.

. . . And yet, here stood an Azaka Kokuto who, unless she’d made a contract with the World (and maybe even if she did), had managed to ascend to the Throne of Heroes out of sheer stubbornness; simply because her best friend and sister-in-law (or rivals) had done the same.

And the really crazy part of that? It was exactly the sort of “logic” that Fate/Grand Order would use to explain accomplishing the feat . . . !

“So, I guess you want to use the Holy Grail to wish for Mikiya . . .?”

At first, Frid wondered who said that. Then, as the Servant abruptly stumbled from a standing position—like she was halfway to doing one of those face-plants so common in anime comedies—he realised that he’d said it.

He had roughly the space of one breath to berate his mouth for breaking character, watching her sputter and go red, before the realisation hit that he was going to die . . .

“I—You—That—THAT’S NOT IT!” the Berserker shouted, suddenly standing on her tiptoes in an effort to seem taller and thus, more intimidating. “I love my niece, I wouldn’t just wish her away, I just . . .” She deflated just as abruptly, staring at the ground and mumbling, “I just want a fair shot—to prove that I could have had him, or not, if Shiki hadn’t beaten me to him. If, after that, he still picks her, then . . . Well, I’ll still love him, and everything will be fine, because it already was.

“And if he picks me,” she perked up suddenly in both tone and posture, “then I’ll know I’m right to continue fighting for his love until the end of TIME ITSELF!”

Once again her fist was raised in unison with her voice, as her declaration rang among the rooftops.

Yup, definitely a Berserker—and one with Mordred’s wish, at that . . . Why do I get the feeling that whoever or whatever is behind all this set it up like so just because they wanted to make the pun “Don’t Burn, Be Moe(dred) . . .?”

Shutting down that line of thought immediately, because it was “way too meta,” as the saying went (requiring, as it did, knowledge of the name of Azaka’s fan club on an Internet forum several realities away). And that was saying nothing of the fact that it potentially foreshadowed his possible future death by giant fucking SNAKE . . .

Suppressing a shudder, Frid refocused his attention on his Servant—who, he guessed, apparently still had enough self-possession to be at least a little embarrassed by her declaration, judging by the sudden darkening of her cheeks?

“Sorry about that,” she apologised, staring at the ground again. “I get a little excited . . .” She looked up suddenly, blinking as her eyes fixed directly on his, visibly puzzled. “How’d you know, anyway—am I that famous?”

Her expression said she wasn’t sure if that being the case would be a good thing, or not.

“Not really,” he admitted bluntly, causing her to freeze—once again torn between opinions on whether or not that was a good thing—before continuing, “Knowing things is just my particular party trick, as it were. Especially things I’m not supposed to know; things that nobody should ever be able to know.”

Azaka’s expression became weird then, as she gave him a sort of flat stare through half-lidded eyes—however, all she actually said was “Really . . .”

“Do you want me to prove it?” Frid asked in a warning tone, eyebrows rising.

A small smirk graced her lips then, eyes glinting in challenge. “Hmph—why not? Hit me with your best shot.”

Deadpan, he responded, “You wore bunny slippers in your dorm at boarding school.”

“Grk.” Her posture became so stiff, so suddenly, that he’d honestly have been looking for the guy holding the other end of the stun gun if she wasn’t a Servant. Likewise, that complexion would’ve been really unhealthy—and probably an indication of an oncoming stroke . . .

The rational part of Frid’s mind was berating him over taunting a Berserker like this, but the fanboy part of it was finding her reactions just too cute to listen.

Slumping again, she asked in a defeated tone, “. . . Do you smoke, too?”

“I’m violently allergic.” And it was only after the words left his mouth that he worried they were a setup prior to being set on—fire, specifically.

She perked up, all smiles again. “And suddenly, you’re a one-hundred-percent improvement on Touko!” Her smile turned dangerously impish again. “And if you can unsettle me like that, I can’t wait to see what you do to our enemies, Master . . . Hey, that’s right—you never did introduce yourself!”

And now it was Frid’s turn to blush.

“Sorry about that, Little Miss,” he said contritely. “The full name’s ‘Godafrid Úa Súilleabháin,’ but please just use ‘Frid’—it’ll be easier on both of us . . .”








Trifas, Romania
July 4, 2004








The girl who had accepted the title “Berserker of Red” wasn’t really sure what to make of her Master.

True to his word, he seemed to know a lot of things he had no realistic way of knowing (and true to her expectations, he seemed to use that to confuse a lot of people a lot of the time)—and his being honest was kind of odd, given how often he seemed to be lying . . .

Azaka might’ve been a subpar magus with no taste for politics, but she wasn’t wholly ignorant; as much as “walking with death” was a magus’ mantra, deception was as much or more a part of their life. Still, he seemed to do it so easily, she began to wonder if he had an Origin of Deception, or something . . .

(She did her best to the snarky little voice in the back of her head—which sounded like Touko, or even Shiki on those rare occasions when her sister-in-law actually felt like scoring a point—that remarked that if so, they at least had delusions in common, then.)

It did bother her, though. Not just the lies, but the fact that he was her Master, and . . . He’d admitted surprise, as well; that working without a catalyst, relying wholly on compatibility, had summoned her to his side—but why? What could they possibly have had in common . . .?

I mean, I guess he ticks a couple of my boxes—blue eyes and glasses—but he’s definitely not Onii-chan, or even a vaguely close substitute!

(Who was, of course, the natural and only choice for her when it came to a question of compatibility.)

So, why . . .?

And with that question in mind, Azaka watched her Master. Watched him be kind and gentle with his fiancée and her little brother—and protective, too (and OK, that was the sort of thing Mikiya would do) . . . Watched him hum snatches of music periodically (all right, so they had that in common) . . . Watched him match wits with the fox lady (who dressed like Shiki on formal occasions, but had Touko’s attitude—brrr!) . . . And watched him converse pleasantly with that Shielder girl and her little-girl Master (and he knew them too, of course) . . .

All of which eventually brought her to this moment, when her Master revealed muscles, and silver (full-body!) tattoos, and muscles (!), striding into the street with a vicious-looking whip in hand (where had he hidden that?!) like he’d just walked right off the cover of one of those foreign romance novels about being taken by a barbarian warrior . . .

(She’d gone to an all-girls boarding school and a Christian one at that; of course she knew about those kinds of things—not that they could’ve ever let the teachers find out . . .)

Azaka knew that she should be saying, doing or thinking something—and somewhere in the back of her mind, that she didn’t actually have hormones in this state—but at the moment, her sixteen-year-old body was too busy making her mind go “Yummy” . . .

I’m loyal to you, ‘Nii-chan, I swear—but a girl can appreciate the view, right . . .?








Mifune City, Japan
July 7, 2004








Kokuto Azaka, age twenty-two, opened her eyes.

She blinked, considered what she might’ve eaten to cause the strangest dream she’d ever had—and then blinked again, as her mind came more sharply into focus.

After a long moment, she rolled over, picked up the phone, and dialled a number she knew by heart.

“Hey, Mikiya? I’m not going to be coming in today—I want to take a couple of days off for a sightseeing tour.”

She listened for a moment, and then smiled. “No, it’s nowhere you’ve probably heard of—a little city called Fuyuki . . .”










Writer's Notes: Added the music she really deserves - sorry about the oversight!

[Arbitrarity]

I will admit that Godafrid's Lunar form is likely VERY attractive. I also like the order of emphasis on his revealed sexy attributes. Repetition is my favourite kind of emphasis.

Also huh, Mikaya and Shiki actually had a child. I don't think there's a canon one of those, though we might be in some weird state where that's parallel universe Takara. Now that would be an interesting meeting ("Your parents are WHO?!")

I’m not going to be coming into today

Either you're missing a place to be going into, or she just won't be coming in?

[Kieran]

I will admit that Godafrid's Lunar form is likely VERY attractive.

Fairly plain, actually (I think; I'd have to check the character sheet) - but then again, that's effectively "plain" by "Age of the Gods" standards, when humanity did everything better . . .

I also like the order of emphasis on his revealed sexy attributes. Repetition is my favourite kind of emphasis.

Good to know. Azaka apparently thought it was worth emphasising, too.

Also huh, Mikaya and Shiki actually had a child. I don't think there's a canon one of those, though we might be in some weird state where that's parallel universe Takara.

It would be, but she exists, and unfortunately, she's not Takara - though going by her appearance, I can see how you'd think that.


EDIT:

Now that would be an interesting meeting ("Your parents are WHO?!")

Really, I'd think that would apply to Takara in general . . .

Either you're missing a place to be going into, or she just won't be coming in?

Oops - thanks, fixed.

[Kieran]

DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and TYPE-MOON, along with whomever they’ve happened to license them to, such as Geneon, Funimation, A-1 Pictures and Netflix.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.




(Rin’s) Guest Quarters
Battleship Wolfen
July 4, 2004








“. . . And now there are DEAD APOSTLES! THIS IS RIDICULOUS!”

Pacing the confines of her room furiously, Rin huffed in bewildered frustration for several minutes before turning back and resuming the conversation.

“I mean, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy—it’s a Holy Grail War, and that’s on top of being a mission from the Old Man—but we’ve gone so far past the realm of plausible, never mind reasonable, that I . . .”

Suddenly exhausted, she collapsed wearily onto the bed. “I don’t know what to do—I really don’t.”

“And as much enjoyment as I’d get out of hearing you say that at any other time,” Ilyasviel replied with a sigh, “I have to say that I’m out of ideas, too.”

Rin buried her head in her pillow and growled, “Ugh—I never thought I’d miss that fake priest . . .” Her head abruptly shot upwards. “Didn’t Tohno-san say he knew a nun, or something?”

She’d tried to pay attention to the introductions, she really had—but it was impossible to keep one’s mind focussed on anything but the fact that the White Princess of the True Ancestors was sitting on the opposite side of the room when it was actually happening . . .

Since then, she’d gotten to see a little more of the woman (girl, vampire, whatever!) and noted disturbing similarities to Taiga—as such, she’d kind of avoided dealing with that side of the Works unless she had to.

“I can ask,” Ilya said. “But there are a couple of problems. First, according to Kohaku-chan, she really doesn’t get along with Arcueid-san or Akiha-san—”

Rin’s brow furrowed as she asked, “The first is obvious, but why the second?” Then after a beat, she added disbelievingly, “And Kohaku-CHAN?”

“Older sisters have to stick together,” Ilya replied primly. “And as for Akiha-san—why do you think?

“In any case, the second problem is that Arcueid already dragged Shiki out for some ‘fresh air, after being cooped up in that place for so long’—so I’ve no idea when they’ll be back.”

Rin groaned. Of course they were. Because that was the way her luck worked, after all. Especially when she was associating with Shirou, and most recently, “Godafrid”; someone that she was coming to realise might have even stranger luck than she and Shirou combined—

She tuned out Ilya’s talk about possible activity at Fuyuki Church as a thought suddenly occurred to her.

“Hey, Ilya—where is Godafrid. . . .?”








Trifas, Romania
July 4, 2004








Aestus Estus, the Embryonic Flame.

It was the signature weapon of Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus when summoned into the Saber class; and to those fans of her particular niche of the “Fate” multiverse, a sword nearly as iconic as Excalibur itself. A brilliant scarlet in colour, it was a stylised Flammenschwert, or “flame-bladed” two-handed sword, nearly as long as its owner was tall; and to those who found aesthetic pleasure in such things, her equal in both beauty and deadliness.

Also like Nero, the weapon was wildly impractical; seeming far more decorative than functional in appearance, as well as more than a little unbalanced in its design, and it really should not have been anywhere near as effective as it was, except that Servant shenanigans were involved. It was beautiful, to be sure—as a collector in general and an aficionado of Nero, specifically, it was the kind of display piece he’d love to have, even though it would probably cost him a good chunk of his annual salary . . .

As a weapon, however, it would never be something he’d choose to use; and that was even leaving aside the fact that he had no earthly IDEA how to wield a sword in the FIRST PLACE!

Ironically, the druid persona he’d given up would have—he’d gained some levels in the fighter class when enslaved as a gladiator for the better part of five years—so he knew how to wield the sword, even if using it broke his druidic oaths against overreliance on metal tools and equipment. But as himself, he’d never handled a weapon of any kind before, save for one occasion at a shooting range in the Cub Scouts; he had no clue how to use a sword, much less one like this . . .

Wait—apparently that wasn’t quite true. Now that he went looking for it, Frid found the knowledge of how to use common elven weapons; specifically, bows and light, one-handed swords like rapiers. Duelist-type blades, in essence, geared towards finesse and ideal for the getting the most out of the natural grace and agility of the elven race—and unfortunately, Nero’s sword was not one of those, even if she could use it like one.

. . . Still, Frid found himself surprised that he had the knowledge at all—a last gift from the Seldarine?

Wherever it came from, while nice to have, it wouldn’t be useful at this particular moment. The sword was an entirely different class of problem, and honestly, its type wasn’t even half the issue. The other two aspects were connected; first, it was a gift from a god—and refusing those rarely ended well for anyone—and second, Erik (or at least, the guy playing him) historically had very little understanding of the concept of “restraint.” After all, he built fleets of mecha and robots that were literally out of video games; he had even managed to create a set of goggles in such a way that it let him mimic the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception legally according to Scion’s rules.

God only knew (literally, in this case) what the hell he would’ve done to this weapon in the name of “upgrading” it . . .

If I’m lucky, it’s only a sword that cuts through everything via a hypersonically-vibrating blade, and happens to set the air around it on fire; thereby poking fun at the fire of Rome Nero is infamously connected to—and the Fate version of Nero’s equally infamous singing voice.

. . . Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve already used up all the luck I ever had by now—and I was never that lucky to start with.

Frid sighed. All right, enough woolgathering; he’d put this off as long he reasonably could, and probably longer than he should have—time to see what he was dealing with.

“All-Encompassing Sorcerer’s Sight,” he intoned, and gazed at the weapon before him.

The Charm was one of those that did exactly what it said, in the game’s mechanics: all magical energies, artefacts and creatures were visible to his vision, even those who were actually invisible. It had limitations, of course; those actively trying to hide their nature weren’t automatically given away, for the same reason that bright clothing didn’t mean automatically failing at stealth. But for those who arrogantly assumed they were untouchable—like, say, an astralised Servant—would be in for a very big surprise . . .

(And a very brief one, too; because he also had techniques that could kill astral beings.)

It was what had been covering for his lack of Glam Sight as “Godafrid,” since while it was possible for a Lunar Exalt to mimic an assumed form’s inherent powers, he hadn’t yet picked up the knack for it (literally, as that was what tricks related to shape-shifting were called).

All of which ultimately meant that he could literally see exactly what Erik had done to the sword—but unfortunately, that apparently did not mean that he could understand it.

In a way, it made sense. The setting of Exalted had only one real source of supernatural energy, known as “Essence”—it was basically an epic-fantasy-style interpretation of “chi,” and while there were many potential sources of it, and different ways to use it, it was all effectively the same energy; just a different application or manifestation. An Exalt of any stripe used the same essence as a mortal sorcerer, a ghost, a god, one of the Fair Folk, or an automaton—they just tended to do it better, and had access to a lot more than most. Basically, any use of this Charm in that setting would ultimately be defining specific aspects of the same thing, no matter what it actually revealed.

Scion, on the other hand, for all that it was touted as a “spiritual successor” to Exalted, used a very different force as the basis for its supernatural powers. “Legend” was more conceptual and intangible than Essence; if it had a physical manifestation of its own, it was ichor, the immortal material that composed the Gods, and flowed in the veins of their Scions—but that was more a poetic link than an actual one. Legend was described more as a manifestation of the ability to go beyond the physical, or even the possible, to shape Fate itself to one’s desires . . .

Which, frankly, Exalts tended to do just by existing; even leaving aside the enigmatic Sidereal Exalted, whose entire purpose and powers revolved around playing with the loom of Fate, the Solar Exalts were called “Lawgivers” for a reason. They were the Chosen of the Unconquered Sun, all of them inheritors of his mantle as the god-king of Creation—their Charms’ effects were basically described as “they tell reality to do something, and reality says ‘Right away, Master!’”

The Gods fought and imprisoned the Titans in Scion’s reality—had to, given the nature of the Titans’ connections to the World. Killing Ymir, Titan of Frost, had caused the Great Flood, and they’d not wanted to imagine what would happen if the Titans of, say, Darkness or Order fell, instead. In Exalted’s setting, however, a more classical overthrow of the Primordial powers had occurred, with the deities of its cosmology imprisoning or slaying them. However, because the Primordials had been smarter about things than most Titans, the Gods’ powers had been bound such that they couldn’t attack their predecessors—but the Exalted, mortals imbued with fragments of the Gods’ powers, could.

And with an army of several thousand thus-empowered mortals—the majority of them being the weakest of their kind, mere foot soldiers—they had accomplished what had taken it entire pantheons to do in Scion.

Granted, Frid was a single Lunar Exalt; capable of amazing, impossible things, sure, but hardly invincible, omniscient or omnipotent. Still, unlike his Solar brethren, whose abilities relied on refining their skills to perfection and then beyond that, Lunars operated instinctively—they were raw ability and talent to their mates’ proficiency and experience.

All of which meant that, while he might not actually know what he was looking at, or understand the fine details of it, he was certainly capable of puzzling out at least the basics, given enough time.

Overlaid on the form of Aestus Estus—from blade-tip to pommel—appeared countless runes. Mostly Norse, as might be expected, but Frid could see the odd Japanese character and even a few branched patterns he recognised as ogham, the Celtic runic script. Even more interestingly, the styling of the runes had those forming overall patterns on the sword that resembled circuitry lines; he couldn’t help but wonder, was that an intended design on Erik’s part, or something to do with his interpretation of what he was seeing? Possibly even influenced by his knowledge of Erik’s areas of power . . .?

Worry about the esoteric stuff later, and focus on the basics for now, he chided himself. Like, for example, what’s powering this stuff?

It was a good question—if the sword was intended as a Relic, then . . .

No, Frid decided, that made no sense. Relics were forged to draw on the power of the Gods, or those of their bloodline. They could be stolen and used by others, but much as with the different magical materials in Exalted, doing so was never easy and there was always a risk of blowback. And since he was neither of Erik’s bloodline nor had a divine parent that Erik would have known, much less had access to, refining Aestus Estus in that manner would’ve been a complete waste of time and effort.

For all I know, he’s got a micro-fusion reactor in the hilt; but he’s not usually that impractical, either . . . Still, it’s got to be a magical weapon, judging by the lack of anything like an “on” switch, so it must be getting—or be meant to get—energy from somewhere. The question is what . . .?

He frowned, then reached out to his still-relatively-new Essence reserves, concentrating on drawing them out along specific, unfamiliar (but yet, still somehow instinctive) channels. He needed to literally be able to think smarter, process faster, see deeper—

Frid recoiled in horror, blinked in disbelief—then looked again, and was torn between the two reactions.

“It’s not possible!” he exclaimed, as much to convince himself as for any other reason. “Even leaving aside that there’s no basis for them in Scion’s mechanics, and it’s not his style anyways, how would he even know about the concept in the first place? They’re from an entirely different game—from a totally different company!”

And yet, with a sinking feeling in his heart, Frid had to concede their mythos undeniably fit what he was seeing—and that if anyone could somehow manage to accidentally create a Rune Weapon, it would be Erik . . .

Rune Weapons were a feature in Palladium Books’ post-apocalyptic, melting-pot RPG setting, RIFTS (and possibly Palladium Fantasy, as well; he’d never gotten a good look at those sourcebooks). There were a couple of different sources for them, but the primary one rooted their creation in secret lore and techniques of the dwarves of Norse mythology—which had then been stolen and reproduced by a multi-dimensional empire of Lovecraftian horrors bent on universal conquest.

Regardless of the truth, they were equivalent to artefacts in Dungeons and Dragons—the sort of things that kingdoms went to war to possess. Even the meanest of Rune Weapons did exponentially more damage than its mundane counterpart, and even more so against certain types of enemies (including vampires, if he recalled right). They were both indestructible and sentient; capable of bonding to their wielder and communicating with them telepathically within a mile’s radius, and burned those who didn’t match the weapon’s own alignment. And the more puissant types . . .

A Greater Rune Weapon had all the abilities of a Lesser one, with the addition of things like elemental magic, or psionics, added to its capabilities. A Greatest Rune Weapon could do all that, but to even greater levels, plus the potential of further abilities like flight, allowing it to “wield” itself in battle, or even the ability which made them all so feared and coveted: souldrinkers did exactly what the term described—and needed to inflict only the slightest scratch to able to do so.

And as terrifying as all that was, they were also tragic; because every Rune Weapon gained its abilities by being an indestructible prison for a living soul. Common mortals could empower a Lesser Rune Weapon, but the Greatest-tier ones required things like dragons or godlings . . .

Erik wouldn’t do something like that, even if he knew how; it went against just about every principle he had, to say nothing of his actions in-game—that kind of work was a betrayal of his very Legend. Now, Tamamo might, in her role as one of the Three Great Evils of Japan (and given kitsune myths of possession, to say nothing of her specific myths, she quite possibly could), but she’d softened quite a bit since meeting her husband.

(Granted, that was largely because his player had been a fan of Fate/EXTRA’s playable Caster, so she’d been created for him as an indulgence of their mutual fandom, but . . .)

Regardless, it seemed utterly ridiculous to even think that this could be a Rune Weapon . . . Except for the fact that it looked like one, going by how the books described them (covered tip-to-tip in runes, and red was one of the potential colours), it had what looked a lot to his nascent mystical senses like a soul running its enchantments, and the game lore which stated that Rune Weapons were originally Norse in origin.

And again, the fact remained that if anybody could manage to create one by accident . . .

There was, Frid decided, no way around it or out of it: he was going to have to check, eventually. And if handling the sword burned him, then it was another point of evidence in favour of the conclusion, much as he might wish otherwise. And as far as activating it went—

Cautiously, he extended his Essence, trying to attune to Aestus Estus in the same way he’d done with the soulsteel whip. Lacking ichor, Legend, or any obvious control mechanisms, it was the only frame of reference he had to work with. With a mental wince, Frid braced himself for the potential backlash; if this was a Rune Weapon, the odds of its alignment matching his compatibly were a crapshoot. And even if it wasn’t . . . Well, while he had little cause to doubt the quality Erik’s handiwork, the rules the God operated under meant that Relics not of a Scion’s specific divine heritage, like Exalted Artefacts made of the wrong magical material, did not like being handled by interlopers.

As such, the Exalt was taken completely by surprise when the sword not only failed to start trying to char his hand to ash when he touched it, but in response to the touch of his Essence, he felt something YANK—








When the world finally stopped whirling like a blender set to “frappé,” and he stopped feeling like his skeleton had been pulled out of his body in such a way that it left the rest of him to snap back into position like an overstretched rubber band, Frid looked around.

To his surprise, he was somewhere very familiar. More specifically, it was a classical amphitheatre, constructed of stone with wood used for decorative touches. Velvet draperies were strung between the columns which held it up (rose red, rather than the royal purple one might expect)—and the whole of it gleamed with a golden sheen, even as a light of the same hue shone down, bathing the entire structure in warmth and brilliance.

It was the brilliant edifice of Aestus Domus Aurea, fully roused; and contrary to his half-certain expectations, a far cry from the neglected ruin that was first glimpsed in Fate/EXTRA: Last Encore. Nevertheless, some small touches from the latter were present: Nero’s sword was embedded in a small copse of grass and flowers within the centre of the stage—it was simply that now, the emperor herself leaned upon it, framed by a gently drifting scattering of rose petals.

“Ah, you’ve come at last!” she exclaimed, smiling widely. “I am overjoyed to meet you, my humble pupil in the arts; and I see in you, much potential!” She nodded, as much to herself as to him. “Indeed, you are fortunate that it is I] who shall be your tutor in all such matters, for few others would possess even the ability to discern your sleeping capacity for greatness—and only one with such sublime talent as I could manage to draw it forth!

“But fear not,” she assured him boldly, with a dramatic flourish for emphasis. “I shall strive to my utmost to polish you into a jewel whose radiance outshines even the stars themselves!”

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, as portrayed in the Fate series, was a “Saberface,” meaning someone identical, or nearly so, to Arturia Pendragon. The main visible differences in her appearance were in her choice of garb—red instead of blue, provocatively exposing instead of conservatively practical—and her much larger bust size (though still far more reasonable than Arturia’s when she was summoned in the Lancer Class). Beyond that, she had a slightly lighter colouring to her hair and eyes, and a listed height and weight that were less than those of the King of Knights.

And when dealing with a drawn image of Nero, or a polygonal representation, all of that was true—but when seeing her in the flesh . . .

She might have been shorter than Arturia, but he’d have needed to see the pair of them side-by-side to realise it; he’d always been piss-poor at judging that kind of thing. Her bosom was more obvious, yes, but that might just have been because of the size of her frame. Her flaxen-blonde locks were paler than Arturia’s golden-blonde mane, and her eyes were lighter—spring green to Arturia’s emerald—but it was more than just hue.

Arturia’s general demeanour was one of cool discipline, focus, precision and rationality; the weight of her responsibilities as king settled over her like a royal mantle. It gave her bearing a striking gravitas, sharply contrasting with the athletic grace she displayed as a knight. Nero, on the other hand, was fire to Arturia’s ice—and not the wild, raging flame that Mordred could represent, but the surging passion that the King of Knights had been trained to deny.

More than anything else, Nero enjoyed—life, the world, beauty, competition, all of it. While perfectly capable of being serious, she was generally all smiles simply because any new circumstance or situation, however good, bad, or strange it might be, was another opportunity to perform—to exert herself to the best of her ability. And to Nero, that was nearly as enjoyable as basking in the praise that she was unshakably confident her efforts would deserve. The difference that made in her expression and carriage, even with an identical facial structure to Arturia’s, was like the difference between the Sun and the Moon.

And while he normally found the latter of the two celestial bodies the more enchanting, looking at her, Frid thought he was beginning to understand why sun worship had become a thing . . .

Then what she’d actually said caught up to his brain—and Frid reflexively borrowed a favourite phrase from Erik’s player, as it seemed eminently appropriate.

“. . . Oh, goddamn it.”










Writer's Notes: Finally done and out of my head . . .! Sorry for the wait, and the info-dump of lore - but honestly, I thought you'd need the context. Hope it's enjoyable, all the same.

[Xamusel]

*pfft* I couldn't help but laugh when I saw this in my email.

Now... what's to say that Erik's chapter will be any less crazy than normal?

[RanmaBushiko]

*pfft* I couldn't help but laugh when I saw this in my email.

Now... what's to say that Erik's chapter will be any less crazy than normal?

A lot of the time I had slotted in for writing, and getting new versions of character sheets done online for the D&D game now moved from weekly to biweekly, was countered by my entire living room losing all power last night, and me only getting it fixed about 4 hours ago. With barely any sleep, to boot. Kieran's a member, so there's that plus, but as I digress...


It's going to take a bit, I'm afraid. Though I have Scylla's parts fully written up (about 8, 10 pages worth), I have to rewrite some involving Godafrid and Erik. Now, Erik and company? They're going to have issues. Because 60,000+ zombies is a massive threat, no matter how you spin it.



Though I'll freely admit that the Mekton Zeta game I'm DMing with the same group on the off weeks, is going well... and the optional boss appeared to be utterly terrifying to them, on top of obviously grandstanding.

[Kieran]

*pfft* I couldn't help but laugh when I saw this in my email.

Oh? What at, specifically?

Now... what's to say that Erik's chapter will be any less crazy than normal?

Not me . . .

A lot of the time I had slotted in for writing, and getting new versions of character sheets done online for the D&D game now moved from weekly to biweekly, was countered by my entire living room losing all power last night, and me only getting it fixed about 4 hours ago.

Bugger.

It's going to take a bit, I'm afraid. Though I have Scylla's parts fully written up (about 8, 10 pages worth), I have to rewrite some involving Godafrid and Erik.

Sorry about that.

Now, Erik and company? They're going to have issues. Because 60,000+ zombies is a massive threat, no matter how you spin it.

True.

Though I'll freely admit that the Mekton Zeta game I'm DMing with the same group on the off weeks, is going well... and the optional boss appeared to be utterly terrifying to them, on top of obviously grandstanding.

Largely because of the obvious grandstanding - nobody does that unless they can get away with it . . .

[Arbitrarity]

Ah, the prank has finally landed. And here I was wondering if we were going to get a flashback. Evidently not. I suspect Godafrid as he is now is somewhat more capable than he was when Erik was planning the sword's upgrade, though as narrated, his swordsmanship remains lacking.

Is Rin referring to Ciel? She's the only church-affiliated character I remember Shiki knowing. Though it is sounding like we're about to get a Karen somehow.

Otherwise there's not much to discuss happening in the chapter, though I really appreciate the humor and background narration of the long build-up to Godafrid actually taking the sword.

[Kieran]

Ah, the prank has finally landed. And here I was wondering if we were going to get a flashback. Evidently not.

No, it just took a lot longer than either of us planned to get to it. Although the actual discussion with Nero might end up going that way . . .

I suspect Godafrid as he is now is somewhat more capable than he was when Erik was planning the sword's upgrade, though as narrated, his swordsmanship remains lacking.

He's a fair bit more physically capable, yes - at the moment, he can lift 550 lbs. (250 kg.), but that can be pushed to 1800, if he makes an effort at it. His agility is actually a bit better (Exalted having Dodge and Athletics as separate skills), but his Stamina is his highest physical trait.

Is Rin referring to Ciel? She's the only church-affiliated character I remember Shiki knowing. Though it is sounding like we're about to get a Karen somehow.

Yes. This is known as "creating future options for other people to use if I don't."

. . . Honestly, though - while it was tentatively decided that Ciel's Good Ending was the path followed when the Works was created (so that all characters were available to use), Ciel herself was never actually included. And, as noted before, Karen's arrival in Fuyuki is part of Fate canon, so . . .

The trouble with either, of course, is getting around involving the Church; not so much potentially in Ciel's case, but Karen is a loyal member, to the best of my knowledge . . . It's the same issue I find with bringing in Luvia, or any character from the Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - figuring out how (and why) to keep the Clock Tower and its politics out of the Works in the process. Otherwise, I'd have F/GO's Olga Marie Animusphere blown through a Door . . .

Otherwise there's not much to discuss happening in the chapter, though I really appreciate the humor and background narration of the long build-up to Godafrid actually taking the sword.

I'm sorry about that, but I really did feel you needed the context to appreciate the issues involved - though even I didn't expect explaining it to go on for that long.

And yeah - now that Frid isn't fused with a much wiser and more mature character, his thought processes are exclusively mine; which sometimes equates to a squirrel running on a hamster wheel . . . And periodically being fed caffeine pills.

[Arbitrarity]

The trouble with either, of course, is getting around involving the Church; not so much potentially in Ciel's case, but Karen is a loyal member, to the best of my knowledge . . . It's the same issue I find with bringing in Luvia, or any character from the Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - figuring out how (and why) to keep the Clock Tower and its politics out of the Works in the process. Otherwise, I'd have F/GO's Olga Marie Animusphere blown through a Door . . .

Well, she would be an appropriate character to come through, given what happened to her, but yeah, I would think it would be in the Works' interest to keep other organizations out. You could make use of Geas contracts for characters they might consider hazardous, though that kind of at odds with the Works' entire demeanour and approach to problems. Before that, though, you could have a waiting room for petitioners, so as to control information about the rest of the Works' contents, nature, and membership. I think you could have some fun with that concept.

I'm sorry about that, but I really did feel you needed the context to appreciate the issues involved - though even I didn't expect explaining it to go on for that long.

And yeah - now that Frid isn't fused with a much wiser and more mature character, his thought processes are exclusively mine; which sometimes equates to a squirrel running on a hamster wheel . . . And periodically being fed caffeine pills.

Hey, "appreciate" means I wasn't complaining. It enhances the prank, particularly since we already know the secret while he doesn't, and learning more about the background of how things are or may be crossing over is useful. (The power balance in this world seems very complicated)